Happy Ending?

In advance: forgive how this rambles...if it does...

Today we celebrated a 60th wedding anniversary. Seriously, 60? Yes. 60. I am amazed, and was honestly brought to tears watching those two together today. The husband is a man that taught my father (and takes great pride in that fact) and that I have grown to love as a grandfatherly sort. He is truly amazing as a human being. His wife is one of my favorite residents. She has a debilitating illness and rarely even knows what day it is. She doesn't know who I am, though I see and talk to her every day, and she doesn't recognize her children. But when her husband comes in, her face lights up and, she smiles. She KNOWS who he is. And it's breathtaking to behold that kind of love. I honestly feel blessed to have even been in the presence of that kind of love.

And of course that got me thinking about all the things that I love. There are lots of things that I love. I love Red Bull. I love a great glass of wine with really crappy TV. I LOVE a kick-ass pair of heels. I love writing. I love reading (anything). I love laughing. I love pearls (so chic). I love lipgloss and French manicures. I love my trinity knot toe ring. I love collecting items for an apartment that I don't have. I love anything that sparkles and glitters.

There's plenty of things absent from the above list...live music, meeting bands, spirituality, road trips, Twitter, playing in the rain, Blue Moon Honey Moon beer...I could literally blog for hours on end about all the things that I love.

Things. I began thinking as I was thinking (this happens to me frequently) and I realized that everything listed is...a thing. There is not a person nor a place listed. All the things I chose to list were just things. And while they certainly are things that I love...I'm a bit disheartened at this list.

So then I went on to the next part. The who I love. My family. The close few friends. And then I realized how desperately lonely I am for a relationship. And how I have been for some time. I've just been ignoring the loneliness and masking it with other emotions. But today after watching this couple who have spent 60 years of their lives together as a couple...I couldn't hide myself from the all consuming empty feeling I had about not being in a relationship. So...what to do?

There is the easy answer. Go to a bar and hook up with someone. Not fulfilling and I am not much of a bar scene lady. So that's out. Join dating sites online. I've joined one before...no success nor even any interest in it. And as I realized that I had no interest in the whole online dating thing...I realized that I also have no interest in dating. Anyone. At all.

Because I do love someone. There is a person that I love. I had a totally Cher moment from Clueless. I was "totally butt crazy in love" with this person. He's been in front of me since January of 2009...and it took until July 2010 for me to realize that THIS man is my person.

And while I'm on the subject...let me declare that when I say my "person" I don't know exactly what I mean by that. I just know that there is such a raw, organic, almost primal reaction to just the thought of him from my heart and soul that I've never experienced with anybody before. Ever. I think I thought I knew what love was. No...I KNOW that I thought I was in love. This man...transcends love and passes right into my very being.

I've been through more with this person emotionally than I have with the closest of my friends and family. We've been through loss and personal triumphs. Growth and regression. We've shared pieces of ourselves that we didn't know existed until the other brought it out. We have shared our lives for nearly a year and a half and yet...I have never seen him in person. I have never breathed the air that he is breathing. I have never held his hand. But I love him more than I have ever even considered it possible to love another human being. In all honesty (as I said before) I don't think I've ever been in love. Real, authentic love takes respect, and trust, and honesty...things severely lacking in my previous "serious" relationship.

So...if I'm not interested in anyone but this man...and he lives on a different continent...what do I do? I mean...this is crazy. But they say life is crazy. I think that an Anne Lamott quote sums up my situation perfectly.

"When God is about to do something wonderful, He or She starts with a hardship. When God is going to do something amazing He or She starts with an impossibility." - Anne Lamott

And while I'm at it there's a quote from a Hannah Montana song that keeps floating around in my head (and yes I KNOW I'm 26)

"They say that good things take time, but really great things happen in the blink of an eye..." God bless that Miley Cyrus.

Honestly, this whole thing started slowly...but got serious quickly. And I can genuinely say that our meeting was by pure destiny. We did not meet on a dating site, neither one of us was searching for a life partner. And neither of us were ready for one either...but life doesn't always wait for one to be "ready" all the time. At the same time is there ever such a thing as "ready?" I mean most of the time we want to wait...we hesitate. We pause. We're careful. And I'm definitely one of the most guarded and careful people I know. I have walls. I have trust issues. I have a sense of self on my good days and on others I just float around and fake it (pretty damn well if I do say so myself). But this man...the love I feel for him...it surpasses the hesitation. It ends the pause. It ignores the "what ifs." It crumbles the walls I've spent years building. It makes me realize that life isn't going to just stop while I assemble the pieces of us fitting together. I have to figure out how to do that with what I've got RIGHT now. I lose all sense of "reality" when this person floats around in my head. I live in a world where anything is possible and a life filled with love is an inevitability. Happily ever after isn't just a line from a fairytale.

And Miley Cyrus tells me that great things just happen. And Anne Lamott tells me that the best and greatest things begin with impossibility. Let's face it...this relationship is nothing but impossibilities. I am in Iowa. He is in Ireland. I am damn near homeless. I have no clue what to do with the rest of my life. As a matter of fact...a month ago I wasn't even sure I was going to have a life. And yet I find myself, today, rambling about the fact that I can't live without this person. Let's call him...Mr. Spark. Because Mr. Big is too cliche and everybody does Mr. X.

I don't know what my future is going to look like. I don't know where I see myself in ten years. But I do know that somewhere in there my fairytale with Mr. Spark is waiting. And that one day, my prince will come...and if I'm lucky we'll sit in chairs one day and tell the young kids taking care of us how we made it to our 60th.

Still here.

I re-read my blogs recently. Every single one of them. And it seems I tend to "think" a lot. And then start my blog by saying so. Really...this thinking could be termed obsessive analysis of my life. Lately, I've been doing a lot of the "big" analysis stuff. The really heavy, hard to deal with things. And I've also been reading a lot. The last book I read (highly fantastic if you have an interest in the Celts, or broadening your spirituality) was Anam Cara by John O'Donohue. "Anam cara" is Gaelic for soul friend. I plan on having this tattooed under my trinity knot on the back of my neck in the near future. For...if the book left me sure of nothing else...the Holy Trinity is certainly my deepest and most trusted soul friend.

Anyway, I also had a seemingly random novel pop into my head and I re-read the short story that spawned the novel. Flowers for Algernon popped into my head whilst playing "No Sleep till Brooklyn" by the Beastie Boys on Guitar Hero: World Tour (obviously these two things are COMPLETELY related...note sarcasm). It turns out...after extensive and obsessive analysis that while the Beastie Boys and the novel were unrelated...the fact that this particular novel just appeared clear as day in my head was not a random occurrence.

I find frequently, few things in life really are just random happenings. I've always claimed to be a believer that things happen for a reason. Since moving to Iowa, I really am a believer. However...I am still not a TRUSTer that this is true. For me, belief and trust hold two such different implications that I can't lump them into the same category. I believe in God. I trust in God. I believe in the resurrection of the body...but I don't necessarily trust this. Make sense? I believe when people tell me that they'll change...but I'll trust it only when I see changes start to occur. If you're still not understanding this it's probably cause it doesn't make sense.

Anyway. I pride myself on the amount of spontaneity that I am comfortable living with. The truth of the matter is...I'm scared to death about the fact that I have no "plans" for the rest of my life. Or even the rest of this month. But I not only believe, I TRUST, that I'm being led down a path that will bring me ultimately happiness and contentment. A very wise person recently wrote in an e-mail to me:

Don't worry about where you are in life right now. I had the exact same thoughts and issues when I was there, and it's something I still struggle with. Just keep pushing and fighting for yourself and I promise things will work out. Always remember that sometimes we have this idea in our heads of what the perfect situation is or should be, and it turns out that what actually works best is something you never even dreamed of. Just continue to remember that as long as you keep fighting for it, good things will come.

And since I trust this person with my life...I'm going to trust this advice. And you know what a happy coincidence is? I believe it too. However...the above advice, while trusted and sound, makes me a bit uneasy. Perhaps it's the word "fight." I'm intentional about my language and I don't like the idea of fighting for anything. I know that's a word used frequently when talking about "getting places" and "achieving goals," but I prefer....meander. So I'll keep "meandering" for myself and "meandering towards" good things coming my way. See that's one of the things that the whole anam cara concept revolves around.

The Celts have a beautiful regard for the symbolism of the circle. And I think that perhaps that's why I have always felt more at home with the image of a Celtic cross as opposed to a traditional Christian cross. In the book, O'Donohue writes that the circle intersects the pain and loneliness of the cross literally encircling this image in eternity and soul. He says it better than I just did, but I love the idea that there IS beauty in the cross even though it's usually quite a gruesome image. That's not the point here though. The point is simply the circle. The author continually drives the reader to come to an understanding that life, while often thought of as a journey, really isn't. Because we are soul and body (and his theory...with the Celts...is that the soul is NOT in the body but the body is IN the SOUL) life is really more of a homecoming. We "journey" outward towards those things which we think will bring us to our "home," when really...we were born at home inside of ourselves. And it isn't until death when our soul is freed from body that we truly realize we ARE and always have been home. Great then, is the man/woman who can begin to "journey" around self only and still live a full life.


It is in this frame of mind that I am embarking on the next part of my "journey" home. I have blogged about returning to the great old East Coast. And some parts of me want nothing more than to live in the "real" world again. In all honesty though, I've made Iowa a very real part of my life and there are some possibilities here that I want to explore to the fullest before heading...somewhere. And since I can take comfort in the fact that I am already home...it's just choosing a physical location at this point. And I figure my good old anam cara will help out with that. Either by a subtle nudge or a giant shove. Whichever works (I tend to need the damn shove...and then a push after that...followed by a kick in the ass).


So anyway. The reason for all the reading and the analyzing and the constant criticism comes down to the fact that I am lonely. And as luck would have it...there's a whole theme in the Celtic wisdom book on loneliness being friend rather than foe. It's not a new concept to me. I understand the "love yourself before you can love others" thing. And I know that for me, I really do need to take some time out and look deep inside myself and do some great healing before I can commit to any other person in any true sense. Still...that doesn't help when I'm hugging a stuffed animal at night or wanting to go see a movie and hold someone's hand (to be fair during scary movies or particularly sentimental ones....The Last Song...Caitlyn will let me hold her hand). What does help is that sometimes God senses this loneliness and gives us somebody that we need. And in God's ever humorous way...I've been given someone that has helped ease the loneliness. Somebody to journey with, even if it's only for a bit...and it's not at all what I thought I was looking for. Still...it's better than nothing.


And that whole Flowers for Algernon thing? I think that came to me...and keeps coming to me...to remind me that ultimately all the knowledge in the world is not going to "get" me to my place or lead me to the person I want to be. This can ONLY be achieved through actual living. Through pain and suffering, joy and laughter. Through trial and through play. It is Charlie who taught me a great deal about myself and forced me to take a look, not at who I am...but at who I was. There's a great line in a song by The Format (now re-formed and re-grouped as fun. for those interested) that says "when I said I hate what I'd become, I lied I hated who I was." That line has ALWAYS jumped out at me. I've been saying for the past...10 years that I hate what I've become. This isn't true. I hated the person I was for the past 10 years. And I acted like it. And because of this damn novel about a really super smart mouse and a retard...I finally realized that. It's a very freeing thing to be able to type that I don't hate who I am. I hate who I was. And I am no longer the person I was 10 years ago. Or 10 months ago. Or even 10 days ago. I may have her eyes and her smile, her tears and her tattoos...but I am not the same person. And Charlie and Algernon made me remember that there is a difference between wisdom and knowledge. And the worlds between the two are like my ideas of belief and trust. They are literally in different universes of truth for me.


So I write today, liberated of the woman I was. Not yet knowing the woman I am. And praying for the woman I will be. And I know that I carry them all inside of me, and I hope one day they all learn to like each other (or this is going to be a long 60ish years...). I write today, attempting to forgive myself for dishonoring and mistreating the person I was. I write today trying to love who I am at this moment. I write today as lonely as one can possibly be...but with a contentedness about my solitude. I write today for the men and women that did not make it through their self-hatred and struggles alive to give their being another chance. I write today for those lives that have been lost to hopelessness and despair. I write today for those who were in too much pain to hold on. And I write today, for all of those that will forever wait for Monday...

"And Unique Eyeballs are...Looking"

I generally blog...as I just mentioned...when I have some piece of me to throw out into the interweb's abyss and maybe get somebody thinking. Or get it out of my head so it's not in me anymore. Or perhaps get some feedback. I don't really know why I choose to blog when I do. I just write on this thing when so moved.

And this morning is one of those times. It is my first day off in 2 weeks. I have worked for the last 13 days straight...and when one is feeling as desperately lost as I...getting in to work AND providing care to others...for 13 days with NO break...was...well...nothing short of miraculous. I continued putting one foot in front of the other. Breathing. And making it through each day...some days by the skin of my teeth...but I'm still ticking. And I have been being told by those people that I reached out to for help what I need to do with my life now in order to reclaim it and make myself happy. I understand some of these people mean well...some are just attempting to look nice for show. And the ones that do have their heart in the right place...I sincerely appreciate it...but it's like...shut the hell up already. You have no idea what I'm going through. If you've never heard the song "Welcome to my Life" by Simple Plan...do yourself a favor and listen to it. I'm serious. Go youtube it this second then come back to the blog. I'll wait...I can be patient.

It's one of those heart-breakingly sad but amazing songs. Because you hear it and think "that's me" and then you realize that you don't feel so alone. The thing about music that I think I find comforting is that...unlike people...music doesn't talk back. When I listen to the song and it stirs up whatever it does in my head...the song doesn't quip back "well that's not how you should feel" or "that's not what I was talking about" or "well I would do this." Music never faults you for letting you feel. It is simply a silent friend that holds you in it's arms and envelops your being when there's nobody else that can...or wants to anymore. Because you've worn out your welcome. And you're inconvenient. And "we've done this so many times before..." Anyway, back to this idea of feeling like "that's me."

People are always saying "oh I completely understand" or "I know what you're going through" or 1,000 other variations of the sentiment "I've been there..." whatever. And sometimes you reply with "no, you don't" audibly...sometimes you just scream it in your head. When I've been on the other side...the "I've been there" sayer...I was always frustrated when somebody would shake their head...but lately I've come to realize that it IS an honest and legitimate reply, not just an angry cliche. You most likely really DON'T know what somebody else is feeling. Because you have not lived his/her life. You may have shared some experiences, some feelings, and some of the same thoughts. But nobody has lived YOUR life...except you. Even your identical twin (if you happen to be reading this and have one) has not lived YOUR life. So now every single time I hear someone say "I know exactly how you feel" or "I've been right where you are before," I want to punch them in the face. I no longer think...."they mean well." Because if they did, then maybe they'd shut up about themselves for long enough to at least TRY to understand how I really do feel. Instead of just assuming that their experience is the same and that since they're okay I'll be okay.

I was recently told...by someone who I'll grant anonymity to even though this person really doesn't deserve it...that I was no longer Christian. To be fair to this person, I brought the subject up by saying that I was really struggling with my faith. However, the sentence that followed was...and I quote "yeah, the way you've been acting lately I really don't think you are (Christian) anymore." I was first pissed, then shocked, then inquisitive. So I asked why this person thought this, because I happen to know that this person has taken issue with faith as well. The reply was along the lines of having feelings of ending life is against the will of God and nature and that any REAL Christian would never even consider it because Christians trust God in everything. I fancied up the actual message...it was not said that eloquently (and my version was not by any means eloquent).

So...I let that piss me off for a while. And then I did a lot of Bible reading. I read the whole gospel of Luke (my personal favorite), a ton of Proverbs (my go to book), Song of Solomon, and of course the good old Psalms. And I continued reading the book I've been working on about ancient Celtic wisdom and spirituality. I realized...I wasn't questioning whether I was Christian...I was questioning my own faith.

And I believe there is a profound difference in the two. Faith alone does not make one Christian. There are so many facets of Christianity that I feel like anyone who hasn't at one point struggled with their faith...is actually...unfaithful. That's a personal opinion and I apologize if it has offended anyone reading this...but I mean...Job...anyone? God likes tests. And challenges. But we aren't allowed to challenge God back? I think not. Anyway, the person who said this to me...well...struggle for this person is not an intellectual activity. Ever. Especially in matters of the church. This person knew neither the Lord's Prayer nor that there was a difference between denominations beside the physical building and location. On a non-church note we had a discussion yesterday in which this person asked whether the shortening of because to 'cause was the same cause in, for example, cause of death. Intelligence level illustrated enough? So...I suppose I should have just taken this "you're not Christian" comment with a grain of salt from the beginning. But it really shook me.

I guess even with as much as I've been questioning every single part of who I am and what I do and why I do it and if I want to do it anymore...the one question that never concerned me had to do with my Christian identity. If nothing (and I really think there is NOTHING left at this point) I had that identity. In fact, it's so much a part of me that I don't even feel the need to identify it when I "label" myself. This is not to say that I haven't had my issues with God, or the church, or the Bible. I have more things that I don't know than I do. I have more questions than answers...but for some reason when it comes to faith...I find that almost comforting. I don't think I'm meant to know and understand everything. And if I took everything that was said at church or in a religious discussion at face value and just blindly believed (as sadly many do) then...I don't think I would have "real" faith. I would have that superficial "I believe" faith. I'm starting to sound like an asshole. I know not everybody feels the need to question...some take comfort in just knowing. That makes me uncomfortable but faith is deeply personal. I mean...I'll challenge the crap out of that person...but I'll never mock them for not needing or wanting to question the answers.

Anyway...so this got me back to the whole "I know how you feel thing." It's like assuming that your view of Christianity is the same as the person who is sitting next to you in the pew...because...you're at the same place for presumably the same reasons, right? Hell no. The person sitting next to me may have come because they would feel bad if they didn't, or maybe that's why I came. Maybe they came because they're struggling and seeking, maybe they came because after service there's a free meal. It doesn't matter. What matters is that that person is there and you can't assume that you know why. Or that you know that person.

Ultimately, I think that's what motivated this writing. I'm tired of people assuming they know me. And my problems and struggles. Listen, we all have our own burdens to bear. We were all raised differently. We all took our educations (or lack thereof) through our own lens. We all hear with our own ears. There's an Honor Society "Gentlemen's Club" (their web shorts...hilarious if you're looking for a time killer) that does this infomercial ("the merging of information and mercials") about mone (not money). And they keep talking about "unique eyeballs." It's a funny short because it has no point and it's just hilarious...especially for those of us that 1) love Honor Society and 2) frequently stay up late watching infomercials cause you can't sleep.

Anyway...the truth is...my eyeballs are unique. Yours are too. And I know you no better than you know me. I do NOT know your battles. You do not know mine. Stop assuming you do. I don't care who are...if you care about me (or somebody else that this blog makes you think about...or hell your "neighbor" or fellow human) QUIT ASSUMING YOU KNOW. You don't. There are experiences that we, as human beings share. Birth, school, work, relationships, growing up...but from there it's a free for all. And we all experience what we do share in our own very private and personal ways. I have seen things in a way that nobody before me has and that nobody after me will. I promise to remind myself that I can never assume someone's feelings...I can only listen. And I think that sometimes there's more healing in the silence of listening than there is in parroting back a list of why everything will be fine. Or what should be done to "be okay." Sometimes, it's okay not to be okay. Okay? To the people who read this who have silently listened and done nothing but take in my thoughts...I thank you. That's support. And to those who have told me what the hell to do, how to do it, and that they know what I'm going through...SHUT UP. You don't, you never will...and it's okay to not know. The honest truth is that when somebody is just lost and confused and hurting and sad...it's hard to sit with that uncomfortableness and just be with that person. Or just ask "you doing okay?" and be prepared to hear "no" and leave it at that. That's hard. I do know that. But sometimes, that's sincerely all that you can do.

So again...to those that offer their silent prayers on behalf of my unique eyeballs...I thank you. Your prayers may have saved my life. To those that "understood" and "corrected the problem..." kindly blow it out your ass. You did nothing but make my situation worse. Sometimes humans go looking for advice, sometimes we don't. Sometimes the ONLY thing we want to hear is "wow, that sucks and I'm sorry it's happening to you." And sometimes the only thing that we need is an embrace. A physical touch with no words attached. Which is why music (and Caitlyn) have now become my besties. Pain has been an emotion I've been dealing with for a long time...and I've struggled in the past with abandonment issues. When the two merged this week...Holy shit. Literally. So I'm handling what life is dealing out alone this time. And life is about to deal me one hell of an interesting hand...and we'll see how that goes (I predict not well...I'm preparing for all out war). Point is...I'm doing it. I'm here. Some days I hate it. Some days I hate everything. Some days I take the wrong body wash into the shower with me and instead of shrugging my shoulders I sit on the floor of the shower and sob for 15 minutes. But I'm here. And that's about all that I can ask for at this point.

I guess there comes a point in everybody's life where they realize that the key players in their life are...well...players. And everybody is human. And it sucks realizing that because sometimes you desperately needed to believe differently to stay alive. But the truth is...everybody is human. Unless Jesus is walking around among us again...then there's somebody out there that's divine as well as human and still I feel like if Jesus is back he's more human than divine...and I've lost my train of thought again. The fact is...there are moments in life that can not be taken back. Life is really just a series of moments strung together...Christ can you tell I've worked 13 days straight and not been sleeping? Anyway. What I think I'm trying to say is that at the end of the day only you can live your life. And you can only do that with the information you have, the support (or lack thereof) you have, and the faith you carry. And it's okay that nobody else "gets it." And sometimes it's okay to not be okay. Okay?

"A Little Bit Longer and I'll be Fine..."

"The most loving parents and relatives commit murder with smiles on their faces. They force us to destroy the person we really are: a subtle kind of murder.” - Jim Morrison

I don't know who reads this blog. I have a suspicion that very few people actually do, however, if you read this and you DO know me...you know I love The Doors. I love Jim Morrison. I do. Everything about him. His voice, his poetry, his unabashed and unapologetic freedom to be himself completely. There are some people that even know I have this little theory of Jim as a modern day Jesus figure, or at the very least a prophet...but we're not getting into my theological stance on Jesus and the prophets at the moment. And if you knew none of this about me, you do now.

When I began this blog it was...a journey. I didn't have a specific purpose in mind. It was not meant to catalog my experiences in Iowa. It wasn't necessarily even meant to have a point really. Under the title it says "ramblings..." and that's really all this blog was meant to be. Ramblings and musings on my experiences based on where and how I was raised, to transitioning half a country from my "home," to family that I really don't know. The ONE thing I promised myself (on behalf of any readers I may have) was that this blog would never be a place where I took my dark thoughts. Sure, deep, depressing, sad, upsetting thoughts may creep in. That's inevitable. But I always wanted to have a positive spin on things...or at least have a hope that whatever situation or issue I took to this blog there WOULD be a hopeful and at least semi-positive lesson to take away. I promised myself I would never post a blog that was nothing but dark.

Read the quote at the beginning again.

And as Owen Wilson in "The Darjeeling Limited" would say "please forgive this."

As previously mentioned I am a fan of the Doors. And an avid reader...hand it to me...I'll read it (unless it's an instruction manual then it gets tossed...ooops). Anyway, so I read a biography on Jim. This quote was featured in a section detailing his family life. I won't bore you with the details of his family life, but I will say that when interviewed as a successful musician about his parents, he would answer that "they were dead" (they were NOT dead in case you didn't get the fact that the relationship was...tense to say the least).

So I read this quote during college thinking to myself...wow it's so awesome that I have parents that support me. How terrible to be so hurt and ashamed of your own family that you would rather just pass them off as dead than discuss them. My parents...we've had our ups and downs...but they never forced me into being somebody that I'm not. This does not mean I didn't get nudges here and there and attempts at re-directing my steps...but I NEVER got shoved into anything that I was adamant I did not want to do. As a matter of fact, my parents stressed the need to "find myself" and "make my own path." I blame the '80s and Maslow for this whole being a unique individual, self-actualization thing. Honestly, there's a part of me that takes issue with Morrison for his part in this "be yourself" crap.

Fine...I'll grant you...it's not crap. In fact since high school one of my favorite sayings has been "in a world where you can be anything, be yourself." And I always was. Let's start with this journeying thing. My parents encouraged and supported nearly every whim I had as a child. Ballet? Of course. Theater classes? Why not. Soccer? They coached (other kids mainly cause, I probably played in ONE actual game...I liked socializing on the swing set more than soccer...). The main bullet point here is that my parents backed everything I did. And I gave them more than one "parent's worst nightmare" stops along my path to myself. Perhaps the ex-boyfriend who was 18 years older than me was one example of this plan to support MY journey making them want to pull their own hair out. Still...they allowed it (not without a fight) but I was told that I had to make my own mistakes, be my own person, follow my own destiny...all that.


So before we continue this rant on why I now regard with contempt the freedom to be myself...let's delve into who Ashley CB is. Some of you know. Most of you don't. Some of you think you do...and again...most of you don't. That's mainly cause I've never had a DEFINITE identity. I've spent 26 years searching. I've been a girlfriend, a lover, a friend, a student, a sister, a daughter, a rebel, a sinner and a saint...but I've never fit neatly into one category. I'm always that person that idolizes The Doors and My Chemical Romance but goes to Jonas Brothers concerts (willingly and excitedly). The person who wears a Sinful (it's a clothing brand skulls and all) hoodie to a church service. The preacher in sparkly heels (that ISN'T Joyce Meyers) speaking on living simply. The business degree holder who hates cubicles and copy machines. I'm the odd ball. Always have been. Perhaps that's my one category...the weird one. The one who won Best Personality female in a class of over 500, but is truly one of the world's most introverted people.

Anyway. So that's a little glimpse into me. If there is ONE and only ONE thing that I've always known about my identity it's that if nothing else I was unapologetic about who I was. That is by no means saying I've always been comfortable in my own skin, in fact, a good part of my life I've spent trying on every possible role on because I haven't found EXACTLY who I am yet and that's an uncomfortable feeling. But there are parts of me that have stuck. That I have always celebrated about myself. Before this post turns dark...let's take a moment and celebrate the parts of myself that I knew and loved and would not for a second dislike myself over. And again, if you follow this blog, or know me...please note that the "knew" about myself is not a typo...my language is nothing if not intentional. Anyway...

1. I have a deep appreciation for the sacred and divine. Religion, spirituality, God, faith, and the constant search for where I fit within all that has always been at the core of who I was. I mean...I did go to seminary to pursue my Master of Divinity after all...
2. I am smart. I've had my not so smart moments (I mean the ex was only 7 years younger than my dad...what WAS I thinking?!?) but I am an intelligent human being capable of intellectual thought, analysis, debate, and research.
3. I am the most independent codependent person you'll ever meet. I am desperately wanting "me" time...with the people in whom I find comfort around. I don't like feeling alone...but I like being alone...make sense? Yeah...well that's me for you.
4. I am a fiercely loyal friend. With the exception of my sister (who is also my best friend) I have few friends. Very, very few. So few sometimes I feel like I'm doing it all wrong. But the relationships I've had/have are deeply intimate, intense, and fulfilling.
5. I am a generous person. I feel deeply for any noun in need. I mean...literally I sometimes feel bad for "ugly" rocks so I pick them up and carry them with me. I give to the point that sometimes I have nothing for myself (yes...I know...that's unhealthy...but it's me).

Those are a brief few truths about myself that I knew and held close to my heart when I've gone through tough times before. These are qualities about myself that I considered neither good nor bad...but they are qualities that even in my very bleakest of moments I knew existed. Some part of me KNEW that there was still something in me that made me Ashley.


If you've been following this blog (or you just paid close attention to the title) you know I relocated almost one year ago from Pennsylvania to Iowa. The reasons why have been briefly addressed in this blog previously and I'm not getting into them here. Not all of the reasons are mine to disclose, nor are these reasons appropriate for interweb consumption. Some things stay private. But I can say this...the ONLY thing that I came to Iowa expecting (because it was EXPLICITLY stated) was that Caitlyn and I were going to a SAFE place where we could just take the next step on the journeys we had started.

In case you haven't gathered...the opening quote fits into the blog right about here. My mother and father were by no means perfect parents. They never claimed to be...and when I was old enough to realize they were human I realized they did the best they could given all they had to work with (including their own children...Dad was NOT pleased about tattoo #1 let's not even get into #2, #3 and #4...which is just being hammered out right now..it's not actually inked on me). Anyway...I've written in this blog before that I've slowly felt myself slipping away from me. There are little things that I've lost while here (like wearing make-up everyday...superficial? maybe but it's always something that's given me great comfort and an outlet to be creative...though I HAVE reclaimed that)...and then there are life threatening losses of self that I have discovered. I am not exaggerating or being melodramatic. Literally I am fighting a battle of life and death daily now...and it's a craps shoot as to which side is ahead each day.

It's basic psych knowledge that the body's response to threat or fear or anger or extreme stimulation is "fight or flight." In my current living situation...flight is often easier. It's less confrontational (which is another thing that I am generally not) and it's less painful. But...recently my body decided to fight. And I'm not quite sure why. I have allowed myself in the past to be abused: emotionally, verbally, mentally. And once I broke free I vowed to myself that I would never again let myself be a victim. Perhaps that's why I fought back. Because I was tired of "flight" and taking the abuse then crying myself to sleep and writing in a journal for hours hoping to remove the venomous words and faces and actions from my body before they had a chance to internalize.

I do not want to relive the quite literal "fight" response. I will say this...my intention was simply to stand up for my right to be treated like the 26 year old that I am. Let me repeat that...the 26 year old THAT I AM. I am not the world's (or even Iowa's) most successful 26 year old. I do not have a great career, a wonderful husband and little ones on the way, a house, a nice car, or even a bank account that doesn't look like a 2 year old is managing it. I am in no way a picture of the "American Dream." But I'm doing the best I can given what I've currently got. For the past 3 or so months life has not been about living for me...but surviving. Every morning that I wake up I have to give myself at least one reason to make it through the day alive. These motivations started as "big picture" stuff. They have now turned into "if I survive this day I will live so that I can play Wii at the end of the night."

It was not until a few months ago that I finally understand what could drive someone into saying "they're dead" instead of actually discussing family. Family...while not included in the abovel ist of truths regarding myself...is a HUGE part of who I am. People are always saying you can't choose your family. This shit is true...but if family matters to you, then you do the best with what you're given. You don't just say "oh they're dead." Unless...they're murdering you while wearing the smuggest and ugliest smile on their faces. If necessary please read the quote again. The subtle murder part...I guess if I could sum up my whole entire experience in Iowa...well that would be it. I am slowly being destroyed by my own family. The same family that promised safety, and love. And I've often in my life quoted Eleanor Roosevelt's "no one can make you feel inferior without your consent," and I'm ashamed to admit that somewhere along the path of my year here I lost all strength and gave up consent.

One thing I haven't lost...I'm not one to share truths that belong to others. Not in this blog. I may have gotten darker than I promised myself I would ever go...but I refuse to divulge information that is not mine to tell. Without some of this (such as what things are said to me on a daily basis or examples of how I quite seriously have NO control over my life or even time schedule), however, this post may or may not have the effect on some that it does on others. Some know what's going on (mainly Mommy and Caitlyn) and some have an idea of what's been going on with me (those that KNOW my Facebook statuses are always updated with lyrics or quotes that reflect my mood). But it's no longer enough for me to just post my desperation in updates or tweet it in 140 characters or less. This battle has gotten to the point where it was finally blog worthy. I know that the following statement will be met by gasps, shaking heads, and disapproving faces and that I may lost people from my life forever for saying the following, but:

I HATE MY FAMILY FOR DESTROYING WHO I AM. EVERYTHING ABOUT WHO I AM HAS BEEN STRIPPED, TAKEN AWAY, AND REPLACED WITH A VERSION OF MYSELF THAT NOT ONLY DO I NOT RECOGNIZE...BUT THAT I ABSOLUTELY DESPISE. WITH PASSION I HATE THE PERSON I AM AT THE MOMENT. HATE.

I didn't expect life in Iowa to be the same as it was at "home." I wouldn't have taken the leap if I hadn't anticipated change. I didn't ever, ever imagine that I would be left a year later not only not closer to who I wanted to become...but nowhere near who I was. The list of traits that I ALWAYS had at my disposal? I don't even believe them anymore. I have been so controlled, manipulated, hated, despised, demeaned, and disrespected that I literally have NOT ONE positive thought about myself that is not IMMEDIATELY followed by ten negative things that I've internalized. My life has become...not my life. It's become a charade. A sort of...shackled version of an attempt to take a risk. And I got tired of it...so I stood up for myself because I deserve...at the very least...to be treated as a human, if not with respect and dignity and love, at the very least as a God damn HUMAN and not an object to be controlled. The whole "fighting for my right (not even to party...I long ago abandoned that)" incident occurred nearly 2 weeks ago. And today, I hate myself even more for trying to rectify the situation. How backwards is that? In taking a stand and trying to reclaim who Ashley .I pray)...I regressed further to a person who doesn't even have the name Ashley. You might as well call me "Thing 2" for as much as I...and those that surround me currently...think of me.

I told you...dark posting. "Please forgive this."

Yet...there's more Jim that helps me a little. Well, a few things have. People that DO love me...and I mean REAL love...have been of enormous help. I honestly wouldn't even be around to type this blog without the tireless and relentless efforts of Caitlyn and the long phone conversations at night with my Mom. Anyway...back to Jim.

"A true friend is someone who lets you have total freedom to be yourself— and especially to feel. Or not feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at the moment is fine with them. That's what real love amounts to— letting a person be what he really is....Most people love you for who you pretend to be....To keep their love, you keep pretending— performing. You get to love your pretense....It's true, we're locked in an image, an act— and the sad thing is, people get so used to their image— they grow attached to their masks. They love their chains. They forget all about who they really are. And if you try to remind them, they hate you for it— they feel like you're trying to steal their most precious possession."

It goes without saying that that's a Jim quote. This blog ends on...well...it kind of just ends. I'm in a dark place right now. I'm in a place so dark right now that sometimes I literally see NO light. But I DO have those "true friends." Those friends that don't force me into something or someone that I'm not. Those people that allow me the freedom to be in this dark place. Those people that remind me when I'm in the shower sobbing and trying to scrub tattoos off of myself because I feel like they make me a "bad" person (and I have NEVER regretted any of my ink EVER) that I AM OKAY. AS I AM. And that even if I don't know who I am right now, somebody does. And it's okay with them. God is most likely one of those friends. The others know who they are. They've been rescuing me from my own self loathing and hatred when I'm too weak to do it myself (which is pretty much all the damn time lately).

I generally write a blog when I've got something...not poignant...but worthwhile to say. Something to just throw out there to think about. A little bit of my self. This blog...I guess it was an attempt to assert that I WILL NOT pretend love anything or anyone. I do not need the love of those who must force me into love on his/her terms. Maybe it was an attempt to deal with the pain I feel every second for being hated and told constantly that I should be someone I just am not. Maybe it was my way of getting out that I don't have to be just like somebody else's 26 year old relative. I can be me and that can be okay. And maybe someday...I'll even remember that being myself unabashedly is beautiful. I'm not finished finding out who I am or where I fit. Some days are going to be easier than others. I hate where I am right now. And I hate who I am right now...but I will somehow each day find the motivation and determination and spirit and faith to put one foot in front of the other. To breathe in and out. And to slowly take back ownership of Ashley. But by the grace of God go I. Amen.

X Marks the Spot

"Emptiness is loneliness and loneliness is cleanliness and cleanliness is godliness and God is empty. Just like me."

Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness by the Smashing Pumpkins was the first CD that I ever purchased. It had a profound effect on me. Until that point, I had listened to either my parents music (classical, punk, rock, folk, totally eclectic music) or the popular local radio station. But I OWNED this CD. I OWNED this music. And it become a part of who I was. A part of my legacy I suppose.

At the time Mellon Collie came out "happy" wasn't cool. The cool, popular kids were perfectly apathetic. I...was not. I was deeply depressed following some family issues, friendless, and the "smart" kid at school...which in high school started to not suck...but during 5th grade it did. I was overweight, under appreciated, and completely lost. I felt empty. So when I first heard "Zero" something in me felt...connected to something else. Listening to this song I realized that I was not as alone as I thought. Other people felt just as lonely and empty and sad as I did. And it was the particular line above that has stayed with me until this very day. In 1995 I realized for the first time...though I was unaware of the weight of this lesson...that we all share a human experience and it's not always pleasant. And if we, as humans, share all this relatedness...then maybe God was in the mix somewhere too. Maybe God really did feel empty just like me.

It is now 2010...my Mellon Collie discs are long lost and it's no longer cool not to care about anything. At 26, it's more "cool" (which by the way that word isn't even cool anymore) TO care. About your work, your relationships, your school, your family, your health, your religion and spirituality. As we grow up we have to start taking care of ourselves at some point because, well, expecting your mother to dress you in college is just a tad ridiculous. It's this "growing up" thing that I'm having a hard time with at the moment. I've always been far more mature than my years. Always. I was the 2 year old correcting my mother on how to properly read the story. Or the 8 year old that informed my uncle that the "forky things" as he called them are actually "tines." I've always been much more introspective and reflective than most people my age. That's been a blessing and a curse. As I prepare to leave Iowa, each day at the nursing home becomes more precious (though some days I want to literally just bash my head into a wall). The lessons I learn from the residents, the gifts they give me and I get to give them, I will miss all of this when I'm back "home."

And the realization of transitioning home has me panicked beyond words. May has been a very hard month for me. Truthfully, beginning with my birthday I've been trapped in a state of depression and sadness that I haven't been able to shake. It was the first year that Caitlyn and I spent AWAY from out parents for our birthday, and the first Mother's day with no mommy to hug, my Daddy's first birthday where I didn't get to go out to dinner with him and still have him pay (ah family traditions). And I understand that people grow up and move on...but apparently I am not so good at this. For the vast majority of the past 2 months I've been hurting and angry and ashamed and sad and regretful and just...a mess. I have no support system here aside from my younger sister. Of course I have friends at work...but those are not the people that you tell your scariest and most depressing thoughts (and I've had some MASSIVELY scary thoughts recently). And Caitlyn deals with enough of her own shit that she doesn't need to carry mine as well. But a few days ago, I got to the point where I literally just could not carry my own problems and feelings anymore. And that empty God? Apparently God went out of town for the day.

Many people that know me know that I very rarely ask for help. I would rather struggle silently than admit I am too weak to handle something. It could be something as simple as putting on a new windshield wiper blade to something as serious as...my life. I know that I've blogged about how "it's okay to ask for help" but I mean...I don't actually take most of my own advice. Perhaps I should start. Anyway, I've come to a place in my life where I must either ask for help or...well...there really is no other alternative. My thoughts have been dark and my mood has matched. I am experiencing panic attacks on a daily basis. Somedays I quite literally have to have Caitlyn PUSH me down the stairs and out the door. There are far too many contributing factors to this current oppressive place I'm in to get in to at the moment. Besides, a public blog is not the place to do so. But I can say that this catastrophic time has been a long time coming. A long time coming.

"Intoxicated with the madness, I'm in love with my sadness. I never let on that I was on a sinking ship. I never let on that I was down."

And with this lyric I realize that I'm back in 5th grade, feeling beyond helpless and feeling that I am not worthy of help. And I'm back to "Zero" where I am ashamed to admit that I'm scared to get help and change myself. First, I have to ASK for HELP...which I've already accomplished. Second, I'm so used to "dealing" and "coping" and "surviving" that I don't know how to actually LIVE. Third, I've just kinda been stumbling along from one thing to the next without direction, without satisfaction, and without purpose. And I mean...shouldn't I have some kind of plan? Or at the very least like a pretty rad treasure mad where "X" marks the spot where I ultimately am to be. Right before high school graduation my whole class was asked to write down our future plans and they were published in the back of the year book. Mine stated "attend a four year college and seminary." I've done both and even finished one. I think about that obsessively. I've already finished the 18 year old version of myself's future plans. So...I'm painfully forced to ask...what now?

I graduated from Millersville feeling...confused. I needed a job, but unfortunately Business (my oh so well planned out and horribly motivated major) just isn't my thing. And English minors aren't high in demand for much of...anything. I didn't want to go looking for corporate jobs so...I followed my little plan and enrolled in seminary. Apparently...when I wrote out my own treasure map I spilled some water on it or something because at seminary I learned that I was more lost than I'd ever been before. And I left to "find myself." I think that's something people do when...they're really just hoping to curl up on a couch and sleep for the next 40ish years till it's time to retire and have fun. Or maybe that's just my version of self discovery.

Anyway, in the interim between being a student of the Word (though I still consider myself one I have no student ID to prove it anymore) and a dental receptionist turned long term care employee, I've come to the conclusion that hopping from watermark to watermark on my map isn't getting me anywhere. Sure I've learned invaluable lessons about myself, life, relationships, others, connections to the human spirit...but I have this overwhelming sense that I'm destined for something that I haven't even thought to include on my little treasure map. I think I'll just throw that away.

And perhaps this time instead of drawing my own map...I'll let God design it and I'll do a paint by numbers type thing. I've asked for help. I don't have health insurance, nor do I make much, but by the grace of God and the mercy of people who care I trust that I will find treatment. By the time I am through the hardest part of the journey (admitting I need help and learning to receive it...OH and acknowledging all these pesky little problems I've bottled and let fester and rot for years) there will be battle scars on both myself and the map. But in the end, I'll review it with God and smile and feel proud that I at least had the courage to take on life. And wave my pathetic little bedazzled white flag admitting I can't continue to do this on my own.

And someday...I'll fall out of love with my own sadness. And I'll still remember listening to "Zero" in my room realizing that God can be empty. People are not alone (and trust me I have felt SO otherwise in this regard) and that through our inter-relatedness we find compassion, understanding, love, and respect for each other's journey's. So I'm trying to start a new path for myself today. I don't know where it'll take me. Back to PA, or somewhere else in IA, or....who knows. And I know I'll trip over rocks and meander down the wrong path and perhaps even fall over a cliff and that's honestly terrifying. I don't know much of anything about who, where, or what I will become...but I do know that the greatest comfort of all to me at this moment is that my empty God can still fill me with divine love and hope for a better tomorrow. Amen.

Stupidity is next to...Godliness?

I find it ironic that literally days after posting my rantings on thinking I read a book today titled "God's Medicine Bottle." I'll share a fun fact with you, I plan on one day publishing a book entitled "God Drinks Whiskey: And Other Ramblings on Faith" (although that part after the colon is questionable...it could easily be changed). Anyway, I've always wanted to write a book on my random blabbings on faith and spirituality and God. And I've always wanted to take it from a non-denominational stand point. A view of just God...and faith...and humanity...and all these things that make us one. I am not naive enough to think that I can completely leave out any slants from the United Church of Christ (I was raised and confirmed in the denomination) but I'd like to at least TRY to be as subjective as possible.

Anyway, so thinking someone had beat me to the punch and published my dream book, I picked it up. It is a small book...somewhere along the lines of 60 maybe 70 pages and I had a few minutes of down time. I ended up reading the damn thing through lunch and finished it right before our afternoon activity started (okay I'll be honest I skipped some of the afternoon activity to finish the book...but the residents were playing Deal or No Deal on Wii and I was having a theological crisis).

So as previously mentioned I was afraid someone beat me to my goal. And maybe God's medicine bottle was...Prozac or something equally chuckle worthy. I was wrong. I was VERY wrong. God's medicine bottle, it turns out, is really Proverbs 4:20-22. If you do not have a Bible handy, don't worry I took the liberty of copying the verses from the Bible at work so that you would not have to look it up. Please be warned this is the King James Version:

My son, attend to my words; incline thine ear to unto my sayings.

Let them not depart from thine eyes; keep them in the midst of thine heart.

For they are life unto those that find them, and health to all their flesh.

Okay. So Proverbs is one of my very favorite books of the Bible. In fact, I've written numerous papers using selections (or "pericopes" if I'm being scholarly) from this book. I've attended lectures on this book and I've read Dr. Charles Melchert's copious and wise works on the majesty that is Proverbs. So, after the initial disappointment that this was not some tongue in cheek book ala my idea...I realized 1) I can still work towards my goal of an awesome book and 2) this guy is a freaking psycho. I do not begrudge anyone to feel anything regarding God. I believe each person has a unique and sacred relationship to the divine. This man...well simply put...he doesn't think the same way I do. In fact while the book was sculpted around a theme of healing...at it's core it was all about coming to a relationship with God and the divine. Normally I would have thrown the book across the room in disgust after reading the first offensive line...but I decided to stick it out with this one. It was that...or converse with my boss. The book was the least detrimental to my brain of the two.

So I'm reading. The guy's story is somewhat interesting...how he came to believe that God heals all things through word and Scripture. That the age of miracles is not behind us (which I too believe). That before we can expect anything from God we must first make our needs and our desires known to God. And we must enter into a relationship with God. I mean...I'm cool with most of that. It makes sense to me. God may be many things...and God may even be a psychic...but I think that sometimes God wants us to tell God what we truly want and desire for our benefit more than God's. Rather, we have to REALLY REALLY know what we're asking for before God goes..."yeah sounds good."

I continue my reading...snickering and sneering and shaking my head in disgust...until I reach page 45. As most of you reading this know: I attended Lancaster Theological Seminary for a little over a year and a half with the intention of pursuing my Master of Divinity. If you did not know that you do now and that may shed a little light as to why I was so....incensed...at this particular page. I quote:

"That brings out this point. If your eye is simple, if you're sincere, if you are not too profound, if you don't know too many arguments, if you can't quote all the theologians, then you have a much better chance to reach God. I am sorry to say it, but experience over many years has convinced me of that. Theology normally does not help people's faith."

Um....excuse me? I read to page 47:

"We have to lay aside worlly wisdom. We have to become fools in the eyes of the world in order that we may really enter into God's wisdom."

But we needn't be poor. The author, a philosophy professor born in India of rich British decent, DOES make sure to spend in depth time explaining that being poor does nothing to satisfy God. Rather God wants us to have all we desire and be prosperous. Apparently God just wants us to be stupid. Rich and stupid.

So...Paris Hilton must be God's bestie? And Lindsay Lohan is apparently cool with the G-man too.

Honestly? I mean. Come on. Come on. Am I really supposed to buy this crap? I would like to find the person that donated this book to the manor. I would like to know where said person purchased this book. I would also like to buy any surviving copy of this book and have a "Fahrenheit 451" style book burning. And I'm being dead serious.

Iowa has taught me a lot about myself and how I handle situations and people and challenges and well...life. And a lot of my struggle at work is how to handle being in a subordinate position to a person that honestly does not utter ONE grammatically correct sentence a day. Legitimately my boss uses the word "pacific" every time she is intending to say "specific" and I mean...that's cute when you're 4. At the age of...oh say...30 it's just plain sad. I honestly feel sorry for this woman because of how poorly edumacated she is (see what I did there was make the word sound like she might pronounce it....). It is truly a challenge to me every single day not to correct everything that comes out of her mouth and to not punch her in the face when she orders me around in her grammatically incorrect obnoxious tone. But I digress.

Today I had a hard day at work. Not only was it long...it was difficult. One resident is going through the loss of her last living relative that she grew up with. She is 107 currently. It was a shock to me that anyone immediately related to her lest they be grandchildren or great grandchildren was still living at all. Regardless, she is taking this hit pretty hard. And I have to say...I feel for the woman. She keeps asking that God come for her too...like God just came for her family...and the staff keep telling her to "stay positive" and "look on the bright side." But...what if going with God IS thinking positively for her? At 107 what else do you have to accomplish?

Again, I digress. So I'm trying to help her deal with that...and the guilt I feel over telling her (unlike the ENTIRE rest of the staff) that it's okay for her to be upset and that it's okay to pray for an end to her pain. Which brings me back to the book. "God's Medicine Bottle." It should have been titled "God's Dose of Cult Kool-Aid in Print." Who wants a relationship with a God that doesn't want to challenge them? Who would want to exult a God that didn't wish for an enriched mind and informed decisions? Who would want to be followed so blindly that any scholarly thought is considered "foolish?" I mean...if that's God...wow am I barking up the wrong tree. My God...is smart. And my God wants me to be smart too.

While I understand the angle of entering into a simplistic relationship with God...let's be honest...most of us don't have simple anythings. The world is complex. Doing laundry can be complex...let's not even start on government or anything else. My relationship with God is about as complex as anything can be BECAUSE it is so simplistic. Does that make sense? I love God. God loves me. From there...it's an anything goes free for all. God challenges me...and if we are in true relationship I challenge God right back. It's like a divine parent/child relationship. At the end of the day we love each other and that's really all that matters. That being said...I hate this book. And mine will be 1,000 times better. Not because mine will be "right" or "correct" in terms of system of belief. But because my book will be truthful and honest about what it means to be in relationship with God. And it will be honest about the complex nature of the simplest of things.

To...Mommy's House We Go?

Lately, I've been doing a lot of thinking. I'm always thinking. But lately, it's been like...a madhouse in my head. I can't stop thinking. The thing that bothers me is that recently, I've been thinking of "big" things...nonstop. "Real life" things. "Future" things. Things that are uncomfortable to think of.



Iowa has been a blessing/curse situation for me. And I'm now beginning to plan my departure from the state. Cait and I feel like we've come to a place where we've done what we were meant to do here. And there are exciting things waiting for Caitlyn at home. As this is my blog and not hers, I won't divulge, but she has a whole new adventure ahead in Pennsylvania for her. Me? I have no idea what Pennsylvania has to bring me. Or what I have to offer it.



I suppose I'm facing some of the same issues that I thought of a little less than a year ago when Caitlyn and I and Mom and Dad (okay Dad was against the move from first mention) agreed that spending some time in Iowa was the best way to proceed with our lives. I started this blog because of the move but I never spent time on why we made the move. There are motives behind moving that are inappropriate to discuss on a blog...as they are deeply personal and are not only mine but my family's...and there were motives to leaving Pennsylvania that I can share. The first thing motivating me was...I had no motivation at home. I had quit my job at the dental office after a year and thus was unemployed. And frankly...I had (well still have) little to no clue as to what I want to do with the rest of my life. I was severely lacking any kind of direction. All I knew was that a job I had once loved had turned into a source of constant panic and anxiety and I knew that dental receptionist was to no longer be my title. So I spent two weeks surfing the web and looking around for places hiring (nobody by the way...) and then we embarked on a family vacation back "home" to the Midwest.





Literally two weeks later plans were laid for Caitlyn and I to return to Iowa...for a more permanent "vacation." Caitlyn left her job...I stopped searching near home and we packed up and headed out.



I applied for jobs all over town. Literally....everywhere. And I've addressed the job issue already in older posts. The first job for which I applied and interviewed made me an offer and I've since been working a job that challenges, strengthens, and humbles me every day. Some days I'll admit I come home angrier than I've ever imagined I could be in my life...but it's not the job it's the boss. And I've grown up enough since coming to Iowa that...I learned how I deserve to be treated and what professionalism means and I've made steps to rectify the boss situation which aggravates and frustrates me. So...for the large majority of my days...I work in a job that I am truly satisfied with. I rarely panic over going in to work...and I actually have days where I sincerely look forward to going in. That's never happened to me in a job before. And I am so thankful that some weird act of divine intervention took me to long term care.



But now that I'm thinking about going home...is long term care where I want to stay? If you're a person that knows me...you know I love language and I love writing and reading and I'm very intentional about my wording. You probably didn't think anything of it...but I've been writing jobs for almost a year now as I've been writing this blog for almost a year. Because I work jobs... still floating from position to position, accepting paychecks where I can get them.



I turned 26 this year. But I did much more than that. I finally started to grow up. When I was in college I did a lot of maturing. I learned a lot about myself. But I didn't grow up. I was still incredibly selfish and naive. I believed that I could change people and save them from things that they couldn't (or wouldn't) save themselves from. I listened to Something Corporate all the time in college...the song that always meant the most to me was "I Want to Save You." One of the lines in there is "I need you...to save me too." When I think about that song and my college life...well...I've learned a lot since then.



And seminary...that's a point of contention in my life right now. I'm struggling with a lot of friends receiving their master's (and I do sincerely mean the congratulations that I offer) while I remember that I could have finished mine last year. I know in my heart that taking time off from seminary was truly the best thing I could have done for myself. I harbor no ill will against myself for leaving...it's that really fine line of "leaving/not graduating" that I just can't quite get past. I don't even know if I want to continue to pursue my MDiv...but I feel like a complete failure for having given it up. So...there's that.



Anyway what all this reflection on the past leads up to is....uncertain. I do know ONE thing. I need to find a career. Not a job. So as I plan to return to Pennsylvania I am faced with a rather scary assignment: figure out what the hell I want to do with the rest of my life.



I'm not a terrible waitress...but I hate the hours and...well...I'm not much for serving food anymore. I was a good receptionist...friendly and professional...but the drill noise all day and the insurance headaches....dental receptionist (or medical or chiropractic or etc...) is not for me. Long-term care is amazing...the knowledge that I'm providing a sense of comfort and fun and companionship for people who are travelling their last days of long journeys...is truly a wonderful blessing. And I get great joy out of knowing that not only am I helping to make a difference in the lives of others but they are transforming me in return.



That being said...is that what I want to do for the rest of my life? And if so...do I want to continue in Activities or would I rather pursue a role more hospice oriented with a focus on spiritual therapy for residents and those that are truly at the end? Or would I rather go into the administration side of a care facility and...oh maybe USE that bachelor's degree? I honestly don't know.


So here's where all the scary thinking has brought me. I have not one damn clue what my next step is going to be. Well other than the whole moving back to the east coast thing. Which I'm really really torn about. Don't get me wrong....my current living situation is...less than desirable. I have little to no control over my own daily schedule but am rather on the schedule of my controlling bosses. I NEVER get to cook or spend an entire Sunday afternoon drinking a bottle of wine while watching my crazy wedding shows and reading the latest Cosmo and InStyle. So...there are quite a few things I'm looking forward to. The part I'm not looking forward to? Being 26 and moving in with my mom and dad again. My old bedroom (which is currently somewhere between a storage closet and well...a hellhole) is not exactly where I pictured laying my head down every night at the age of 26. And then there's the fact that there are 4 dogs in the family. My childhood house is not huge. And there's the idea of readjusting to "city" life. Actual traffic. Congestion and people everywhere. There is certainly a part of me that has grown to love the fact that traffic is 4 cars on the same road and that I can go to a mall on a weekend...find a parking space...and still enjoy breathing space in stores.



I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I cannot thank my parents enough for taking me back in. I've made some really poor financial decisions revolving around an ex and so I am rather limited in my choices. So parent's house it is. That's my next move. Then what?



I know I have dreams. I want to write. I want to work in a career that allows me the freedom to face different challenges and joys everyday. I want to continue my pursuit of a healthier lifestyle. And I want to continue striving to make myself happy...in little ways and big ways. So for now I guess all I can do is try to calm my nerves and hopefully soon I'll start sleeping again. And I can make my last few months here truly enjoyable and worthwhile. I can begin to research what's even available in the way of work back east. And I can continue to think scary thoughts even though I don't want to. Sometimes the scariest places are the ones we have to travel to to get where we want to go. And why IS it that pursuing your dreams and working towards your own happiness seem to be the SCARIEST place to go? I have many more questions than answers at this point in my life. But I figure...at least this time...I'm actually ASKING the questions. So I'll take my victories where I can. And as for the rest...I'll keep journaling and blogging...ranting at Caitlyn in the early morning when she's still trying to sleep...talking to myself in the shower about my theories on life and trying to think about what at the very deepest part of my heart and soul brings me joy and fulfillment. The rest...I guess is out of my control. It's in God's hands...and potential employer's hands as well...



So say a prayer for me. And I'll work on the rest. This time my Something Corporate song that speaks to me is "Spin."

"You've been knocked down, you've been thrown. You've run all the way back home. Saying you were searching for a reason. And you've got here so much before you won't cry much anymore. Rolling with the punches, gonna leave it all behind. These highway signs are a sign of the times. If you wanna spin. Get yourself back in the game again. Throw down your money, maybe you could win. But this world won't stop. Never stop. Just spin.

And I've been there once or twice before. Destiny knocking at my door. But destiny only seemed to replace the happiness once where the ruins were placed. You said this world had treated you cruel. Played with your head now played you the fool. Leave it all behind don't let it get you down. If anything you can be a clown. If you wanna spin. Get yourself back in the game again. Throw down your money, maybe you could win. But this world won't stop. So never stop just spin.

And this place is cold and you're feeling older now. And your body hangs and you fear you won't get out. Suck it up breathe in deep wake up from the creeping sleep. Turn around and around and around and around. Yeah yeah yeah spin.

If you wanna spin. Get yourself back in the game again. Throw down your money maybe you could win. But this world won't stop. Never stop. Just spin. Said get yourself back in the game again. Throw down your money maybe you could win. But this world don't stop so never stop..."

-Something Corporate "Spin"

I'm done just kind of floating around. I am going to throw down this time. I am going figure out what I want. And I'm going to travel those scary roads and somehow...I know I'm gonna end up exactly where I am meant to be.

The Soundtrack to My Life: Part 1

When I get completely and utterly overwhelmed by life...I tend to turn to music. I love artists and lyrics and melodies that say for me what I can't articulate. The songs that make pain beautiful and understandable. The songs that tell stories of bittersweet living. The songs that write the soundtrack to my life.

Transitioning to Iowa has NOT been easy for me to say the least. I have days where I am beyond proud that I took this leap and started to find...not a new me...but a new side of me. And then I have days where I wake up...get ready to shower...stare at the mirror and literally say out loud "what the hell were you thinking?"

As I have previously stated I am not a person who adapts easily to change. Small changes like detours freak me out. When my facial product gets new packaging I feel a little lost and anxious. I take comfort in routine and plans. Of course I have my moments where I can be spontaneous and feel fearless and welcome change and a state of complete unknown. But those moments are highly outweighed by the moments in which I wish "things would stay the same." I say that knowing that it isn't truly what I wish. I wish for change...but I want to be in control of the change. And God knows...very personally God knows...that I cannot be in charge of the things which change around me. Or sometimes...even the things that change in me.

My life for the past month has been beyond hectic. I've turned 26 (now in my late 20s not mid anymore) and have been in and out of town constantly. Most recently I was in Minneapolis for 2.5 days. I took Caitlyn to an Honor Society concert for her birthday (and let's be honest...it was a present for myself too). Music is most definitely a form of therapy for me. And Honor Society's music has helped in many situations since I've been in Iowa. The band is made up of gentlemen around my age and they sing about things that they've been through...things that I've been through. Graduating from college thinking you "made it" and realizing you had no clue what the hell the rest of your life was going to look like. And feeling like you've got nothing when after graduation you suddenly find yourself EXACTLY where you were before you went off to college.

But I digress. Music brings me alive...and takes me into dark places when I need it to. The concert was beyond amazing. And Caitlyn and I literally spent the day with the band. They are truly the most amazing and humble and sweet and interesting gentlemen that I have the pleasure of knowing. We've seen the band several times and had the good fortune to meet them each time...but this time we had the opportunity to have conversations with them. About college...grad school...work...tattoos. It was truly an amazing day for both Caitlyn and I. And I left Minneapolis the next day feeling....incredibly depressed.

Instead of maintaining the level of exuberance and sheer pleasure I felt from watching them perform their music the night before...the next morning I was in a state of complete depression. And darkness. And despair. I felt hopeless and trapped. Anxious and agitated. And I could not quite put my finger on what it was that was bothering me. After all...I had just had the most amazing time in Minneapolis with Caitlyn and I got to watch how happy she was with her birthday experience. I should have been proud of myself for taking on a "grown-up" road trip where I was completely responsible for all monetary aspects, hotel rooms, and navigation (although Caitlyn is THE BEST co-pilot ever). Yet instead of feeling proud and happy and excited I just felt completely defeated.

So I spent the next few days listening to music. Some Honor Society, some Motion City Soundtrack, of course some Something Corporate. Anything and everything I could think of that might help me pinpoint the exact emotions I was experiencing and perhaps even what it was that was bothering me.

After several days of incessant iPod use and lyric searching...I've come up with this conclusion: while the music makes up the soundtrack to my life...it can't define me the way I kinda hoped it could. Only I can define me. And I think that's what's bugging me. I don't have a definition of who I am right now. I am "me-less." I came out to Iowa not knowing who I was. I mean there's a rough idea sketched out. But I can't define myself as a mother or a wife or a girlfriend or a student...the list continues. Labels aren't everything and I honestly do believe that I am not a person who fits into any "box" in particular. However...I'd at least like some boxes to sort pieces of myself into. And it seems like I'm staring at these boxes containing pieces of me but I don't know what pieces go in what box or even what the boxes are. Apparently the label-maker was broken when it was time to sort shit out.

So I've been listening to music. I've been talking to my sister and my mother and my father. I've been watching TV. I've been going to work. I have NOT been sleeping. And I've been thinking. There are too many lyrics that swirl in my head to begin to compile a list expressing how I'm feeling (though I did consider just posting a blog chock full o'lyrics with artists and leave it at that).

I'll wrap this blog up with a few things that are prancing around my head with all the various artists and songs and the feelings these stir up. While I don't want to be considered a stereotypical anything (because there is little about me that fits into any particular stereotype...I mean the theology student with the tattoos)...I wouldn't mind being able to put some specific labels onto the various parts of myself that there are. I am determined to find myself. I know this will not happen in Iowa. This will not happen once I get married. This will not happen by getting my dream career (winning the lottery if you're wondering). However...I will find pieces of myself if I keep pushing myself to accept that there are changes of which I cannot have control. And that for me there is no deadline to find who I am. I will constantly be redefining who I am and what I like and what I do.

There's two songs that I have been listening to tons in the last few days (okay there are quite a few playlists that have been playing nonstop but these two in particular have stood out).

"to the ones who cared and who were there from the start. to the ones that left and took a piece of my heart. to the few who'd swear i'd never go anywhere, where are you now? where are you now? cause i'm thinking of you. you showed me how, how to live like i do. if it wasn't for you i would never be who i am. if it wasn't for you, i'd be nothing. where are you now?"

-Honor Society "Where Are You Now?"

"so let go, let go. jump in. oh well what're you waiting for? let go, let go. cause there's beauty in the breakdown."

-Frou Frou "Beauty in the Breakdown"

These songs speaks to me in way that others haven't recently because...I'm learning a lot about myself. I'm learning a lot about what boxes to pack myself into and which ones to just throw out. I'm learning how to live. I'm learning how to be who I am. And it's hard and it sucks and there are days where when I'm staring in the mirror and asking myself what I've gotten into that I just want to either stumble back into bed or jump out the window and run towards home. And then there are days when I realize that it's okay to be confused and reluctant to change. And it's okay not to know where I'm going next. It's okay to not know a whole hell of a lot because when it comes right down to it....there's very little that I'm actually in control of. God has a plan for me. And somewhere along my fumbling steps I'll find my path. And I'll find where those people who care are (and who they are) and I'll show those people who doubt me. I know that it's okay to breakdown and that truly beautiful things happen when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable and open. And I'll live knowing that I'm doing the best I can with what I've got and as long as I continue to dream and desire to grow...I'm doing alright.

As long as there's music.

Johnny Depp and Jesus?

It was Easter yesterday. And John's account of persecution and crucifixion and while we're at it resurrection, to me, is lacking at best. Hear me out. John's Jesus is so passive during the whole proceeding that it's almost...unbelievable. Okay I get that Jesus was the definition of divine obedience and knew that he was destined for a divine purpose here on earth. But John's Jesus is just...too divine for my liking. Not that I'm a fan of reading heartbreakingly tragic and gruesome scenes of suffering, but I mean....where is the Jesus who feels abandoned and alone? Where's the Jesus screaming to the heavens? And I realize that one can easily make the case that allowing oneself to be NAILED to a cross in the first place is gruesome and tragic...but John's Jesus just bows his head and dies after proclaiming "it is done."

Really? Cause my Jesus, that knows all MY human emotions and sufferings, would at least be throwing a few punches at the Roman empire. Okay maybe the Prince of Peace wouldn't throw punches, but wouldn't he feel like it? Or at the very least roll his eyes and throw up his hands going "alright already just kill me. (and for some reason while saying this my Jesus uses Dane Cook's voice)" This is something that has bothered me since I was a child. How can one be put to death unjustly and not at some point feel completely and utterly alone. And think "wow this is really really unfair." Perhaps I would throw in some more colorful language than that, but Jesus would probably stick to "really really unfair." I have, since childhood, disliked John and his too quiet Jesus.

And since childhood, as my mother worked in the church, Easter was a BIG deal. Maybe not with the huge meal and ham and whatnot, again as my mother WORKED at a church thus was exhausted by the time Easter dinner rolled around...but certainly the Easter baskets. The closeness of friends and family, Easter was the definition of a "community of Christians" for me as a child and young adult. And this was my first Easter 100% by myself. I had little Maddie (Cait's Pomeranian) with me all weekend, but beyond work I had nobody. I felt like Jesus in the wilderness. My advantage over Jesus,? I had Blue Moon beer to get me through.

Before I actually began my wilderness experience, I was indignant and angry and hurt and lonely. Without going into details which I unfortunately cannot vent about here, I'll just say I was NOT planning on spending Easter alone. At all. However there were "extenuating circumstances" which made it completely acceptable for me to be left behind on Easter weekend (sarcasm noted?) And the main reason I was upset was that the whole situation could have been avoided if um, say, people gave advance notice of plans to parties that may be involved. Whatever. Anyway.

So I left for work on Friday morning convinced that my Easter weekend would feel like Good Friday with no resurrection in sight. Then I got home from work on Friday to take Maddie out and immediately prepare for my Good Friday service at work. I felt right at home behind that pulpit (and the residents LIKED the liberal theology). It was good to be back. I went home that night looking forward to the day of resurrection, hoping to feel as renewed as I did on the night of Jesus' death.

And then Sunday came. It's Monday evening and I'm still waiting for the wonder of the resurrection to hit me. Seriously. Usually the glory of the morning doesn't hit me until I hear my congregation singing and smiling and in unison affirming that "Christ the Lord is risen today..." We sang it at the manor, and, well...I was checking my watch to see when the pastor would leave to be honest. And bothering myself with charting the activity. I was NOT rejoicing in the glory that is life everlasting. And the miracle that is the resurrection of the body (which I won't even get started on here because I have deep theological reservations about a bodily resurrection). I was...just working as if it were a normal Sunday church service. I didn't even join in praying the Lord's Prayer.

Part of experiencing worship and religion and spiritual practices for me is to NOT partake in anything with which I am uncomfortable or does not bring me some sense of divine closeness. I will not say out loud parts of creeds which I do not believe, I will not sing hymns if the theology of the hymn is offensive to me. And on Easter Sunday, it wasn't that I wasn't partaking because I didn't agree with or believe what was being recited or prayed or sung...I just wasn't present at worship. I was in my own little world. And I'd say I was grieving the loss of my youth and the fact that my life has changed, except that isn't quite it either.

I did talk to my mom and dad on Easter. I didn't feel as alone as I thought I would. After all I was surrounded by the residents, and Maddie's love at home. And since nothing about yesterday felt like Easter to me, I didn't miss the new frilly dresses and the early sunrise service at all.

Today, however, I am grieving the loss of my Easter holiday. I am grieving that I am stuck in a mindset of darkness and oppression as opposed to heavenly light and freedom. Given my current situation, I feel like I'm preparing for my own crucifixion everyday. Constant judgement and disapproval. Ever present condemnation and disappointment. And every day I take my cross a little closer to my Golgotha.

My presence in Iowa has been... an experience. I have learned more about myself in these past few months than in my entire 26 years. I have learned about other people and how I react to them. I have learned what I DO NOT want to be when I am old. I have learned that I have desires and wishes that I professed to vehemently despise before. And I have learned that I like planning and having a schedule.

I was originally planning on being in Iowa for one year. This is fast approaching and I want out of Iowa as of the minute my mom pulled away from the house. But I've stuck it out because, I've met some people who are really truly awesome. And I've got a job that I wake up excited to go to (I mean...so long as I know I can just tune my boss out all day). But now I'm waiting on circumstances that are in God's hands. And damn it God, if you're reading this, I'm impatient so let me know what's going on already.

I will find my way home at some point. And I don't know exactly what that "home" looks like. But I know I'll get there eventually. And while everybody else on Easter was reciting the Apostle's Creed...all I could recite was the final soliloquy from the movie "Blow." Yes, the Johnny Depp cocaine movie. And yes, I have this memorized. And I know that one day I'll look back on my time in Iowa and think this:

"So in the end, was it worth it? Jesus Christ. How irreparably changed my life has become. It's always the last day of summer and I've been left out in the cold with no door to get back in. I'll grant you I've had more than my share of poignant moments. Life passes most people by while they're making grand plans for it. Throughout my lifetime, I've left pieces of my heart here and there. And now, there's almost not enough to stay alive. But I force a smile, knowing that my ambition far exceeded my talent. There are no more white horses or pretty ladies at my door."

A very blessed Easter to all. And may we all experience the resurrection the way in which the Lord intends for us.