Shapes

LOVE YOURS!! There's no changing it. Not really. The world is full of interesting and beautiful shapes. An apple may wonder what it's like to be a tree once in awhile. A pear may look at a Coke bottle with envy. But the shapes do not, cannot, will not change. Thank goodness. Shapes are wondrous. Your shape is your boundary, the space you carve out so uniquely. The images here are merely types. You are more than a "type". You are a shape with its own name, original lines and curves that defy "types". Love your shape.

In Passing

I have been asking this question ever since I can remember asking questions inside my head without voicing them aloud: what is the appropriate response/behavior on my part as I pass someone on the sidewalk? At 31, I still don’t feel entirely natural when I try to smile at strangers without inviting unwanted attention—but I also don’t feel comfortable avoiding eye contact. Then I just look scared.
What do you do? Please post a comment describing your experience and how you respond when others look at you a certain way in passing. I just think it’s a fascinating sociocultural study.

The Creature Behind the Wall

This is what my life has looked like recently:



Literally, I had to re-caulk the tub in one of our bathrooms. I think I did an okay job, considering who I am. Not good with my hands, always rushing to do things without reading the directions carefully, easily frustrated, etc. But I managed to apply what I believe to be a nice seal around the tub. Not a perfectly straight line, but a nice seal.

Here's the problem:



This is the shower in my other bathroom. The one I use everyday. I took off the old caulk and found cracks in the stone around the base of the shower. So I stuck my blow dryer in there in an attempt to dry any excess water before I applied the new caulk.

After leaving the stall alone for two days, there is still water. Seeping out ever so slowly from behind that wall, insidiously wetting the very area I am trying to cover and protect. And, I'm afraid, ominously but quietly revealing a much bigger problem behind the wall. Can you say toxic black mold?

Who knows, maybe the problem is not as serious as I'm fearing. But...maybe it is. And I'm just waiting for the sealant in that first bathroom to come off as the water that's probably behind that wall makes its escape too.

Now that this is beginning to sound like a sermon illustration, you can probably guess that I'm not just talking about caulking. (Hee hee...)

This blog sometimes feels like the first picture: a nice patch job. A do-it-yourself remedy for feeling down about my looks. A feel-good sealant that gives me the illusion of wholeness and health, and looks pretty on the outside. I feel like I have done something productive, something that will stop mold from growing.

But what's really behind it? When everything gets stripped away and I am faced with that second picture, I have to admit that this is not a quick fix. It's not even something I can do by myself, no matter how many "how to" books I read or tools I buy at the hardware store. The problem is not on the surface, though that certainly needs to be cleaned up. The problem is deep. That flow of water doesn't need to be dried with a hair dryer just enough for me to cover it with sealant. It needs to be completely evaporated from inside the wall, and I may even need to have someone come in and take whole sections out, replacing them with new and toxin-free material.

I started this blog as a way to process my self-image issues. But after all thus time, I still have deep-seated insecurities and sadness about myself as a person. And I have to admit that the problem is significant enough to require more help than I was prepared to ask for.

I was recently diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder. Moderate, they're calling it. "Moderate" is just one level down from "severe". I balked at this diagnosis at first. Depression? Me? I know I have anxiety, but I don't sit around and cry all the time.

It turns out that depression can look different in different people. Who knew? For me, apparently it looks like constantly feeling inadequate, guilty, and deserving of punishment just for being myself. I see myself as a failure. This goes beyond self-image issues. This is something that requires doctors, medication, therapy...and prayer.

But I feel hopeful. This is like the good feeling I have when I peel away moldy caulk that I know is polluting my environment, even in a small way. It's disgusting, but it feels so good to strip it off and watch it get tossed into the garbage. It feels so good to rinse mold and mildew down the drain forever. It feels so good to wipe my kid's nose and know that he can breathe better. As gross as it is.

So I cringe at having to face this inner toxic mold, but I also know that I didn't cause it. We live in a world where mold grows and brain chemistry gets out of balance. It can be treated and often remedied, but it can't just be patched up.

On the ending of...

(http://www.abandonedamerica.us/)

Lying in ruins
is this once
proud
witness to a commitment
of love and faith.

People gathered
to be caught up
in the song.

Love evident,
joy ambient,
care given
and peace received.

This cannot be enough
when even one grows
weary.
Lays down
a tool or a perspective,
unthinking,
for a moment
of rest.

Then the crows come
in.

How deep
did we dig?
How often did we check
the walls
for proper thickness,
the fabric for proven
and impermeable
protection?

A crumbling
that cannot be dammed will
damn
this shelter, this home.

A week without dusting,
a month without filling in
holes.

A short lifetime
of watching this
beauty erode.

Yes, there is beauty
in the abandonment
of veneer,
of surface perfection.

But there is not
beauty
in the laying
to waste
of a sacred place.

Mending and tending,
this short lifetime
will be work.
The work of restoration.
A lasting work
for us who need
shelter.

Obsession With Nothing

A couple days ago my sister forwarded me a link to this video:



Good Hair Day with Jennifer Aniston.
(www.livingproof.com/goodhairday)

Apparently there is a project in the works to collect women's stories about how they see themselves. This project is sponsored by a company that sells styling products and is endorsed by a celebrity whose hairstyles over the years have inspired millions of ordinary women all over the country to rush to their local salon and demand a look that matches hers.

The company purports to be all about boosting confidence and finding creative solutions to hair problems. And, as it turns out, the project is actually a contest. You get to submit your story about your own hair obsession and perhaps win a day with Jennifer Aniston...and get a haircut by her stylist.

Encouraged by my sister, I entered the contest. Yes, I did. I sent in this picture:


and I wrote this about my hair obsession:

My hair obsession began when I lost my hair five years ago to alopecia universalis. I never had great hair before, and I didn't have the tools or the confidence to do much with it. Once I lost it all, I realized how much hair had to do with my sense of femininity. I think we are obsessed with our hair not because we are women, but because we have been told that hair is a sign of vitality, sexual freedom, and popularity. We are obsessed with hair because it's one of the most salient features of our body. It is our crown. It is a sign of health and having the means to take care of yourself and pamper yourself. I try to deny that I care about not having hair, but I buy long scarves and try to drape them over my shoulder like hair. I haven't been comfortable in wigs, because I truly aim for integrity and loathe the feeling of being "fake". So my obsession is about how others view me due to my lack of hair. I have accepted my loss, yet I long to have what I think men desire.

I encourage you to enter this contest. Not just to meet Ms. Aniston, but to provide a multitude of perspectives on what beauty means to women all across the spectrum. I always think these contests end up misrepresenting women, because usually the ones who enter are women who want to meet a celebrity and get 15 minutes of fame. I could be wrong. But if a more eclectic smattering of women share their stories, perhaps we really can start to poke holes in the cultural narratives about beauty and the way women see themselves and desire to be seen. A cursory look at the other entries does show a great deal of diversity, but it doesn't hurt to add a little more. Or a lot more.

A Day Like Yesterday

Yesterday was my favorite day of the year so far. And this is why:



It was finally spring. I planted my little flowers in my box just in time for my perfect weather day. I'm a little obsessed with weather. Not like the "checking the weather report every five minutes and reading books about how tornadoes form" kind of obsessed. My obsession really is not about the weather but about my mood. I'm obsessed with my mood.

I feel the most comfortable on a day like yesterday. It was 61 degrees but it felt like 70. The sky was a bright gray and smelled like rain and fresh mulch all day. Not cold and rainy, not sweltering hot...just perfect. The kind of day when I can sit on my deck and read a book without feeling guilty that I'm not out riding a bike or playing at the beach. The kind of day where I can walk around my neighborhood without my toes freezing or my umbrella turning inside out.

The kind of day that matches my nearly perpetual mood. Not threatening, not exuberant, not oppressive. A little on the melancholy side but with a lightness that delights in remembering and looks ahead with realism.

And there are certain activities that I only like to do on these days where I truly feel like myself. Reading, eating and watching movies immediately come to mind, although yesterday was far more productive than I imagined it would be. But there are other things, like shopping for a used novel or playing through a new piano book, that can only be truly and fully enjoyed on a day like yesterday. Oh I can do these and a number of other activities on any given day, but there is something deeply satisfying to me about a slightly melancholic day, when I am both propelled out to small accomplishments and lulled to my room for soul-rest.

Hot, sunny days make me a bit anxious. I feel this pressure to get out and enjoy the weather, when really I'm not an outdoorsy person. I get headaches from the heat, I hate getting sunburns, I'm afraid of deep water, I don't have a bike, and I am terrified of competitive sports.

Cold, dark winter days are cozy, but tromping through snow and getting kids in and out of sopping clothes lost its charm for me years ago. Not to mention the fact that it gets dark at 4:30. Darkness on that level oppresses the mind.

So a drizzly spring day really is the best. I hope for a long spring full of these days.

What's your favorite weather? When do you feel truly at peace with your environment?

Spring Cleaning

The Big Switch.

That day when I decide the weather has gotten warm enough to dig my shorts and tank tops out of storage and pack away my sweaters and down jackets. A day which, incidentally, I always regret a week later when the temperature has dropped back down to sweater weather.

Regardless, I love this day. Not as much as I love getting my sweaters back out in the fall though--just a personal preference. But I love the springtime switch too, because it brings with it a freshness that promises new beginnings and long days. I find bright colors that, like me, have been sleeping all winter. I get to wake up, finding energy in bright pinks, oranges and blues.

And inevitably I find shorts that I wore last year but suddenly look like they came straight from 1992. I find blouses that I hang in my closet every year and have, to my sudden realization this year, only worn once. I find skirts that look too frumpy this year, scarves that inexplicably don't match anything in my wardrobe, and dresses that I find myself embarrassed to recall wearing last summer for a number of reasons.

These clothes get (finally) tossed in the donation bag. Some of these items have nearly ended up in the bag year after year, but somehow I hang on to them one more year. Then, one year, it's just time for them to be gone. No question.

I find that fascinating about myself. I wonder if it's true for all of us.

I hang on to things, people, places and ideas for so long--and then, one day, I'm ready to let go. And I wonder why I held on so long. I am suddenly ready to move on. I just wasn't ready before, although I can't articulate how or when or why my hands (mind, heart) finally opened.

What are you holding on to, not quite able to toss into the bag yet? What did you finally let go of this year, this week?

Is there anything that needs to be purged for this new season of your life?

Spring is

spring is something catching
your eye
opening to possibility
a peek of purple
a corner of bare earth
revealing
an invitation.

spring is foreplay.
the waiting
the slow touches
buds tantalizingly split
open flowers
pushing gently then harder

finally unable to wait
spring is letting go
waking up
one morning to avenues
lined with so many shades of green
I can only name
a fraction
lime, emerald, bright...
and here I lose words
only a sense of covering
a warm and comfortable
exhale
after the burst
from death to life
first tentative
then hungry