December 3 – Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors).
We had a garden last summer. A big garden, and half of it did well...the summer squash and green beans went crazy. I had no idea how satisfying it would be do grow our own food and eat it immediately. Admittedly, my husband did most of the growing and tending, but I cooked what he harvested.
At one point during the summer, I was also house-sitting for two friends who had a garden. I harvested a few tomatoes while I was over there watering, and they had an amazing mess of herbs growing on the patio. I grabbed some thyme, basil, oregano, and marjoram from their herb garden to accompany the tomatoes. The only herbs we were growing were basil and cilantro. The cilantro grew with gusto. The basil not so much.
We had some summer squash, zucchini, and green peppers from our garden, as well as two tiny heirloom eggplants and a few more tomatoes. We also had onions and garlic on hand (not from our garden, but grown locally and purchased at the farmers market). Thus, I had a pile of vegetables, most of which had been harvested within the last 24 hours, and they were the perfect pile to make ratatouille.
Have you seen the movie Ratatouille? If you love food, you should see it. If you have already watched it, you should be familiar with the scene that my husband and I refer to as "The Ratatouille Moment," wherein the bitter food critic bites into the lovingly crafted dish and is immediately transported back to his mother's kitchen from his childhood. It makes me cry every time. Every time.
I decided to make ratatouille, which I had never made before. I sauteed the onions, added the garlic and peppers, then the squash and eggplant, and finally the tomatoes and herbs (except for half of the basil that went in right before serving). I let it stew for about 20-30 minutes and added a generous drizzle of olive oil, a splash of balsamic vinegar, and a sprinkling of salt and pepper when I plated it. I served it with crusty olive bread from a local bread shop. The mix of colors on the plate was beautiful. The smell was divine.
When I took that first bite, it was a flavor explosion. I was overcome with bliss. I was filled with such joy that this perfect dish in front of me--a little taste of heaven--came from our humble garden and the garden of friends.
All that energy, captured in this lovely, simple creation. It filled my soul to the brim. It made my pagan heart sing.
It was a plate full of summer. A plate full of childhood. A plate full of hope. A plate full of love.
It tasted just like the sun. It tasted like life.
Showing posts with label Reverb10. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Reverb10. Show all posts
Friday, January 07, 2011
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
Writing
December 2 – Writing. What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it? (Author: Leo Babauta)
The thing that I do each day that doesn't contribute to my personal writing (i.e. this blog) is that I spend a lot of time aimlessly trolling Facebook and obsessively checking email. I have ideas that I'd like to write about, but they seem overwhelming and like it would take too much time to write them "perfectly". One thing that I am doing to overcome this is using prompts to focus my topics and my energy. I also worry that no one is reading and that I am wasting my time. I have to remind myself that the process is what matters and that I should be writing first and foremost for myself.
With regards to my professional writing, I fail to stick to a schedule. When it comes to writing journal articles and technical papers, "inspiration" is far less important than perspiration. The best way to get writing done is to make a schedule and stick to it, and not let other people steal this time. I get caught up in meetings and talking with colleagues and students when I should be writing. I had a schedule last semester, and was very productive for the three weeks I actually stuck to it. I have put a schedule into my calendar for this semester, and I AM GOING TO STICK TO IT. I will close my office door and write. I'm going to guard this time as if it was class time. I always find time to teach. I don't fail to show up to lecture because I got distracted by something else. I don't miss meetings. I need to be as committed to my writing time as I am to the time I have committed to others. I am sitting on piles of data from several studies that no one will ever know about it if I don't write the articles. Doing research is fun. I've learned to love analyzing data as well. The writing part is not fun for me, but the rule in academia is publish or perish. I'd rather not perish.
The thing that I do each day that doesn't contribute to my personal writing (i.e. this blog) is that I spend a lot of time aimlessly trolling Facebook and obsessively checking email. I have ideas that I'd like to write about, but they seem overwhelming and like it would take too much time to write them "perfectly". One thing that I am doing to overcome this is using prompts to focus my topics and my energy. I also worry that no one is reading and that I am wasting my time. I have to remind myself that the process is what matters and that I should be writing first and foremost for myself.
With regards to my professional writing, I fail to stick to a schedule. When it comes to writing journal articles and technical papers, "inspiration" is far less important than perspiration. The best way to get writing done is to make a schedule and stick to it, and not let other people steal this time. I get caught up in meetings and talking with colleagues and students when I should be writing. I had a schedule last semester, and was very productive for the three weeks I actually stuck to it. I have put a schedule into my calendar for this semester, and I AM GOING TO STICK TO IT. I will close my office door and write. I'm going to guard this time as if it was class time. I always find time to teach. I don't fail to show up to lecture because I got distracted by something else. I don't miss meetings. I need to be as committed to my writing time as I am to the time I have committed to others. I am sitting on piles of data from several studies that no one will ever know about it if I don't write the articles. Doing research is fun. I've learned to love analyzing data as well. The writing part is not fun for me, but the rule in academia is publish or perish. I'd rather not perish.
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
One Word
I started and then dropped the ball on Reverb 10. I also didn't realize that I was supposed to sign up to participate. Oops. However, I like the idea and the prompts so much that I'm going to start with the December 1st prompt and (eventually) work my way through them, even if it's a little late and takes far longer than a month.
There was the year that the disabled friend went home (and we were no longer friends), I got a Master's Degree, I got pregnant, we bought a house, my father got in a motorcycle accident and spent 6 weeks in the hospital (and we didn't think he was "coming back") and my brother-in-law committed suicide (2006). There was the year I had my first (and currently only) child (2007). There was the year I finished my dissertation, moved to North Dakota, and started my first real job (2009). Compared to these other years, 2010 doesn't seem to be very filled with change.
I thought about other words to describe the last year: Turmoil. Anguish. Relief. Acceptance. Awe. Community. Satisfaction. Contentment.
Turmoil and anguish when I thought my marriage might end. Relief than my marriage didn't end. Acceptance of my husband for who he is, my career for what it is, my family for who they/we are, my son for who he is, and myself for how I mother. Awe that I could fall in love again--with my husband, my child, my career. Awe that I could trust--other people and myself.
I found community where I least expected it, and for the first time in my life feel truly connected to the people who live within a 5 mile radius of me. I specify the distance because I feel connected to other women for sure--you crunchy mamas and besties know who you are--but all were/are so spread out from each other that it's hard to physically connect. Here, we've had spontaneous potlucks with neighbors. Last summer, there were several days where we just threw together whatever we all had to contribute to dinner and we ate at the picnic table that sits between our front yards. I have people to watch my son in a pinch that I trust and they live on my street. We spent Christmas dinner at a friend's house. She and her husband are (were?) journalists and their son is grown. Theirs is the same house where we celebrated Thanksgiving. She was delighted that I brought the boy to Christmas dinner in his pajamas, and that she had a little boy and a grown boy at the same table. I was delighted to feel like I have a soul family here. I go out with the people in my department because we genuinely like each other. We go to drag shows some nights and have research meetings (with wine!) other nights. One of my good friends and mentors is a (gasp) Republican, but I respect him because he's neither crazy nor mean-spirited (i.e. fiscal conservative, social liberal) and we can have conversations about politics that actually make sense where I feel like I've learned something. Plus, we both LOVE to cook and talk about food and we bring in leftovers to work to share with each other now and then. The person who is probably my best friend is a single mother and colleague who I thought hated me until I realized she was just reserved...until you get to know her. We go to drag shows together and write papers together. Our sons have birthdays two weeks apart (her son is actually a leap-year baby born on February 29th and mine is a Valentine's baby), and we're having a joint birthday party this year. I am totally stoked!
My father and his girlfriend came to visit and I actually introduced them to some of my friends, instead of being ashamed of my roots. This community looks nothing like the community I envisioned when I was younger. That community involved lots of property and trees and free-spirits (and pot! lots of pot!) and people with ideas and opinions just like mine. I know that I am not the only one thinking about community and what it is and isn't what we thought it could and would and should be. This community is made of people who disagree with one another but still respect each other. It is neighbors clearing snow for each other. It's neighbors coming over, literally, to borrow a cup of milk or sugar. It's a neighbor who is watching my son texting me to tell me stay out with my husband as late as we want and the boy can just sleep at her house since he's watching Muppet Babies with her kids and half asleep on the couch already. I never lived in a real neighborhood growing up. My parents didn't have regular friends that came over. We were very closed off from other people. This life, my neighbors, this town, is what I saw on TV when I was younger and wondered why I didn't have it. I actually get choked up about it sometimes.
I gain satisfaction through the work I do and the students I teach. I am content because this family my husband and I have created is not without its quirks and challenges, but it is beautiful and fun and crazy and we laugh a lot and sometimes yell and I have learned so much more about myself than I ever thought possible. I have loved so much more than I ever thought possible.
Perhaps the word that best sums up this year, for me, is change after all. Not because there were big external changes like jobs and moves and marriages. Not because there were changes that would be noticed by an outside observer. This was a year of change for me because I changed on the inside. I worked, for real this time, to cast away old relationship patterns (though they sneak up sometimes), to cast away old grudges (for the most part) and to cast away the notion that I can "fix" other people. I stopped feeling guilty for being happy and I cast away the burdens of what an "ideal" mother does. It feels good.
Prompt (December 1st):The first word that came to mind was change but then I reconsidered. There have been many years in the last decade that brought with them more change than 2010. There was the year I got divorced, started graduate school, and moved four times during my first four months as a graduate student (2002). There was the year I met my dear husband and my doggie soul mate died (2003). There was the year I got married and then cared for a friend who moved in with me after she was left disabled in car accident on her way to my wedding (2005). For the record, that was a disaster and it ruined our friendship. Sometimes, trying to do the right thing turns out to be the wrong thing for everyone involved.
One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you? (Author: Gwen Bell)
There was the year that the disabled friend went home (and we were no longer friends), I got a Master's Degree, I got pregnant, we bought a house, my father got in a motorcycle accident and spent 6 weeks in the hospital (and we didn't think he was "coming back") and my brother-in-law committed suicide (2006). There was the year I had my first (and currently only) child (2007). There was the year I finished my dissertation, moved to North Dakota, and started my first real job (2009). Compared to these other years, 2010 doesn't seem to be very filled with change.
I thought about other words to describe the last year: Turmoil. Anguish. Relief. Acceptance. Awe. Community. Satisfaction. Contentment.
Turmoil and anguish when I thought my marriage might end. Relief than my marriage didn't end. Acceptance of my husband for who he is, my career for what it is, my family for who they/we are, my son for who he is, and myself for how I mother. Awe that I could fall in love again--with my husband, my child, my career. Awe that I could trust--other people and myself.
I found community where I least expected it, and for the first time in my life feel truly connected to the people who live within a 5 mile radius of me. I specify the distance because I feel connected to other women for sure--you crunchy mamas and besties know who you are--but all were/are so spread out from each other that it's hard to physically connect. Here, we've had spontaneous potlucks with neighbors. Last summer, there were several days where we just threw together whatever we all had to contribute to dinner and we ate at the picnic table that sits between our front yards. I have people to watch my son in a pinch that I trust and they live on my street. We spent Christmas dinner at a friend's house. She and her husband are (were?) journalists and their son is grown. Theirs is the same house where we celebrated Thanksgiving. She was delighted that I brought the boy to Christmas dinner in his pajamas, and that she had a little boy and a grown boy at the same table. I was delighted to feel like I have a soul family here. I go out with the people in my department because we genuinely like each other. We go to drag shows some nights and have research meetings (with wine!) other nights. One of my good friends and mentors is a (gasp) Republican, but I respect him because he's neither crazy nor mean-spirited (i.e. fiscal conservative, social liberal) and we can have conversations about politics that actually make sense where I feel like I've learned something. Plus, we both LOVE to cook and talk about food and we bring in leftovers to work to share with each other now and then. The person who is probably my best friend is a single mother and colleague who I thought hated me until I realized she was just reserved...until you get to know her. We go to drag shows together and write papers together. Our sons have birthdays two weeks apart (her son is actually a leap-year baby born on February 29th and mine is a Valentine's baby), and we're having a joint birthday party this year. I am totally stoked!
My father and his girlfriend came to visit and I actually introduced them to some of my friends, instead of being ashamed of my roots. This community looks nothing like the community I envisioned when I was younger. That community involved lots of property and trees and free-spirits (and pot! lots of pot!) and people with ideas and opinions just like mine. I know that I am not the only one thinking about community and what it is and isn't what we thought it could and would and should be. This community is made of people who disagree with one another but still respect each other. It is neighbors clearing snow for each other. It's neighbors coming over, literally, to borrow a cup of milk or sugar. It's a neighbor who is watching my son texting me to tell me stay out with my husband as late as we want and the boy can just sleep at her house since he's watching Muppet Babies with her kids and half asleep on the couch already. I never lived in a real neighborhood growing up. My parents didn't have regular friends that came over. We were very closed off from other people. This life, my neighbors, this town, is what I saw on TV when I was younger and wondered why I didn't have it. I actually get choked up about it sometimes.
I gain satisfaction through the work I do and the students I teach. I am content because this family my husband and I have created is not without its quirks and challenges, but it is beautiful and fun and crazy and we laugh a lot and sometimes yell and I have learned so much more about myself than I ever thought possible. I have loved so much more than I ever thought possible.
Perhaps the word that best sums up this year, for me, is change after all. Not because there were big external changes like jobs and moves and marriages. Not because there were changes that would be noticed by an outside observer. This was a year of change for me because I changed on the inside. I worked, for real this time, to cast away old relationship patterns (though they sneak up sometimes), to cast away old grudges (for the most part) and to cast away the notion that I can "fix" other people. I stopped feeling guilty for being happy and I cast away the burdens of what an "ideal" mother does. It feels good.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
New Name
Prompt for December 23: New name. Let's meet again, for the first time. If you could introduce yourself to strangers by another name for just one day, what would it be and why?
I like my name and think it suits me. But there is another name that I adore.
When I was finishing up my dissertation, I was so overwhelmed and out of my mind that I couldn't write at home. I couldn't write in my office either. Both of these places had become triggers for waves of anxiety that I couldn't overcome. So I wrote in a coffee shop. Not just any coffee shop. Certainly not a coffee shop that was close to my house. I wrote at my favorite coffee shop: Lux. I used to live a short walk from Lux when I first met my dear husband, so it is a place of great memories for me. It was a 30+ minute drive from my house in Mesa, but it was conveniently located next door to what may be the best sandwich shop in Phoenix (Pane Bianco). My mother took a few weeks off from her job to come to Arizona and watch the boy so that I could successfully achieve the impossible. I would go to the coffee shop early in the morning, find a spot, and plant myself there for several hours. Thus, the final days of my dissertating were fueled by outstanding lattes, delicious sandwiches, and fresh baked delights.
Those final days were also fueled by music. I liked writing there because the music was typically LOUD, which would normally be a distraction. In this case, it was loud enough to suppress my crazy so that I could work. Notably, the album that seemed to be a big favorite with the baristas at the time was a Rolling Stones best hits album that included Mother's Little Helper. This was significant to me, because I was bombed out of my mind on the Little Helper's more modern cousin, clonazaSHAZAM!.
One of the baristas kept calling me by a particular name. At first I didn't correct her, but then I finally smiled and told her what my name actually is. She was shocked, because she so thought that this other name was a perfect fit. I asked her how she would spell it.
Aeryn.
What a delightful name! I couldn't see myself as an Erin, but by golly, Aeryn was a different story altogether. Very elfin. Very magical.
I would never take this name for myself, though, because if I ever have a daughter, this name belongs to her. This would be especially meaningful since my brother's middle name (that he chose for himself when he was 7 or 8) is Aaron.
I hope I get to bestow this name some day.
I like my name and think it suits me. But there is another name that I adore.
When I was finishing up my dissertation, I was so overwhelmed and out of my mind that I couldn't write at home. I couldn't write in my office either. Both of these places had become triggers for waves of anxiety that I couldn't overcome. So I wrote in a coffee shop. Not just any coffee shop. Certainly not a coffee shop that was close to my house. I wrote at my favorite coffee shop: Lux. I used to live a short walk from Lux when I first met my dear husband, so it is a place of great memories for me. It was a 30+ minute drive from my house in Mesa, but it was conveniently located next door to what may be the best sandwich shop in Phoenix (Pane Bianco). My mother took a few weeks off from her job to come to Arizona and watch the boy so that I could successfully achieve the impossible. I would go to the coffee shop early in the morning, find a spot, and plant myself there for several hours. Thus, the final days of my dissertating were fueled by outstanding lattes, delicious sandwiches, and fresh baked delights.
Those final days were also fueled by music. I liked writing there because the music was typically LOUD, which would normally be a distraction. In this case, it was loud enough to suppress my crazy so that I could work. Notably, the album that seemed to be a big favorite with the baristas at the time was a Rolling Stones best hits album that included Mother's Little Helper. This was significant to me, because I was bombed out of my mind on the Little Helper's more modern cousin, clonazaSHAZAM!.
One of the baristas kept calling me by a particular name. At first I didn't correct her, but then I finally smiled and told her what my name actually is. She was shocked, because she so thought that this other name was a perfect fit. I asked her how she would spell it.
Aeryn.
What a delightful name! I couldn't see myself as an Erin, but by golly, Aeryn was a different story altogether. Very elfin. Very magical.
I would never take this name for myself, though, because if I ever have a daughter, this name belongs to her. This would be especially meaningful since my brother's middle name (that he chose for himself when he was 7 or 8) is Aaron.
I hope I get to bestow this name some day.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Travel
I just started the Reverb 10 writing prompt "online initiative." They send a writing prompt every day, and you write about it. I found out about it through Sweet and Salty's blog.
The prompt for December 22 is:
Travel. How did you travel in 2010? How and/or where would you like to travel next year?
I'm not sure how to define "travel"? Is it only travel if I sleep somewhere else for a night? Or perhaps if it would have been advisable to sleep somewhere else for a night? Is there a certain distance from my house that counts as travel? I'm not sure. We drove to Fargo to go to the charming Red River Valley zoo several times during the summer and early fall. Does that count? Feels like a road trip--an hour on the highway. But I feel like the threshold for "travel" should be higher, though I have to tell you that I LOVE those trips to the zoo and they feel like an adventure because we get to go to the (very small but relatively large compared to Grand Forks) CITY of Fargo. We'd go down a little early in the day to hit the Mexican market that serves chorizo and egg, or potato and egg, or egg and cilantro and tomato tacos. We'd sit out front of the store and scarf them down, and then head to the zoo. I call the weekends "Family Days" with the boy to set them apart from school days as something special. And to remind myself that they are something special.
With regards to more travel-ish travels, I flew to Las Vegas in January for the Society of Personality and Social Psychology conference. It's the big conference for my field. It was nice because I got to see many of my friends from graduate school--both those who graduated before me and those who were still students. Vegas, however, was overwhelming. Next time (if ever) I visit there, I need a firm plan for what to do with my time, otherwise I just walk around confused. It doesn't help that I was trapped in bit of an existential funk while I was there. And five days may be a tish too long for me to spend in Vegas. A three-day max is probably advisable.
A few things really stand out about that trip. First of all, my husband and I were having some serious problems at that time (i.e. he was being a moody prick), and I was having a complete and total (self-absorbed, melodramatic) identity crisis. While in Vegas, over drinks and cigarettes with my friend Steph, I told her about everything that was going on and that I was thinking about seeing a therapist. She said, "do it," and then proceeded to tell me about how she almost lost her shit one year in grad school, saw a psychiatrist, took meds for awhile, stopped the meds when she was better, stopped seeing the shrink a little later, and now she's fine. She said it was really nice to talk to someone. End of story.
Y'all know I have a degree in psychology, right? I mean, not a clinical degree (I can't counsel people, nor would I really want to). I don't deal with disorders, and I'm not going to analyze you (any more than I would have analyzed you before I got a degree, anyway). I'm more interested in how people's thoughts, feelings, and behavior are influenced by other people, and how we navigate our social worlds. Rather than making me more likely to seek help, my psychology background actually makes me incredibly distrustful of the profession. I am not a therapy virgin--I saw a psychologist several years ago, and it was largely unproductive. That was largely due to the fact that I didn't want to change.
When I went bonkers during my dissertation, I saw another psychologist (who I LOVED LOVED LOVED) for a few visits. I wish I could have kept seeing her, but 1) we were moving and 2) she works for the university and her role is really to be a short-term crisis intervention specialist.
As I said, I was not a therapy virgin, but to go and talk about my marriage? And really talk about me? And be truthful? And really try to change the maladaptive behaviors that had become so familiar (and suffocating)? To talk about my father and alcohol (because alcohol was fueling many of our problems and my personal problems)? THAT was an entirely different story.
But because of Steph, when I got home, I called our Employee Assistance Program and went to see a counselor. She had a degree in social work. She briefly mentioned Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing as an option for my anxiety, and I forgave her for it. (There is no empirical evidence that it is any more effective than other, less pyramid-schemey types of therapy and it's essentially just a fancified version of exposure therapy; I may not be a therapist but I know what good science is.) I didn't even tell her that EMDR is bullshit because I liked her. She was a good listener and she asked good questions and I felt good, or at least better, when I left her office.
Here's a dirty little secret about therapy--most forms of therapy are about as effective as any other type of therapy. Within reason. Some of it's just total bullshit, of course. Sometimes the therapy is solid but the therapist sucks. Sometimes you're going to feel better after time passes, regardless of whether you get therapy. For serious disorders some treatments are ABSOLUTELY better than others. Schizophrenics don't respond well to talk-therapy, but many DO respond to drugs well enough to be functional. For most existential crises and relationship snafus, however, it's generally the showing up that matters. It's the telling your story and hearing it fall from your lips to a stranger who asks hard questions that matters. It's the FINDING your story and finding your PLACE in the story that matters.
After a few visits, I hauled my husband and I into a different counselor's office (because you can't see the same counselor as a couple that you see solo) and we went for two visits and that was really all it took to get us back on track. It wasn't a magic fix, but it was the little bit of elbow-grease we needed to get unstuck.
The Vegas trip was also noteworthy because as I was flying out of Vegas, I could see the desert landscape, dusted with snow in the high altitudes, and I started crying. I was so homesick for the desert. Even now, that memory takes my breath away. I kicked myself for not renting a car and getting OUT into the desert for a day while I had the chance.
The third reason that the trip was meaningful is because I was socializing with my grad school friends from the other side of the glass. That invisible barrier that separates grad students from faculty was made real for the first time. Their worries about the unknown land of JOBS were not my worries, and I felt relieved to be on the other side. I still have plenty to worry about, and I worry about jobby stuff all the time. But I've actually been through the interview process and I have actually worked as a professor and no one has figured out I'm an impostor yet. Or if they have figured it out, they don't say anything because they are all impostors too :) I have one less unknown to obsess about.
The next further-away-than-Fargo trip I took was to drive to Minneapolis in April. I left home early in the morning, drove to Minneapolis, spent $400+ at Trader Joe's, packed it all into the car, and drove home. I count this as travel even though it was not an overnight trip. You may say THAT'S CRAZY and tell me that my shopping trip was "expensive". I am here to tell you that even with the gas money and car maintenance costs, it was still fiscally responsible because food is kind of pricey here, and good food is either non-existent or ridiculously expensive. Also, you cannot put a price on the joy that comes from a pantry full of TJ's goodies. The JoJo's cookies were almost worth the trip by themselves. God I love those things. I also bought $100 in soy milk that would have cost closer to $200 here. I don't drink soy milk anymore, but it was a big win at the time.
I logged 10 hours of driving that day. Totally worth it. And I actually love to drive, so it was really nice to just be by myself, in the car, with my music, for an entire day. Spring was springing and it was a nice adventure. Plus, TRADER JOE'S, folks...We don't have one here. Oh, you have no idea how much I miss it.
In June, I traveled to my friend Sean's wedding. Sean was one of my best friends through high school and into college. We met at band camp and both loved jazz. He played guitar, and he was good at it. Hell, we both loved music, period. At band camp, we would sneak off to smoke cigarettes together. Once we got to college, we smoked pot together. A lot of it. We *may* have tried other things too. Maybe. I won't admit to anything, but I might wink at you.
We used to get stoned and drive out on backroads in his jeep listening to Bob Marley. I used to stay at his parents house on Wednesday nights because he and I had an early morning class and I lived 45 minutes away. He took Women's Studies courses in college before he dropped out. He loved that class. We would talk and laugh our asses off hours into the night. I think he was in love with me, but I didn't realize it until years later. I loved him too, but thought we weren't really compatible. I now realize we totally were, but I just didn't know what was really important at the time.
I hated his fiance--now his wife. I hate his life. I visited him a couple of summers ago and was appalled by his lifestyle. People coming in and out all hours of the night. Too much beer. Too much heavy metal music. Too much of her histrionic personality. Too little ambition. I felt a little guilty, because I wondered if he might have been something "more" if we'd become something more. I wanted to visit him again, especially since I was in Phoenix and he was in Prescott and that's a nice little day trip. But honestly, I didn't want to ever be in a room with his lady friend ever again if I could help it.
When he told me he was getting married, my heart sunk. But I bought a plane ticket and went because I love him.
The wedding was at her parents house (a trailer, but to be fair it was a nice trailer on a large plot of land) and featured guests with white power tattoos, someone in a top hat who I think may have been schizophrenic, a lot of canned beer, Led Zeppelin wedding vows, a bunch of religious stuff even though I have NEVER heard him say a word about Jesus Christ in our 17 years of friendship, a potluck, and no soap in the bathroom for washing hands. Seriously? How do you not make sure that there is soap in the bathroom for a wedding? I didn't stay for the potluck.
When I arrived, I felt out of place because I didn't know anyone. Soon, I felt out of place because I didn't WANT to know anyone. I couldn't wait to get out of there. I felt lucky that I escaped to something better. It sounds snobby, but it's how I felt. Lucky.
As I watched him, I realized he was happy and that he loved her. I realized he was happy with his life. I was happy that he was happy and also relieved that he wasn't really "trapped" in any way. She has a son by someone else, and I had worried that maybe he was doing this out of some sense of duty. Nope.
His happiness also made me feel terribly sad because I knew that the fact that he was happy with this and with her meant that we lived in totally different worlds now. I cried when I drove away (after lying about having to return the rental car that night so that I could leave immediately without feeling bad). I cried because I didn't know if I'd ever have a reason to see him again. And I cried because it's true--you can't go home again. I've known this for years, but it felt like the final link to my adolescence was severed.
We debated traveling for Christmas this year, but I really wanted to be in our home for Christmas. This will be the first year that we didn't spend Christmas morning with my in-laws. I love them. Truly, truly, love them. And Christmas at their house is AWESOME especially when all of Hym's siblings come home. I come from a small family that was always grouchy on Christmas, so experiencing Christmas at their house makes me feel like a kid again. But the boy is almost four and I really wanted to do our own thing this year. I looked into flights that would be before or after Christmas (we are blessed to have an Allegiant route from here to there), but they weren't nearly as cheap as the flights that would have kept us there over Christmas.
I am homesick and I miss my family and I miss the desert. But I am also joyous that we will have our own little family Christmas this year, to start our own traditions and celebrate our beautiful life here. It's the first year that we've gotten a tree, and every time I look at it I am filled with comfort and delight. It smells good. There is snow here. I don't think I've ever had a white Christmas... What a treat!
I didn't address the second part of the question about travel in the upcoming year. I'm okay with that.
The prompt for December 22 is:
Travel. How did you travel in 2010? How and/or where would you like to travel next year?
I'm not sure how to define "travel"? Is it only travel if I sleep somewhere else for a night? Or perhaps if it would have been advisable to sleep somewhere else for a night? Is there a certain distance from my house that counts as travel? I'm not sure. We drove to Fargo to go to the charming Red River Valley zoo several times during the summer and early fall. Does that count? Feels like a road trip--an hour on the highway. But I feel like the threshold for "travel" should be higher, though I have to tell you that I LOVE those trips to the zoo and they feel like an adventure because we get to go to the (very small but relatively large compared to Grand Forks) CITY of Fargo. We'd go down a little early in the day to hit the Mexican market that serves chorizo and egg, or potato and egg, or egg and cilantro and tomato tacos. We'd sit out front of the store and scarf them down, and then head to the zoo. I call the weekends "Family Days" with the boy to set them apart from school days as something special. And to remind myself that they are something special.
With regards to more travel-ish travels, I flew to Las Vegas in January for the Society of Personality and Social Psychology conference. It's the big conference for my field. It was nice because I got to see many of my friends from graduate school--both those who graduated before me and those who were still students. Vegas, however, was overwhelming. Next time (if ever) I visit there, I need a firm plan for what to do with my time, otherwise I just walk around confused. It doesn't help that I was trapped in bit of an existential funk while I was there. And five days may be a tish too long for me to spend in Vegas. A three-day max is probably advisable.
A few things really stand out about that trip. First of all, my husband and I were having some serious problems at that time (i.e. he was being a moody prick), and I was having a complete and total (self-absorbed, melodramatic) identity crisis. While in Vegas, over drinks and cigarettes with my friend Steph, I told her about everything that was going on and that I was thinking about seeing a therapist. She said, "do it," and then proceeded to tell me about how she almost lost her shit one year in grad school, saw a psychiatrist, took meds for awhile, stopped the meds when she was better, stopped seeing the shrink a little later, and now she's fine. She said it was really nice to talk to someone. End of story.
Y'all know I have a degree in psychology, right? I mean, not a clinical degree (I can't counsel people, nor would I really want to). I don't deal with disorders, and I'm not going to analyze you (any more than I would have analyzed you before I got a degree, anyway). I'm more interested in how people's thoughts, feelings, and behavior are influenced by other people, and how we navigate our social worlds. Rather than making me more likely to seek help, my psychology background actually makes me incredibly distrustful of the profession. I am not a therapy virgin--I saw a psychologist several years ago, and it was largely unproductive. That was largely due to the fact that I didn't want to change.
When I went bonkers during my dissertation, I saw another psychologist (who I LOVED LOVED LOVED) for a few visits. I wish I could have kept seeing her, but 1) we were moving and 2) she works for the university and her role is really to be a short-term crisis intervention specialist.
As I said, I was not a therapy virgin, but to go and talk about my marriage? And really talk about me? And be truthful? And really try to change the maladaptive behaviors that had become so familiar (and suffocating)? To talk about my father and alcohol (because alcohol was fueling many of our problems and my personal problems)? THAT was an entirely different story.
But because of Steph, when I got home, I called our Employee Assistance Program and went to see a counselor. She had a degree in social work. She briefly mentioned Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing as an option for my anxiety, and I forgave her for it. (There is no empirical evidence that it is any more effective than other, less pyramid-schemey types of therapy and it's essentially just a fancified version of exposure therapy; I may not be a therapist but I know what good science is.) I didn't even tell her that EMDR is bullshit because I liked her. She was a good listener and she asked good questions and I felt good, or at least better, when I left her office.
Here's a dirty little secret about therapy--most forms of therapy are about as effective as any other type of therapy. Within reason. Some of it's just total bullshit, of course. Sometimes the therapy is solid but the therapist sucks. Sometimes you're going to feel better after time passes, regardless of whether you get therapy. For serious disorders some treatments are ABSOLUTELY better than others. Schizophrenics don't respond well to talk-therapy, but many DO respond to drugs well enough to be functional. For most existential crises and relationship snafus, however, it's generally the showing up that matters. It's the telling your story and hearing it fall from your lips to a stranger who asks hard questions that matters. It's the FINDING your story and finding your PLACE in the story that matters.
After a few visits, I hauled my husband and I into a different counselor's office (because you can't see the same counselor as a couple that you see solo) and we went for two visits and that was really all it took to get us back on track. It wasn't a magic fix, but it was the little bit of elbow-grease we needed to get unstuck.
The Vegas trip was also noteworthy because as I was flying out of Vegas, I could see the desert landscape, dusted with snow in the high altitudes, and I started crying. I was so homesick for the desert. Even now, that memory takes my breath away. I kicked myself for not renting a car and getting OUT into the desert for a day while I had the chance.
The third reason that the trip was meaningful is because I was socializing with my grad school friends from the other side of the glass. That invisible barrier that separates grad students from faculty was made real for the first time. Their worries about the unknown land of JOBS were not my worries, and I felt relieved to be on the other side. I still have plenty to worry about, and I worry about jobby stuff all the time. But I've actually been through the interview process and I have actually worked as a professor and no one has figured out I'm an impostor yet. Or if they have figured it out, they don't say anything because they are all impostors too :) I have one less unknown to obsess about.
The next further-away-than-Fargo trip I took was to drive to Minneapolis in April. I left home early in the morning, drove to Minneapolis, spent $400+ at Trader Joe's, packed it all into the car, and drove home. I count this as travel even though it was not an overnight trip. You may say THAT'S CRAZY and tell me that my shopping trip was "expensive". I am here to tell you that even with the gas money and car maintenance costs, it was still fiscally responsible because food is kind of pricey here, and good food is either non-existent or ridiculously expensive. Also, you cannot put a price on the joy that comes from a pantry full of TJ's goodies. The JoJo's cookies were almost worth the trip by themselves. God I love those things. I also bought $100 in soy milk that would have cost closer to $200 here. I don't drink soy milk anymore, but it was a big win at the time.
I logged 10 hours of driving that day. Totally worth it. And I actually love to drive, so it was really nice to just be by myself, in the car, with my music, for an entire day. Spring was springing and it was a nice adventure. Plus, TRADER JOE'S, folks...We don't have one here. Oh, you have no idea how much I miss it.
In June, I traveled to my friend Sean's wedding. Sean was one of my best friends through high school and into college. We met at band camp and both loved jazz. He played guitar, and he was good at it. Hell, we both loved music, period. At band camp, we would sneak off to smoke cigarettes together. Once we got to college, we smoked pot together. A lot of it. We *may* have tried other things too. Maybe. I won't admit to anything, but I might wink at you.
We used to get stoned and drive out on backroads in his jeep listening to Bob Marley. I used to stay at his parents house on Wednesday nights because he and I had an early morning class and I lived 45 minutes away. He took Women's Studies courses in college before he dropped out. He loved that class. We would talk and laugh our asses off hours into the night. I think he was in love with me, but I didn't realize it until years later. I loved him too, but thought we weren't really compatible. I now realize we totally were, but I just didn't know what was really important at the time.
I hated his fiance--now his wife. I hate his life. I visited him a couple of summers ago and was appalled by his lifestyle. People coming in and out all hours of the night. Too much beer. Too much heavy metal music. Too much of her histrionic personality. Too little ambition. I felt a little guilty, because I wondered if he might have been something "more" if we'd become something more. I wanted to visit him again, especially since I was in Phoenix and he was in Prescott and that's a nice little day trip. But honestly, I didn't want to ever be in a room with his lady friend ever again if I could help it.
When he told me he was getting married, my heart sunk. But I bought a plane ticket and went because I love him.
The wedding was at her parents house (a trailer, but to be fair it was a nice trailer on a large plot of land) and featured guests with white power tattoos, someone in a top hat who I think may have been schizophrenic, a lot of canned beer, Led Zeppelin wedding vows, a bunch of religious stuff even though I have NEVER heard him say a word about Jesus Christ in our 17 years of friendship, a potluck, and no soap in the bathroom for washing hands. Seriously? How do you not make sure that there is soap in the bathroom for a wedding? I didn't stay for the potluck.
When I arrived, I felt out of place because I didn't know anyone. Soon, I felt out of place because I didn't WANT to know anyone. I couldn't wait to get out of there. I felt lucky that I escaped to something better. It sounds snobby, but it's how I felt. Lucky.
As I watched him, I realized he was happy and that he loved her. I realized he was happy with his life. I was happy that he was happy and also relieved that he wasn't really "trapped" in any way. She has a son by someone else, and I had worried that maybe he was doing this out of some sense of duty. Nope.
His happiness also made me feel terribly sad because I knew that the fact that he was happy with this and with her meant that we lived in totally different worlds now. I cried when I drove away (after lying about having to return the rental car that night so that I could leave immediately without feeling bad). I cried because I didn't know if I'd ever have a reason to see him again. And I cried because it's true--you can't go home again. I've known this for years, but it felt like the final link to my adolescence was severed.
We debated traveling for Christmas this year, but I really wanted to be in our home for Christmas. This will be the first year that we didn't spend Christmas morning with my in-laws. I love them. Truly, truly, love them. And Christmas at their house is AWESOME especially when all of Hym's siblings come home. I come from a small family that was always grouchy on Christmas, so experiencing Christmas at their house makes me feel like a kid again. But the boy is almost four and I really wanted to do our own thing this year. I looked into flights that would be before or after Christmas (we are blessed to have an Allegiant route from here to there), but they weren't nearly as cheap as the flights that would have kept us there over Christmas.
I am homesick and I miss my family and I miss the desert. But I am also joyous that we will have our own little family Christmas this year, to start our own traditions and celebrate our beautiful life here. It's the first year that we've gotten a tree, and every time I look at it I am filled with comfort and delight. It smells good. There is snow here. I don't think I've ever had a white Christmas... What a treat!
I didn't address the second part of the question about travel in the upcoming year. I'm okay with that.
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