A New Identity

You may or may not have noticed a lot of changes in the past week. I should probably provide an explanation for all of that. In an effort to preserve my professional identity in the real world, I have decided to revamp my blog.

I can assure you that these changes are more than pure flightiness. I loved Mindy's Musings, and the look I had created. However, I recognized that having an easily searchable blog made me rather vulnerable in the field I am pursuing. I could have elected to give up, end this practice, and finish the blog, but I don't want to do that. Every time I commit to this project I get a little something back. I really enjoy writing. I'm learning a lot about myself in the process. I also get a lot out of the feedback I have been receiving. So I can't just stop now.

That being said, I'm trying to protect this part of my identity by designing something that will endure the limits of my new career. I recently shifted my user ID to a pen name. I have introduced a new title, and I have been experimenting with different designs to bring the whole thing together. Eventually, I plan to change the web address as well.

While I like what I have come up with thus far, I may continue to tinker with it for a while. I hope to have a final product ready in June.

What do you all think?  Do you like the new look? Hate it?  Have an idea of your own?  Let me know.

Transition

Well, folks. It's official. I'm moving.

Part of me wants to pretend this is not happening. I want to prop my computer up on a stool, perpetually play sappy romantic comedies, and curl up forever into a little ball on my couch. I want to look out my HUGE living room window, and feel that wonderful mixture of happy to be where I am, and bothered that I'm not out there experiencing it. I want to pretend that doing so will magically save me from leaving this place. I want to cling to the best apartment in the world, and never let it go.

But, each day I realize one thing a little bit more: I'm an adult now.

With that understanding, comes the regrettable obligation to engage in mature behavior. I can't walk up to my landlord and invoke the higher authority that enforces "No take-backsies." I can't throw myself on the floor and thrash around until the limits of my situation are renegotiated. I can't lock the door and tell her she's not the boss of me. My youthfully adorable blue eyes may have sold all my brother's candy bars back in the day, but they won't help me here. I have to stand up tall, look life in the eyes, and accept my fate.

This sucks.

Mark

***The following is an excerpt from Raina's Story **** 

He didn't used to be this way. She actually used to like Mark.

After her father died, Raina's mother was so sad. She could barely get out of bed, but the baby kept crying, and Raina could only do so much. She was eight years old when she started skipping school to take care of her brother. At night she'd crawl into bed with her mother, and plead with her to find the strength to move on.

Then one morning the doorbell rang. It was a social worker, and Officer Mark. Raina ran to her mother's room, and begged her to pull it together for her and Tam. At last she seemed to understand just how bad it had gotten. She jumped out of bed, pulled on her robe, and ran to meet the unexpected visitors. By the time Raina caught up, her mother had convinced the social worker that everything was fine. She prepared a pot of tea, but before Raina could join them the social worker offered to take her to school.

When she got home, Mark was gone, but he came back the next day with steaks. He cooked their family dinner that night, and nearly every night after that. That's when her mother began to show signs of life again. She started getting out of bed. Eventually she was even up before Raina. She took care of Tam during the day. In the evening, with Mark to help out, Raina got to spend time with her mother.

Gradually, Mark became more than just a helping hand. He made her mother happy. She giggled when he bounced Tam on his knee, and she hummed over the dishes while he helped Raina with her homework.

When she was 10, Mark asked Raina if he could marry her mother. When she said yes, he laughed triumphantly and twirled her in the air. Raina and her mother wore matching lilacs in their hair at the wedding. She danced with Tam, on her toes, and when it was over they all went home together.

Mark was strong, and loving. He never tried to replace her father, but he seemed to repair the hole left in her mother's heart after his death. Together they were a team. They supported one another, and neither looked happier then when they were in the same room.

Her mother's death was rough on them all especially after her father's inheritance suddenly disappeared. Mark didn't have time to grieve. He buried himself in his work.  He took extra shifts, and worked longer hours, but he couldn't support them on his own. Before anyone knew it, they were out of that house. They were practically thrown into their one bedroom apartment until they got "back on their feet."

Only they never did. Somewhere in there Mark started drinking. Just like Raina's mother had, Mark retreated from the world. He left them behind, and poured all his mourning into bottles. After work, Mark would disappear as the mean man slowly took over. He grunted and snapped at them before passing out on the recliner. Sometimes he was still asleep when Raina went off to school.  That's when she taught Tam to play The Quiet Game as they tip-toed around him. The winner, who was always her baby brother, got to choose which song they sang before she dropped him off with the lady downstairs. At the end of the day, Mark was back. He would be exhausted and depressed, but Raina could still see him in the way he tousled Tam's hair.

It wasn't great, but she thought they might make it through alright. That is, until Mark lost his job. He never came home after that. Raina only saw him one more time.

She was studying for a math test, when she heard the mean man stomp up to their apartment. She had completely forgotten to start dinner. He threw open the door and listed into the room. Upon seeing that nothing had been prepared, he knocked over his chair, and tripped into the kitchen. Before opening a fresh beer, the mean man threw the empty pot at the wall behind Tam's crying head. Raina rushed between her brother and this complete stranger. He grabbed her around the throat, and lifted her off the ground while yelling about how they had to work together to make it work. This apparently meant having dinner ready before certain time. Raina started to cry, and Mark dropped his beer on the floor. She knew he had let her go when she felt the wet glass shards touch her bare feet.

He looked her right in the eyes with a sorrowful expression, and whispered "you look just like her you know."

Then he left, and with that the man who loved her mother was gone.

To be continued...

A Passenger's Perspective

Recently, I was fortunate enough to witness something amazing. I was seated quietly behind a young man as his classmates ate lunch and watched a movie. Being that this child would be adequately described with an autistic label, he had little shared interest in the film. He had just finished his own lunch, and began to occupy his time by perusing the leftover debris. He was particularly fascinated with his empty water bottle.

I watched quietly as he turned it over several times in his hands. He tilted his head back, and with a dazed expression lifted the empty bottle into the sky. With a whispering "woosh!" he brought the bottle down; placing it on the desk to his right. Wrapping his hand around the base, his throat let out a rumble. He tilted the bottle back and forth as his body rocked side to side. Shifting from 2nd to 3rd gear, the kid began to rev and roar his vocal chords. He rocked wildly in his desk; back, forth, and side to side. Quickly gaining speed, he violently jerked the bottle into 4th gear. When he reached 5th gear, his body settled in as he drove onto a gentler, more forgiving, surface. Then, out of nowhere, his engine let out a loud growl. The boy jumped to his feet, took a couple high pitched screeching laps around the room, and wound up at the classroom door.

"Where are you going?" an aide called out.
He downshifted, throttled his engine, and responded in a frightened tone, "I don't know!" With that, he opened the door, and sped out of the room.

Not really understanding why, this event stood out to me as especially significant. Later, as I drove my own car out of town, I remembered the confused look on his face when the imaginary vehicle took over his body and drove him from the room.

That weekend, I visited my pregnant best friend who lives in the town where we went to college. While I listened to her explain the nuances of her suddenly very grownup life, images of a similar child rocking violently in a desk kept coming back to me. While getting lunch just off campus, I watched co-eds wander by, and in my mind I saw the kid get out of the desk. When it was time to go, I took my usual tour down memory lane. Leaving town, I passed my ex boyfriend's old apartment, followed by the fraternity I frequently took refuge in. I drove a familiar path down a street I regularly traveled just 4 years ago. Each intersection brought a new memory, and with it, the child in my mind peeled around her own classroom once more.

I thought about my best friend, and her husband. I recalled their lives before they met, and the beginning stages of their relationship. I reflected over where we all thought their lives were going, and where they've since wound up. I remembered my own college romance, and the many roads I planned for my life to take. After the last light in town turned green and I shifted into first gear, I heard a familiar voice call out to the girl at the door in my mind, "where are you going?"

And just before merging onto the highway I thought to myself, "I don't know."

Say What?

Just for fun, here's a list of things people say that irritate the bejezus out if me.

"EX-pecially"
     The word is spelled E-S-P-E-C-I-A-L-L-Y. Figure it out.

Preempting an inquiry with the phrase "I have a question."
     It's just unnecessary. Everyone knows you have a question because either a) its a didactic setting and you've indicated your intent through use of the culturally normative arm raise or b) YOU'RE ASKING A QUESTION! Stop wasting everyone's time being ridiculous and get to the friggin' point already.

Misuse of the word "literally"
     Oh really? You were so scared that you literally pissed your pants? How embarrassing for you.
     Did your brain actually fall out of your head and roll away? No? Then you didn't literally lose your mind.
     Here's a trick: Mentally picture a scenario in which what you just said actually happens. Does it seem implausible or absurd? Then you probably meant to say figuratively. If you can't figure it out, then just don't say that part of it. See, watch how I do it: "Dude, I was so scared." Notice how I didn't add the gross image at the end? Lock it up.

"And such as/what not/so forth...you know?"
     Um... no. I don't. Do you? Because you haven't really said a damn thing. So much of what you just said was comprised of filler that it was entirely devoid of substance and actual meaning. You lost me at your first incomplete sentence when you just assumed it was clear where you were going. Then you followed it up with about eight more of those beauties. Now, I'm not even sure what the original topic was. My head hurts, and I want you to shut up, but you're not going to until I indicate that I do in fact know. So now I'm nodding. Stop making me nod.

"I don't believe in that"
     Listen, I understand that you're a vegan, but what do you mean you don't believe in eating animal products?  It's a thing. People actually do this. Also, what are you getting at when you say you don't believe in Alcoholics Anonymous? You know it exists right? Like, it's really out there. How can you not believe in something that's real and accessible? You must be trying to say that you don't support it, or that you don't agree with it. Unless, of course you're completely out of touch with reality. If that's the case, there's more going on here than your views on social justice. You should probably see a doctor. Unless...maybe you don't believe in them either.  I guess you could consult something less mythological, perhaps a sorcerer?

"I was gonna say..."
     Yeah, no you weren't, because you didn't. Maybe you intend to say it now? I'm not even really sure.
     What exactly is the point in this phrase? It's past tense, indicating you have not said it. However, it also seems to imply that you have changed your mind and decided not to say whatever it was. And yet, it's nearly always followed by the thing you supposedly elected not to share. Here's an idea, quit putzing around with all that needless build up and JUST SAY IT ALREADY!

Let's Not Listen to That Guy Anymore

The unexpectedly beautiful sunshine today and unpredictable weather of the past week or more has reminded me of a particularly fond memory that I would like to share.

Our last summer in Portland was rather chilly. It rained often. When it didn't, a dingy nebulous haze sealed off the Willamette Valley. It was gross, and demoralizing.

The most stressful part about the whole situation was explaining it to the kids that I worked with. Usually in the summer the weather gets warm enough that we are able to bring out the sprinklers and wading pools, and let them be typically developing kids for a  few moments. I'm not going to even pretend this is anything less than awesome. There's something about seeing a small child totally drenched and gleefully sprinting around a playground that energizes your soul.

Before Summer came, we had told all the kids how amazing it was going to be. We promised them pools, and picnics. We said there would be entire days of playing outside in the sun. Only, the sun barely ever came. A significant portion of the season was spent inside watching the clouds pass by, and the mist trickle down. Nevertheless, we pressed on. We assured the kidlets that the sun was on its way, and the heat would eventually make all our dreams come true.

But, company policy dictated that the weather had to be a certain temperature before we could allow that particular breed of merriment. Imagine trying to explain this to your average preschooler. Now, try and figure out how to word it to a group of preschoolers who have cognitive, developmental, and emotional delays. It's incredibly difficult, and the fall-out is a superior form of suck.

Not wanting to take the blame for any of it (because the physical and emotional repercussions would be of tantrumtastic proportions), we blamed it on The Weatherman. We told them that he had to predict excessive sun, and early-morning heat for the fun to start and the pools to come out. Naturally, they kept asking, and we kept relaying his inconsistent messages. Then, the local forecasters began erroneously predicting heat waves. How did we respond? Of course we got our hopes up and declared it to all the kids. Glee, ecstasy, and anxious anticipation ensued as we prepared for the tardy summer weather to arrive.

Only, it never did. Frustration set in amongst all involved. The kids lost faith in our words, and, despite our attempts, we began to lose the will to foster their hope. Finally, one day a particularly adorable child approached me after peering longingly out at the muggy and overcast skies. He widened his doe-eyes, shrugged his little shoulders, and with a comically large sigh said,

"All the time The Weather Man says 'it will be sunny' it's rainy, & all the time he says 'it will be rainy' it's sunny. So, I think let's not listen to that guy anymore."

Even still, the only reply that seems logical is: Here, here good sir. I agree. I mean really, who is he to tell us what's up anyway?

Soooo Many Thoughts

Tonight, in my Group Dynamics class, we made a collaborative decision to engage in an experiential activity which involved observing our instructor facilitate groups with a challenging member. This looks like a smaller group meeting inside a larger circle comprised of the remaining members of the class. With the background information identified, I cordially invite you to join me in my process:

The first one was really interesting. I learned a lot from it. So, I decide I'll participate in the next one. However I will not volunteer to be what we have identified as a "confrontational member"...right? Wrong.  

Surprise! We don't get to volunteer. Everyone close your eyes, teacher's going to play Heads Up 7-Up with your sanity.

The whole time I'm thinking, "please don't pick me, please don't pick me," at such a pressured rate that it's as if I believe the faster I think my thoughts the more likely he is to receive them telepathically. Well, guess what?  It turns out it doesn't work that way. In fact, maybe it's just the opposite. Maybe I somehow indicated to the universe that I was up for this particular challenge? Talk about misrepresentation.  

So, this is it. I am the difficult member. Everybody open your eyes, and stare at Little Miss Mindy as she tries to figure out how to be confrontational.  

Side note - This is so not in my nature. Even if I don't actually respect authority (which I do nearly 95% of the time), I will never play that out. It's just not who I am. I can't.  

I'm not even sure how to express to you what I go through at this moment. Let's start with the basics though: Fear. Paralyzing fear. 

I'm thinking "dear god, what does this even look like? How do I go about doing this? What if I can't do it? Will people be upset with me?" My heart starts racing, I can hear it pounding in my ears. My arm hair stands up on its end. My entire body feels like it's encased in an electric force-field. 

Meanwhile, the group within the group is happening, and I am trapped in my own brain. I am not participating because I can't even imagine what it will be like to be oppositional with my professor (while the whole class just watches). I hate this. I hate this whole experience. I want out.

Then my light-bulb comes on. Let's credit my apparent superhuman ability to emit electricity for this. Regardless of the source, I dive in to the experience. I'm not entirely sure how I execute the rest. Honestly, the stress of it makes things go a little fuzzy for awhile. However, I think I somewhat aggressively state that the whole thing is dumb. I say it only makes my problem worse. I derisively compare my professor's plea for hope to the unexpected presence of a wizard in the room. I call out the rest of the group members for not knowing what it was like to have a problem, and I finish by telling my professor I don't think his group is something I want to be a part of.

Ta-dah!

Right?! I feel like I just ran a three minute mile. The whole experience got me so keyed up that I had a really hard time organizing my thoughts around it. I was inundated with a plethora of emotions; each one compounding the next, until I couldn't distinguish one from the other.

I don't even know where to go from there.

I'm disoriented, hyper-stimulated, embarrassed, and a little dizzy.

To make matters worse, because of time constraints, we didn't really get to process it. I couldn't even find my professor after class ended. As a result, I'm not sure if it was even useful. I'm worried I overstepped my bounds, but at the same time, I'm curious to know what other people got out of it. 

Add to this the funky physiological roller-coaster I just went through, and now I'm perturbed. I'm pretty sure the only solution is to watch trashy TV and shove oven-fresh cookies in my mouth until I pass-out or explode...whichever comes first is fine.

Raina Fae

Sometimes she sees her life in slow motion. She'll be doing something routine, like washing her face, putting away the dishes, or turning off the lights, and just for a moment it all slows down. In those brief seconds, she'll catch her eye in a mirror, and it's as if she's outside herself looking in.

That's when she's really living. Those moments, in between her real life experiences, are when she gets to be someone else. She doesn't have to worry about her little brother getting to school on time, or preparing dinner before her step-father gets home. She's watching a movie about a girl who had to grow up before she was ready.

Sometimes, when it happens, she'll pretend she's on a date, or with a group of friends, like a normal teenage girl. She'll make believe that she's curled up in a stadium-style seat. Then, when the mean man bursts through the door, for a fleeting second she can feel her fictional boyfriend pull her close.

But, with the slam of the apartment door, it's all gone. Her life resumes its regular programming. Hurtling forward, at a break-necking pace that seems wildly out of control. She'll quietly usher her little brother into their room, and hope that he has seen the freshly open beer on the counter before her return.

To be continued...

Looking Forward

I can't remember a time in my life when I was unaware of its ephemeral nature. This goes back to the very beginning of my memories. I even have vague recollections of feeling like nap-time would not always be a necessary part of my day (although, it turns out I was somewhat wrong about that).

In kindergarten, I had a keen awareness of the fleeting aspects of my education. I knew I wouldn't endure that particular experience forever. I was constantly looking forward. I learned to read, then searched for what came next. In later grades, I mastered the mathematical tasks, and asked to get a jump start on the next year's curriculum. I always knew that a change was coming down the pike. Rather than sit idly waiting for it, I reached out and pulled it closer. I tackled my development head on, checking items off the list faster than most.

As I matured, the changes came less frequently. Still aware of their inevitability, I was forced to deal with it in a way I never had before. Until adolescence, I had never fully experienced what it was like to just be. I never looked at my present circumstances, and accepted them. I couldn't. Accepting them meant coping with the grief that accompanied each transition. I would have to deal with losing who I thought I was, and I didn't want to do that. So, I simply told myself that I hadn't become who I was yet. I rationalized that each stage was merely a phase I had to pass through to get where I was going.

Sitting with that was more difficult than I could have imagined. I experienced a mixture of self-acknowledgement, confusion about what that meant, and angst over a combination of reactions that I couldn't comprehend.

It's difficult to accept who you are when you know that's not a stagnate concept. Nevertheless, I got there eventually. At least for now, I've figured it out. However, it's continuously complicated by the life-alterations that I know are inescapable. I am who I am. That makes sense, but what about who I am going to be? Who's that girl? Will I like her?