Unsolvable

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Originally, I had planned to publish a very different post today. In the face of recent violent acts in my community and elsewhere in the nation, I have felt a large pull to join the political debate of issues. However, I have kept my distance. This has been partly out of respect for the grief and sorrow many are feeling during such an awful time. I have wanted to be one of the few who actually allows space for feelings and emotional reactions.

That sounds really noble doesn't it?

Well, my motives have not been entirely selfless.  If I'm totally honest, my abstention from the political discussion has had a lot to do with my own confusion.  Like many, I believe something needs to be done, but, also like many, I have no idea what. The issues being raised are overwhelmingly complicated. These are heavy topics accompanied by a variety of passionate opinions. Understandably, the strong emotional attachments bring about loud and overly simplified statements, from both sides, about how things should be.

Each day I read a mixture of clearly supported and valid arguments from every perspective. Additionally, I am bombarded with rants and raves from people who haven't really thought it all the way through or given themselves enough emotional distance to sort facts from beliefs. Evocative information, plaintive pleas, and ignorant platitudes have been swirling both inside and outside my head at an increasing rate for a week now. Frankly, I have been too confused to make sense of it all.

So, I haven't gotten involved. I have avoided entrance into the political debate out of respect for those who are hurting and out of uncertainty about my own beliefs. However, today something changed.

I found myself sitting at my internship, a counseling office for survivors of violence, combing a research database for articles about handguns and the glorification of violence in the media. I pursued the articles for information relevant to my work, when suddenly I became overwhelmed once more. Recognizing my own need to separate and decompress, I took my lunch break. Slowly munching on a pathetic microwavable meal and browsing social media sites, I came across yet another article about weaponry, violence in the media, and mental health. The article, detailing a mass shooting victim's resistance to gun control regulations, offered some relevant perspective, but once again left me with the same reaction. Confusion.

I took another bite of an overly chewy pot-sticker, sighed to myself, and thought "it's just not that simple."

And that's how I found my political stance in this heated debate. It's just not that simple. I wish it were.

I know that right now things seem truly awful. In fact, these are tragic times, but I'm not convinced that this is unique to our generation. Furthermore, I'm not convinced that one almighty resolution will eradicate this plague of inter-person violence that has afflicted us since the beginning of time.

As a people, we have been fascinated by violence from the get go. Media has always reflected that. Our earliest tales are dark and gruesome portrayals of violent behavior. Weapons today are more intense then ever before, but grotesque person on person crime and mass murders predate long-range weaponry by far.

I'm not saying that we should ignore the issue. Clearly something needs to be done, but I'm not sure hyper-focusing on one or two political hat hooks is really going to change human nature. At least not over night. 

Focal Points

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One of the first things they teach in dance classes is how to spot your turns. "Find a speck on the wall, and stare at it," said every dance instructor ever. "When you're ready," they explained. "Let your head go first. Find the spot with your eyes, and your body will follow."

I remember, as a little girl, spending hours identifying a single fixed point on an adjacent wall. Staring at that spot, I would rise to my tippy-toes, lift one leg, and whip my head around as fast as I could. Each time I hoped that my eyes would remain fixed on that preselected speck, but frequently they wouldn't. I failed often as I attempted to learn this skill. I would lose my balance, teeter, and tip over. Understandably, I found this frustrating.

Eventually, I figured out that focusing on one spot in a semi-distant space was actually serving a purpose. Steadying my gaze seemed to give me balance. That provided the stability required for movements. However, having that down isn't enough. Whipping my head around with no continued focus, left me without direction. My brain lacked proper input to tell my body where to go. I could balance, but I would veer off randomly. I had to know where I was going before making the shift.

Later in life I learned to drive, and dealt with a similar issue. Petrified over the responsibility of operating heavy machinery, I focused my attention on the front of the car. Hoping never to strike anything, I sputtered through this learning process. I zigged through parking lots, and zagged down neighborhood streets. Slowly careening around isolated areas, I thought I'd never make it to a real road.

My steadfast parents however, knew otherwise. They ignored my teenage melodrama, and repeatedly reminded me to shift my gaze further down the road. This made no sense to me at the time. I often wondered how I was to get anywhere without knowing what was directly in front of me. So, imagine my delight when I discovered that they actually did know what they were talking about. Watching the road ahead informed my driving. It allowed me to see where I was going, and told me what was headed my way.

As I have illustrated, this bit of advice is reiterated frequently:

Head up. Keep a weather eye the horizon. Look ahead.

It's all very useful advice. The body follows the eyes. Looking down the road prepares you for what is to come. Although, it is pretty easy to forget this. The present is more immediate. It is, after all, happening now and it seems as though you must deal with it as it comes to you, but having a goal is important.

You must identify where you are going in order to get there. You have got to look ahead, and prepare before you take your steps. Focusing on the distant future gives you the guidance required to maneuver this world. It's a practice that affords you the balance to deal with what's in front of you while also helping steer your life in the right direction.

Tabulation of Terror

Fears are a normal part of growing up. We all had those panic inducing phobias that sent us crying for our mommies and daddies.  For many of us it was the monsters under the bed and in the closet. For others it was the ghost in the wall that sounded a lot like your big brother. Whatever they were, they made grown-ups giggle and smirk as they assured us that the world was not as ghastly as we thought.  Though we doubted adult assertions of safety, we eventually overcame these terrifying beliefs. One by one those monsters got smaller, and eventually moved out of our rooms...except when they didn't. 

Here's a list of irrational fears I have that carried over from my childhood.

Mirrors in the dark
Don't act like you don't understand this one. We all played Bloody Mary, and it was terrifying. Problem is, I took it to the extreme. In my mind, that chick wasn't waiting around for the triple utterance of her name, she was just going to appear Hogwarts-style, any old time she felt like it. Still might! That thought freaks me out to this day. Seriously, I may be the only adult woman in the country who, when faced with entering a dark bathroom, will close her eyes and blindly grope along the wall until I hear the light switch click. I'm just not ready to die that way y'all.

Toilets - Pardon the pun, but this shit is scary 

Just like everyone else, I spent the first few years of life not having to deal with my own crap. It was glorious. I simply did my business and someone always cleaned it up. Then suddenly that was over, and I was forced to suspend myself over a cold bowl full of water that roared when I was done. Sure, that could have been the sound of a flush, but it was probably more likely a flesh-eating monster angry about his missed meal. Maybe that sounds crazy, but consider all those stories about rabies-infested rats living in the sewers, climbing up pipes, and biting people on the butt. Now you want me to yank my pants down and sit on that thing?! Suddenly, constipation doesn't sound so bad does it?

Don't trust that smile.

Ernest P. Worrell
Some said his idiocy was amusing, but, I see who he really is. This mastermind unleashed an army of child-stealing trolls on helpless townsfolk! So, of course he petrified me. The trolls looked like the thing I imagined devouring me from within the toilet after I escaped Blood Mary's resurrection. Though my friends loved him, I would leave the minute anyone even mentioned this unnerving simpleton. As with any avoided fear, I never really got over it. Even still, the mere thought of him makes my spine curl. I mean, look at him. He's petrifying!




Rats/Mice
In my youth, a friend forced me to hold Speedy, her pet rat. I stood stupefied as his beady eyes pierced mine. His tiny razor claws scratched my sweaty palms. Then, he deliberately whacked my arm with his thorny worm-like tail. Naturally, I screamed and released my grasp. I had to protect myself from such a vicious threat. Oddly, my friend didn't understand my reaction to this onslaught, and she spent the rest of the day berating me for it. Ever since, I've been convinced that all rats are demon-spawn. I still make Homeric expeditions around pet stories to avoid the rodent section. Go ahead and say this is irrational if you want, but I say you're irrational. They crawl out of toilets and chomp peoples' junk for god's sake! That's clearly evidence of their evil. 

I Must Not Tell Lies

I don't believe in good and bad.

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There is goodness and badness, but I don't believe the two qualities exist in vacuums independent from one another. I think that is too black and white for this confusing world of grey. It seems fairly obvious to me that the two are interconnected. So many of the bad behaviors in this world are informed by good things.

Traits like conviction, passion, strength, and love are widely believed to be positive attributes. However these qualities, and others like them, can takeover a person's whole world. They can become powerful enough to influence terrible actions.

Many people find it easy to holistically declare a person malevolent based on what they have done, but for me it's not so simple. I see people for their morals, values, and conduct. I'm hesitant to speak to the motives of another when they have not been explicitly shared with me, and I'm skeptical about the existence of pure evil in this world.

Asocial Networks

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Today, while riding the train home, I watched a teenage couple flirt with one another. Without touching, they sat next to each other red-faced and enthusiastic about their conversation. A distinct inch of space was visible at all times between their oddly stationary bodies as they giggled about the latest gossip. Their innocence was refreshing amidst a crowded car full of an exhausted workforce, and listening to their conversations made me smile with reminiscence.

However, when I turned to observe what they were discussing, I realized neither one was making eye contact with the other. Their bodies were hunched and kyphotic while their blank gazes stared at screens in their palms.

Upon further investigation, I realized that their conversation was entirely centered around a cyber world. The duo discussed dynamics between virtual friends and situations that had taken place online without any physical interface. As they began to narrow the conversation to their own lives, the discussion revolved around what kinds of things were "too stupid to post" and who each should "follow" or "retweet."

From my vantage point, any relating here was minimal. Neither could see the mutual attraction that was evident in their blushing cheek, and any awareness of the tension that pulsated in that one inch electric field between them went unacknowledged. They were missing the whole experience.

The whole thing reminded me of a similar duo I had observed just days before. I had gone to the theater with my mother and sister, and was fortunate enough to watch a powerfully evocative piece of musical theater. The first act moved me to tears, and the break left the three of us craving more. However, not everyone felt the need to share their thoughts and reactions during the intermission.

The older couple seated directly in front of us, spent the entirety of the intermission on their phones, both logged into the same social networking site. Any sharing they did do, went in the form of leaning over and pointing at their own device. Like the first duo, this couple exhibited a complete lack of eye-contact and minimal physical acknowledgment of the other.

I'm seeing this more and more. Morning and evening commuters blankly stare at their phones each day as they wait for the train to hit their stop. Café patrons pull up screens as they drink, dividing their tables into private cubicles for social networking. Even red lights induce text-writing and tweet checking. This technologically advancing world is quickly pulling us away from one another.

Frankly, I find it depressing. I miss the days when families sat around the dinner table discussing their days without plugging into a device. I miss those awkward moments that cause us such stress when we accidentally make eye-contact with a stranger on the train. Mostly, I miss being truly bored.

We're forgetting what it's like to just sit without feeling the need to check in with our entire social circle. We're losing the ability to gain information from another person without immediately searching for the source. We are missing the real world as it passes us by.

Perpetually Ever After

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I am a unique blend of hopeless romantic and complete realist. I don't believe in happily ever after, but I do believe in partnership, unity, and the next great adventure. I see life as a series of story arcs in which each resolution marks a new beginning.

Merging stories is not easy, and as such I think relationships are hard work. They require perpetual effort to achieve a satisfying result. However, I also believe committing to work with another person creates a powerful kind of love. Such a union provides the comfort and security that allows people to get through damn near anything.

Shouldshine

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It's sunny, and the Oregonian in me feels like I'm wasting it by sitting inside. My pale legs are literally glaring at me for choosing my couch over a blanket paired with a patch of itchy grass. My inner voice is screaming at me for not jumping on this opportunity to log some sun-time.

And, all I want to do is tell the me inside me to calm down. My pasty legs can stop being so judgmental, and my inner voice can just shut the hell up. I get it.

Here, in this particular patch of the Pacific Northwest, the sun does not have a consistently reliable presence. Therefore, ignoring a beautifully warm day like today seems somewhat neglectful. History might indicate that this behavior is even disrespectful to this kid.

And still, here I sit, giving my overly-adored couch a little extra appreciation. You know why? Because the Olympics are on, I feel like snuggling, and I have faith that the sun will return.

So, my chalk-colored legs can give it a rest. Even if I'm wrong about the weather, I know you can't store up sun-time and save it for a rainy day. It doesn't work like that. If that gaseous beast were to spontaneously disappear, I'm no worse-off than George Hamilton. I won't have forgotten what life in the light was like, and I regardless of the opportunity, I will not regret the one afternoon I took to do what I wanted.

A Hero for Midge

When we were kids, my brother used to pick on me. He poked me repeatedly until my shoulder was raw. When the phone rang for me, he held it captive while sitting on my stomach until I gave in and admitted he was king or insulted myself. When we were home alone, he threw nickels at my head.

But, he was my brother all the same. We built forts together. When I was scared, we hid in his room. He walked me to school on my first day of kindergarten. Then he feigned exasperation as he returned my wave in the halls. We played games against one another on our parents' computers, and we danced like fools when our favorite shows came on the television.

He was bigger, and older, so my brother nearly always picked. Everything. TV shows. Radio Stations. Video games. Movies. The occasional book. For this reason, I logged many hours grudgingly learning about G.I. Joes, Calvin and Hobbes, Power Rangers, and most all comic superheroes.

I never thought of my brother as a protective one. Sure, he helped me out occasionally, but mostly with menial tasks that weren't significant enough to be remembered distinctly. When it came to more distressing issues, he didn't seem willing to come to my aid. I specifically remember asking him once to beat up someone who had wronged me. He turned me down.

"Handle it yourself Midge," he told me, seemingly indifferent to my struggles.

Secretly, I craved a brother that cared enough to come to my rescue. I wanted someone to protect me from the bullies of the world. I yearned for him to shelter me from bad experiences, and lift me up when I couldn't reach my solutions. But most of all, I wanted a brother I could be closer to.

As I step tentatively into adulthood, foraging my path and tripping along the way, I'm beginning to see the past differently. As a child, I hated my involuntary exposure to the modern mythology of superheroes. Now, I have developed a kind of affinity for them. I enjoy the stories hidden below the surface. With a more mature vantage point, I see the subtle communication about the human condition. I recognize the archetypes, and I am beginning to understand the allegories.

No one escapes from this world. One way or another, we are all forced to deal with the realities of our existence. Learning to cope, respond, and overcome this is vital, and help often comes in an unexpected costume.

I hadn't seen it before, but my brother was preparing me for this experience. That distance I saw between us was merely perceived. When it came to navigating the complexities of the world, he was actually an incredible guide. He has always been there, watching me from the sidelines. By pulling back, my brother was protecting me. He was sending me a message:

"You are strong, and you can do this."

So, I no longer wish for the stereotypical older brother to loom over me, fight my battles, and hold me back from the world. I understand now, that what I have is infinitely better. I may not see him all the time, but I know that he's there motivating and protecting me in a way that only super heroes can.

Waste of Space

Could someone please explain to me why a dog needs a facebook page? I mean sure, maybe it's nice to have one location to post all your Fido pictures. I get that, but the rest of it? No thank you. Whoever runs that garbage is wasting their time posting status updates on behalf of their tail-chasing best friend.

Why are people amused by this? It's not funny. Chester didn't actually say those things. Sure, he made a silly face when he looked at the cat, or the doorbell got him in a frenzied barking kind of mood, but those words on "his" facebook are a person's thoughts. Why couldn't they post that as their own status? Is it really necessary to make an entirely separate profile for the hypothetical ruminations of a canine? Is anyone buying this? I just don't get it, but obviously it's working for someone. If you understand, could you explain it to me?

Also, what is the deal with couples sharing a profile? Talk about codependency. Can you not trust your partner with a social network of their own? *Please imagine the following quote in either a breathy airhead voice or the deep tones of a droll moron.*

"But now we have full disclosure in everything we do!" 

Blah blah blah barf. Because facebook is your whole existence? Nothing could possibly go on behind your back in the real world, or on a dating site, or *gasp* on your dog's profile.

"On second thought, it did seem weird that Buster was friends with so many floozies and gym rats right?"

I can't figure out what is more sad, your oblivious outlook, or your inability to loosen that leash a little. I give it five years. — Just wait, you'll see what I mean.

And another thing, a baby doesn't need its own facebook page either. The same goes for twitter accounts and tumblr (I'm looking at you Blue Ivy Carter). It's a damn baby! She can't even hold her head up, and the only thing that makes her smile right now is a particularly good gas passing. The pictures are great, and I can understand wanting to get the kid all set up so, when she's ready, her timeline is lifespan comprehensive, but this just seems like the modern day version of the ear piercing debate.

Chill out. Give the kid a chance to develop some autonomy. Then let her decide for herself what embarrassing images to throw out there. In the meantime maybe you could, you know, actually interact with your child. Just a thought.

I guess I could probably go on and on about my issues with cyber social networking, and I probably will at some point. However, for now this seems like a good place to end my pointless rant.

Casualties

“Now Woody, he’s been my pal for as long as I can remember. He’s brave, like a cowboy should be. And kind, and smart. But the thing that makes Woody special, is he’ll never give up on you… ever. He’ll be there for you, no matter what.”

Sometimes you need to shed things. You need to say goodbye. Push them away, and move on.

If you have a heart, you'll look back on the decision often. You'll wonder if it was right. You will think to yourself, was it necessary to leave that behind? Then you'll consider whether or not you should return to it. You will contemplate using your new found maturity to reincorporate it into your life. But, just the idea will seem insurmountable.

You have grown. You are a different person than you once were. The world is not stagnant. Your growth implies the same in others. Going back would not be a return to what once was, but a rebuilding of something new. However, this reconstruction would begin upon a foundation of past experiences and conflicting perspectives. This is tricky work.

Most of the time, you'll leave it alone. After all, there is a reason why things came to an end. You will think back fondly and long for the memories to be current. You'll regret the negative experiences, and the choices that led to them. Only in rare instances will you stumble upon it once more and honor the past by displaying it, unengaged, on a shelf somewhere. Mostly, you'll continue on becoming newer versions of yourself and leaving the rest behind.

"So long partner."

Part of Her World

 My sister and I weren't really kids at the same time.  She was nine years old when I was born.  By the time I had grown enough to have memories of our time together, she was a teenager; stuck somewhere between childhood and the grown up world.

Early memories being what they are, I don't have many of her that are clear. There are images of dancing for her friends, and playing games in the car. But, mostly I have vague recollections of general wordless sentiments.  With my adult vocabulary, I can now label those feelings.  I thought she was glamorous. In my mind, she had status, and I wanted her approval. I remember exaggerating my cuteness to invoke reactions from her.  I remember watching her get ready for her day, and teaching me how to apply makeup.

Perhaps my favorite memory, was our sleepovers.  Every now and then, she'd invite me to spend the night in her room.  I'd bring my Little Mermaid sleeping bag, and we'd lay on the floor.  I don't remember if we talked much. With our age difference, we couldn't have had a lot to discuss. At least nothing of substance.  However, I do remember that she sang to me. We had one song in particular, that was our song.  She'd sing it to me, while I laid in the dark admiring my big sister.

Now that we're both adults, this song still makes me think of her.  It brings me back, and projects me ahead at the same time. I recall falling asleep to my big sister's singing, and I think it's so great that I'm finally a part of her world.

Meaningful Moments

In life, there are moments that are so incredibly meaningful, that they stand out forever. Moments, that alter everything.

Whether awful or awesome, when these moments happen you experience a fundamental changing of who you are, what you stand for, your circumstances, or your surroundings.

As much as I want to, I can't prepare you for the experience. I cannot tell you what these moments are like.  They won't fit into a category.  However, I can promise that they will happen, and you will recognize them when they do. It's impossible to go through life without witnessing at least one.

Sometimes these moments are personal and independent of world events. Other times they are public, and unify entire communities. They will impact you and your world in a way that is incredibly difficult to put into words.

When these moments come, there is a deep-seated emotional reaction. You will feel small in comparison to it. From somewhere within, you will experience a creepy kind of calm. There will be a moment of clarity as you become aware that something greater than you is occurring, and, at least for a moment, you will be dumbstruck. You'll pause. Maybe just for a minute, maybe for days, but you will stop everything while you take it in.

It may not seem real. You might think you're dreaming. Or, it may seem too real, and you might wish you were dreaming.

Slowly, you will begin to process. You will start to understand your emotions. You'll relate to the experience on a new level, and begin to heal from the life-altering change that has taken place. Eventually, life will resume a normal routine. You'll go through the motions, as you acclimate to the new circumstances of the world. All the while, you'll remember what happened as you negotiate who you were before with how things are now.

Then, one day, you'll notice that you haven't thought about it in a while. You'll wonder how long it's been, and whatever the time-frame, it won't seem accurate. You will wonder if you have moved on, and be upset that you haven't devoted as much to the magnitude of the memory.

Venting

It would seem that lately, I've been suppressing some feelings. Outwardly, I'm expressing frustration at my circumstances. However, for fear of  being dramatic, I've been containing the rest. This is not okay with me. Historically, holding back my emotions has resulted in worse turmoil then letting it out. 

Discussing it, releases me of the negativity.  I feel better once I've complained. I no longer carry it around, as it expands inside me. This is especially true for things that I know don't matter, and that's the point. Why let it fester inside of me? Why let a little thing grow?

This emotional load I've been bearing is one of these things. It doesn't matter. In the grand scheme of things, it's miniscule. In the end, I know where I'm going, and not much will change that. However, I'm here now, and I need to deal with it.

I'm a careful person. I plan and prepare in order to set up best case scenarios. That makes it especially aggravating, when it doesn't work. When I squeeze every ounce of myself out, to make sure my decision is supportive for all those it effects, only to learn it was pointless, it makes me want to scream. I feel jaded, unappreciated, and bitter.

Don't feel the need to console, commiserate, or empathize. I don't want any of that. Nor should you tell me to get over it. That's just what I'm trying to do. I know that this issue, like all others, shall pass. I'll get over it. In time, I'll forget I ever felt this way. But for right now, I'm getting this toxic time bomb out of my mind before it explodes.

That's Great, It Starts With an Earthquake

Location: My bed
Mood: Anxious

I feel like I should talk about my apocalypse anxieties. It's a little humorous that I think about this, but even more hilarious that I even care. Keep in mind, that my opinion on this subject is the exact opposite from my pyschological response. I honestly think it's a bunch of hooey, but it still makes me nervous, and that's comical.

I first began to consider the end of the world about 5 years ago. I was at my then boyfriend's house watching a history channel special about the year 2012. You guys, it freaked me out. Something about the number and variety of sources that agree upon a date in time as the prophesied END is what really throws me. Normally, I think people are crazy when they talk about these things, but for some reason this time around it actually caused a physiological response. My heart began to pound, and I got super nervous. I thought,

"2012, but that's...like...soon..."

Then, I couldn't sleep.

Granted, it's pretty normal for me to have bouts of insomnia, but to struggle with sleep because I'm worried that the world will end...that ain't right. So, I did what any logical person does when stressed over an absurd concern about an unlikely event you can't control: I went online.

That didn't help.

At this point I figured it'd be best to just stop thinking about it; start endorsing those avoidant tendencies which have served me so well in the past.

Then, the movie trailer came out. I can NOT watch this trailer. The first time I saw it, my heart about leapt out of my chest, my breathing sped up, and I kept thinking, "this is it. It's real now." The trailer made it's way on to TV, and appeared on the commercial break for several of my favorite shows. When this happened, I would run across the room and lunge to turn my TV off before it caused nervous laughter and attempts to bottle my concern.

I just can NOT deal.

Then the damn books started to show up on display at my favorite book store. I don't care if it's a best seller! Stop forcing me to deal with it. I had to avoid the back right corner of the store for three months.

I'm told that this past weekend was the rapture. I'm not religious at all, and I don't entirely understand the whole rapture/judgement thing. However, the timing of it spikes my anxiety. I felt a whole lot better when I "survived it."

Except now... it's being postponed until October?

What the what?! Can you even do that?! Who is making these decisions? Do they understand that they're wigging me out?

Honestly, I'm doing pretty well with my avoidance here, but the calendar keeps changing, and pretty soon the time will be upon us. I'm not sure how I'll respond, but I'm picturing fetal position, under a table clutching my head (earthquake drill style) until the morning. At which point, I'll cautiously step out and survey the unchanged world, embarrassed that I just wasted an entire day acting like a fool.

Anticipating Summer

Location: Apartment
Mood: Restless

Usually I don't care that much about summer. Don't get me wrong. I like it, but I'm not completely enamored with it like most of my peers are.  I have a number of theories to explain it.

 I think it has a lot to do with how pale, and therefore sensitive to sunburns, I am. I spend a lot of my summertime indoors because any extended time (and by this I mean about 15 minutes) in the sun equals guaranteed discomfort the next day.

I also think a lot of it has to do with my childhood.  Historically, summer has been the most active time of year for my family. It's bike racing season. Until very recently bike racing has been synonymous with my surname in the state of Oregon. When I was a child, my parents were at ALL OF THEM.  This means, I was at all of them. I actually have some very fond memories of suffering in the back seat as I shared space with my two older siblings and the entire OBRA collection of race gear.  Eventually, we grew, and OBRA (i.e. my parents) accumulated so much gear that it was borderline abusive to shove us into such a confined space. So, OBRA/my parents bought a trailer, and we got some leg room.

Wow, did I get sidetracked reminiscing.  My point was, that as a child when my school friends and neighbors were out exploring the nearby creek, or visiting the beach with each others' families I was reading Archie Comics and Animorphs under a sun tent at Alpenrose Velodrome, or playing on massive dirt piles in a criterium parking lot. As I matured, I began to express my distaste for attending bike races, and my parents allowed me to stay home. However, I wasn't sure what to do with my time.

Another of my theories for my lack of summer enthusiasm was my physique.  I've never been in great shape, and I've always been rather insecure about my body in a bathing suit. This is because of a combination of lack of toned muscles and my day-glow white skin which is blinding when exposed to direct sunlight. Really I stay indoors for you people.

Despite all of these factors, and probably several more that I can't think of,  I awoke this morning to a stream of warmth and light from my window.  It immediately conjured images of bathing suits, rivers, beach houses, warm days of reading in the park, and cool hikes in the Gorge.  Needles to say, I wanted summer.

Also, I've decided that I'd like to have a summer crush this year. Where can I get one of those?  Do you just post an advertisement at your local coffee shop?

The Essay

I learned on Friday that my grad school application has been moved on through the next step in the process.  They want me to come in for an interview.  I'm incredibly excited. I worked so hard on my essay, and put into it everything I could. This essay robbed me of time, and resulted in the return of some anxiety issues that I thought I had completely resolved.  Turns out, soaking myself of every fiber of my writing ability and desire to improve was worth it. Now would be a good time to share it with all of you (assuming there's any of you).  *You may recognize bits of it from a previous blog.

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One of the children I work with is a 4 year old boy.  He is the sweetest kid once you get to know him.  Unfortunately, because he is scary, many people do not get that chance. He scared me when I first met him, and I have known him to scare away countless reasonable adults.  His terrifyingly destructive, abusive, and assaultive tantrums frequently require three adults to contain. He exhibits a high anxiety level by chewing on his fingers, banging his head against walls, punching himself in the face, and falling to the ground with alarming power. He also perseverates.  He fixates on colors, objects, characters, stuffed animals, and insects. In the time I have known him, he has been obsessed with the color blue, spiders, fire trucks, and Spiderman.

His Spiderman fixation is of particular interest. He knows Spiderman’s crime fighting techniques, and frequently attempts to use them, as a coping mechanism, in every-day life.  However, aside from being an endearing way to manage his fears, this little boy is demonstrating some remarkable insight about his own condition.  Without knowing it, he has chosen the most appropriate superhero to identify with.

Spiderman is really just an ordinary person in a costume. He is fallible; with faults and strengths just like the rest of us. However, his body is capable of extraordinary things, it is astonishing, but it is also frightening. For Spiderman, these tasks are superhuman feats intended to scare away literal demons. For this little boy, they are superhuman tantrums that inadvertently scare away his caregivers. Spiderman copes with this ability by developing a costume which allows him to anonymously fight off assailants.  He hides behind a mask.  For this little boy, tantrums are his proverbial mask.

Undoubtedly, Spiderman does great things. He saves people, and helps improve the world.  Most love him, and celebrate his extraordinary ability while he hides behind his mask.  However, when the mask is gone he fails to stand out.  It is different for this child.  He does have a support system who loves him when he is not hiding behind his tantrum mask, but he cannot accept it.  In contrast, this boy’s mask isolates him. He frightens others and himself. He sees himself just as most people do.  They see him as being the  psychological demons he fights.

In my experience working with maltreated children and disadvantaged families, I have encountered a number of children like this little boy. These children are plagued with serious psychological afflictions.  They are tasked with the normal and expected stressors of being a kid and growing up in a complex world, but are also burdened with scary pasts, unstable homes, inconsistent caregivers, and disabling diagnoses. Things are not easy for these children. They release anxiety through harmful and destructive behaviors.  They seek care and nurturance by screaming and throwing chairs, and avoid strong feelings by intentionally ignoring those they can rely on. They attempt to tell you what they have been through by engaging in indiscriminant and sexualized behaviors.  

After everything that has happened to these children, they exhibit an alarming amount of insight and unwitting self-awareness. Whether it is the little boy I previously discussed, or the reactive four year-old who played out his attachment issues with me and explained “I don’t know how to like you,” these kids seem to know deep down, just how different they are. Not many people see that, but I do.

For nearly two years I have worked in the milieu as a Child Development Specialist (CDS) at Morrison Hand in Hand Day Treatment, and of the many things I have learned there is that I am good at this.  I am able to see kids for who they are, and not what they do. I approach my clientele from a developmental perspective, and find creative interventions to facilitate their success in a variety of situations. For example, the boy with the “Spiderman complex” often refused to clean up or participate in group activities until I suggested he sit on “the S for Spiderman” in the alphabet carpet.

Another one of my personal strengths is that I truly hear the children that I work with. I listen to their words, and I understand that they are trying to communicate what their limited life experience will not let them. I hear the five year old with PTSD and Fetal Alcohol Effects tell me “sometimes I say things, and then I say other things,” and I understand that when he says “it makes me feel mad at my brain” he has realized that he thinks differently than his peers do. In addition to the above mentioned strengths, I feel I possess a strong sense of empathy, compassion, and unique understanding towards those I work with.  

It is this ability to understand that has inspired me to pursue a career in the mental health field, as a therapist specializing in work with traumatized and attachment-challenged children. I have enjoyed the work I have done thus far immensely, but I feel that I can do more. I would like to further develop my knowledge of information pertaining to this field. It is my hope that a graduate degree in counseling will give me a comprehension of clinical models, and therapeutic interventions that I can implement in my future practice.  Another of the areas that I feel needs further development is my knowledge regarding available resources both universally and in the local community. I believe that studying counseling at Pacific University will guide me on this path, by affording me access to those resources, and helping me reach my goals.

Pacific offers courses which will bolster my comprehension with a strong knowledge of relevant theories, practices, and clinical models. By asking students to complete community internships, Pacific will also help me build upon the strong foundation of experience I have obtained thus far. I am particularly interested in this program because of the emphasis on evidenced-based practice.  This emphasis fits with my previous experience in the field and coincides with my belief that it is ethically wrong to offer treatment without the supporting facts of its effectiveness. I have a drive to learn, and have always sought out research regarding my clientele and proven supportive interventions. Currently, I attend a minimum of twice monthly trainings on a variety of topics such as attachment, adoptive processes, and the affects of drugs and alcohol in utero. Also, I regularly peruse the mental health section of book stores for supplemental knowledge. Also, in my work as a CDS, I have encountered numerous situations which have sparked a desire for education. 

One situation, in particular, seems especially applicable. After his entry into the program, one of my clients began to respond to my support and interactions erratically. He expressed an apparent preference by seeking me out often, turning down other staff, and calling out my name when I was unavailable.  When I was able to work with him, he reacted to my redirects and encouragement with an extreme level of aggression, dysregulation, and emotionality that was unlike his reactions to most adults in his life. It gradually increased to a point where I was unable to have any successful interactions with him, be they directive or non-directive. Because of this, I became curious about what particular process was causing such a distinct response.

 Of my own volition, I began to research early childhood attachment. What I found was a wealth of knowledge about Reactive Attachment Disorder in traumatized children.  I brought this information to the team – including, myself, a clinical manager, a psychiatrist, and several family therapists- and the diagnosis was applied to the child’s treatment plan.  I also used the information I obtained from case studies and academic research to implement rituals and routines which facilitated development of a more secure attachment.  Ultimately this helped the child to begin to overcome his reactivity towards me.

I believe the above scenario is just one example of why I am a match for this program, and will thrive with the continued education I know Pacific provides. It is rare that an individual is driven to work with such a daunting population, and many exhaust themselves and move on after a very short period of time.  I am unique in that I have grown through various positions, and remained interested in this particular group. I may be overwhelmed at times, but I find support in those I work with, and am always further inspired to learn more and help my clients overcome their disruptive and disabling psyches.  I enjoy working with these children, despite situations that can seem hopeless or overwhelming. I am aware that there are a limited number of resources available for such populations, and would like to help expand those resources by becoming an expert in this area.  It is my hope to be accepted to Pacific, so I can begin to realize this dream.

Peter Parker Syndrome

Mood: thoughtful
Location: Apartment

Last weekend I re-watched the Spiderman movies,  and I was struck at how profound they are. There is a large number of lines that could be looked at out of context and still be incredibly moving. It got me thinking....

There is this little boy who lives in my world. He's really the sweetest kid once you get to know him. Unfortunately many people don't get that chance, because he's scary. This kid is only 4 years old, and I have known him to scare away at least a handful of full grown mature adults. I don't blame these people either. He scared me when I first met him. This little boy has some terrifyingly destructive, abusive, and assaultive tantrums that frequently require three adults to contain, but that's not who he is.

In his short life, he has been exposed to some awful traumas. His world was not safe. He was scared, confused, and trapped. His world is safe now. It's getting safer and healthier with each day. However, the impact of those early experiences lingers, and has impacted his mental health. Currently his tantrums are fewer and more manageable, but they are still scary. This little boy has an anxiety level higher than I have ever seen. He chews on his fingers, hits his head against walls (causing bumps and bruises), punches himself in the face, and falls to the ground with alarming power. He also perseverates. He fixates on colors, objects, characters, stuffed animals, and insects. These fixations often result in tantrums. In the time I have known him, he has been obsessed with the color blue, spiders, swimming pools, a stuffed spotted dog, fire trucks, spider webs, the number 2, and, Spiderman.

His Spiderman fixation might be my favorite. He knows the wrist web slinging maneuver, and for sometime used it frequently. He may not have been aware of it, but it was clearly an attempt at a coping mechanism. This little boy walked around with both hands cocked and ready to swing webs on whatever may be in his path. If you called his name, he would turn abruptly and point his wrists at you. It was hauntingly adorable.

This past weekend, while watching Spiderman, I realized just how perfect and insightful this little boy's hero worship is.  Without knowing it, he has chosen the most appropriate superhero.

Spiderman is really just Peter Parker in a fancy outfit. He is a completely ordinary person with his faults and his strengths just like the rest of us.  Then, he experiences a series of events that cause a reaction of extreme proportions. Suddenly, Peter Parker is capable of these extraordinary things, it's awe-inspiring, but it's also pretty frightening. He develops a costume and persona that allows him to do things that would interfere with his ordinary life. He hides behind a mask.

But, behind that mask is Peter, the sweet, geeky boy, who is trying to figure out who he is and what is right in this world. He is isolated by the things that his body does, and the demons that he fights while it's happening. He can't talk to the people who love him, because he's scared of what acknowledging that will mean.

The biggest difference here should be obvious. As Spiderman, Peter does great things. He saves people, and helps improve the world. Most people love him, and celebrate his extraordinary ability while he hides behind his mask.

For my friend, it's different. He does have a support system that loves him when he is not hiding behind his wrist flicks and his tantrum mask, but he can't accept it. He sees himself just as most people do. They see him as the demons he fights.

The Destruction of Society as We Know it.

I have come to the conclusion that text messaging is ruining the world.
 It feels like no one actually calls anyone anymore.
When you text a person, there is no voice. You have no inflection in your words. Because of this, it is hard to decipher your actual meaning. This is especially detrimental for someone like myself. My main means of communication is through sarcasm. When you can't overemphasize words, draw out sentences, or act out your silliness through vocal mannerisms, you come off like an insensitive bitch. No fun. This can sometimes lead to arguments. What was originally meant as a brief conversation can become a huge misunderstanding, or (in a worse case scenario) an all out electronic brawl.

This leads me to another point. What is the point of having a texting conversation? Sometimes it can take hours, or even days. It's ridiculous! Say you want to see if someone will go to the movies with you. If you call them up it will go like this:

A: "Hey want to see a movie?"
B: "Which one?"
A: "Attack of the 50 foot Cactus."
B: "Sure, what time?"
A: "How's 5:30"
B: "Cool, see you there."

That took me less than a minute to type. But in all reality it's going to take a minimum of 5 minutes when you factor in sending time, service strength, and the length of time it takes to wrestle your fingers over those tiny screens. Now, Imagine how quickly it would go if spoken aloud. Scratch that. Read it out loud. How long did it take you? Thank you for proving my point.

That conversation could possibly take forever in text land. You'd send out your original "hey want to see a movie" text around, we'll say noon. But, Jo-Bob (or whatever you're calling your friends these days) might not be near his phone. He might get it around 1:30pm. So, you get the inevitable: "Sry dude jst got ur txt! movie sounds gd still dwn?" But, alas, you were not by your phone at this point in time. You had gone downstairs to google your name, or hulu reruns of Scrubs. You don't get the message until around 3ish. Jo-Bob assumes your lack of response means "no," and he has gone out. He put his phone on silent. Therefore Jo-Bob doesn't notice your text until around 5:15pm. Luckily you were by your phone. You think, "perfect timing!" Think again. When Jo-Bob went out, he saw Attack of the 50 foot Cactus. Now you need to figure out a different movie to see, but Jo-Bob hasn't turned his phone off silent. He doesn't know you still want to hang out. He's busy playing video games, and doesn't check his phone at regular intervals. Instead of having a meaningful interaction with another human being you end up spending your day alone.

Another reason why texting is ruining civilization: Did you read that message that Jo-Bob typed? Where did his vowels go? What is up with that punctuation?! I kind of want to scream at him, but I can't because his phone is on silent. Text messaging has brought about all of these abbreviations and written shortcuts. Half the time I don't even know what I'm reading. Then I need to consult the internet in order to decipher whatever code language your communication has devolved into. It's exhausting.  Now it's seeping into oral communication. Think of the number of times you've heard someone say "OMG" or "BTW" a loud in the last year. Now slap yourself that number of times.

This is what society is turning into. I'm tired of getting "how are you?" or "what's up?" text messages too. If you honestly want to hear the answer to that question you should call me, because I'm most likely going to lie to you over text message. This is not because I don't care enough to tell you. It's because it takes forever to give a genuine answer to this question when you're attempting to type a message with character restraints.

Plus, half the time the predictive texting mechanism on the phone thinks you've said a non-word and changes it to something nonsensical. After you've spent 15 minutes crafting the perfect response, you hit send only to discover this in your outbox: "I'm grwat. Work ie too. I local my me place. You should come view something." It's just easier to respond "good" or "nothing." My phone knows those words.
Bottom line: call me. Let's chat. I want to know how you're doing also.

But, perhaps the most unsettling reason that texting is ruining our world. The fact that most people are more comfortable texting one another than speaking to each other. How are we supposed to meet people or get to know anyone when we can't even interact with each other? Eye contact with strangers makes us uncomfortable. We don't know what to say to one another in the elevator. Instead, we whip out our phones to text someone rather than actually speak to the person standing right next to us. We are too afraid of rejection to actually call someone we're interested in, so we send the ever profound "hey!" message. When people call us we respond by looking at the screen and saying "that's weird why is Mary Lou calling me?"

It's all so depressing. I really enjoy people watching, but lately there hasn't been much to watch. I look out the window of my local coffee shop, and all I see are people looking at screens. Men standing at bus stops, texting someone. Women walking in pairs down the street, but not talking to each other. No, that would be awkward. They're both looking at their phones.

From an evolutionary standpoint, things do not look good. Eventually we're going to loose the ability to be successful in social functions. We'll have to carry around screens and keyboards in order to communicate with other people. Avoiding eye contact will result in some crucial misreading of social cues. We'll never make any new friends. We're becoming a selectively mute autistic society, and I'm scared for our future. NE Ways. G2G. TTYL

La-La La La La

Location: I-84
Mood: Ridiculously Nostalgic

While driving home from my parents house this Christmas evening, I was struck with a random high-school memory. It is the type of memory that everyone has. The one that assures everyone that this particular period in their life is supposed to be absurd.

I think that the memory occurred because I was noticing all of the cars on the freeway in the rain, and I was wondering what portion of them were headed for The Grotto. *The Grotto* *The Grotto* *The Grotto*
(Why yes that was a fading echo narrating the transition into the memory)

It was mid December. It's Oregon, so that means it was raining. I was in my family's Subaru Outback with my former best friend, and my wankster boyfriend. We were on our way to one of my choir's numerous holiday performances. This particular one being at The Grotto. I don't know what we were talking about, but it was most likely something important that would cure the world of all it's problems. This potential world peace solution was never fully realized however, because Kelis - Milkshake came on the radio, and we went biserk.

Teenage pandemonium broke out in that station wagon. Two teenage girls began to sing at the top of their lungs, and dance in their seats. I don't remember how the guy reacted entirely, but I do remember him spurring a lively debate when he said, "have you seen this music video? Gurl is ugly. Her milkshake definitely would NOT bring me to the yard."

This led me to ask a number of very naive questions such as: Who is this? What's a milkshake? Where is this "yard"? Why does she want the boys to go there?

It would be years before I answered most of these inquiries, but apparently the memory of rocking out to Milkshake before a holiday choir concert in one of Portland's most sacred places will stick with me forever.

The Logical Heroes

Location: My Room

Mood: Sleeping

This is a story about a dream I had last night. Bare with me, because I'm not sure if I can accurately describe it. Dreams are difficult to describe, and this one meets that expectation perfectly.

I'm driving through the streets of East Portland on my scooter (no I don't actually own a scooter, but apparently I do in dreamland...it's blue and white), and I'm followed by my friend of 10 years, Rob, on his.

It must have just rained because it was crisp outside, and the roads were slick. In the dream I feel like I'm being perfectly safe, but the me outside my dream, the me watching my dream, that me...she disagrees. I am zig-zagging back and forth in the lane. It's so extreme that I'm nearly horizontal every time I shift my weight to alter the lean. I'm darting in and out of traffic, and Dream Mindy is having the time of her life. Dreaming me is petrified that she's going to die, and Rob agrees with her.

He's shouting at me, "slow down Mindy! Be careful!" He's (rightfully) worried I'm going to crash.

That's when I crossed over I-84. In this world, the road just ends after you do that. I reached the end of the road, and slide-stop my scooter (you know hockey style). A couple of minutes later, Rob stops besides me. He begins to berate me for my reckless driving.

"Rob, calm down," I say. "I got us here didn't I?"

Just then, the perspective pans up to capture what can only be described as a Wildlife Safari style Rain Forest Attraction. It's set up like a tree house, and I'm unclear if it's a hotel, or just a tourist attraction thing. Whatever it is, (whether it's overnight or not) we're going there.

When we cross the threshold, we are immediately immersed in an actual Tropical rain forest tree house. It is at this point that the real me (who is asleep and watching this whole experience) realizes that this is not just regular Rob and Mindy. We're kids; somewhere between 8 and 10 years old. Apparently, we have chosen to spend the day darting around East Portland on our scooters, and then experiencing a genuine tropical rain forest that appears with no adult supervision.

After I realize that the juvenile Rob and Mindy are not simply exploring this habitat, I begin to fear for the outcome of this dream.

The tree house we have entered is loosely made of bamboo, and every room is open to the environment. Each room, or pod, is connected by a low hanging flimsy rope bridge. Most rooms are low and only inches above a bog which is infested with malicious swamp creatures.

The animals are not caged as you would imagine. In fact, they can (and typically do) come right up into the tree house. Nefarious looking simians swing on vines in and out of each pod taking what they will, and throwing what they won't. There is some kind of anaconda/alligator/shark type animal that lives in the bog below. Not only does this creature appear smart, but it seems to be aware that it is in an artificial habitat and is not happy about it. It begins to express it's anger by snapping at the children as they cross the bridge. It even gobbles up a couple.

Some monkeys swing into one of the rooms, and start physically attacking the children in there. I'm talking hair pulling, biting, eye-gouging, the works.

Rob and I look at each other. We then immediately scan as much of this environment as we can see (it appears to be an entire world now) for adults. We do see two employees in an adjacent room, but they are fending off some strange dream rain forest animals similar to hyenas. The hyena-things have worked as a team to disassemble some of the rope structure, and wrap it around the only adults. They are now attempting to force them into the bog where a giant piranha type animal is licking it's lips in anticipation.

Dream Mindy is terrified. Dreaming Mindy is trying to wake up. We both look to Rob for protection. Good thing too. Apparently he has a solution up his sleeve.

We're both huddled in a bedroom corner. Rob turns to me and says, "Don't worry. I know just who to call." Seconds later who appears but..........

Underdog and Quail Dog. They scare off the animals momentarily. Underdog screams "There's no need to fear, Underdog is here!"

At this moment everyone, (Rob, Dream Mindy, Dreaming Mindy, and the asinine canine saviors) realizes that we have not actually been saved. We have only angered the swamp thing below.

This is when I wake up.