Sometimes, You Just Have to Ask

Sometimes I ask myself important, impactful questions.  Questions like, “How can I make the world a better place?” and “What kind of a legacy am I leaving?”

And other times, I ask myself these questions:

“Would it be wrong for me to practice my putting while I am on a conference call? No one can SEE me. It would be fine, right?”

“How come I spent thirty five years thinking cauliflower is gross and only one thinking it’s delicious? Was it delicious ALL OF THAT TIME? How was I mislead about the cauliflower?”

“What am I doing with my life? What am I doing with my life? What am I doing with my life? Why am I asking myself this question in groups of three?”

“What’s the point of decaf coffee? That’s like … having a car and not putting tires on it. NO POINT. Why bother? Oh, could you order it like that? ‘I’d like a large Why Bother, please.’ That would be funny. But people would probably get mad. Or would they?”

“How does one become a motivational speaker? I think I’d like that gig – doesn’t basically involve going to different groups and telling them that they’re awesome, that we’re all awesome, and then giggling like mad scientists are we revel in our own awesomeness? I COULD SO DO THAT JOB. Except for the part where I couldn’t swear on stage, probably. Is there a way to hang out a shingle for that? ‘Self Designated Proclaimer of Awesomeness and Motivational Speaker’?”

“Is it wrong for me to use the word ‘crazy’? Is that politically incorrect? Like, when I use it in reference to MYSELF is it okay? Because I’m crazy. But … not the bad kind. Mostly. Ish.”

“Is there ever a situation in which singing out loud is inappropriate?”

Just wondering.

One Step Away from a Security Guard and a Chanting Crowd

I love social media. I LOVE SOCIAL MEDIA. Even though I can’t seem to get the hang of Twitter (HOW DOES IT WORK ARGH I AM OVERWHELMED!),  I love Facebook and I love the blogging and I love the Lolcats and I generally consider the interwebs some of my favorite places to roam.

There is one thing, though, that I find myself concerned about, and that is this:

People airing their dirty laundry.

Now listen, I’ve got some stinky stinky socks on my bedroom floor too – we all do – and at times, I do like to bring them out and investigate their smellosity, so perhaps even bringing this up is hypocritical. However, I think that – mostly – when I do air the stench, I do so in a way that is (mostly) anonymous. As in, if I have a big old fight with my brother*, my next post wouldn’t be all “MY BROTHER IS AN ASS” because that would not be appropriate. If my brother is acting like a complete ass, I need to have that conversation WITH HIM and not about him.

And also, I should probably not have that conversation on my Facebook wall.

Because this is how that usually plays out:

Me: MY BROTHER IS AN ASS.

My Brother: Yeah? Well, you’re not exactly the Queen of the May either, princess.

Me: I’m … WHAT? WHO SAYS THAT? NOW you’re WEIRD and an ASS.

My Brother: It’s a saying. PEOPLE SAY IT.

Our Cousin: Glad I can see the family love here, people.

My Brother: Don’t disrespect my sister, you jerk.

Our Cousin: What? She started it. And we all think she's a bitch.

Me: YOU CAN BOTH GO TO HELL.

(And by “Me” I mean: NOT ME AT ALL. Because I don’t do this on Facebook**. But we all know people who do, right? We’ve all seen it. And we’re all like, woooo, trainwreck! It’s like the social media equivalent of waiting for a fight to break out on Jerry Springer!***)

The other thing I shouldn’t do is post the pointed, passive aggressive Facebook status. Like this:

“It’s too bad that SOME people” (LIKE MY BROTHER) “can’t appreciate what others go through and make comments when it would be a lot nicer if they just SHUT UP. But since their lives are so wonderful and perfect and Mom likes them BEST, they need to mouth off their opinions that no one wants to hear, ever, and cause DRAMA.”

Speaking of drama.

Everyone seems to hate the drama on the social media. However, the people who seem to state their hatred of it the most are the people who seem to have an abundance of it. 

Sample post: “SO TIRED OF THE DRAMA”

But then, of course, their friends are going to ask about the drama, which perpetuates the drama, and causes dramatic “My brother is an asshat” pronouncements that then drag him in and make the drama more … um… dramatic.

I know that life can’t be all cute hedgehog photos and funny cat videos, but I do think that maybe we could all exercise a little more self control and restraint and use our internetty powers for good (“Martha! Come see what this cat is doing!”) rather than evil (“I am calling my brother a douche RIGHT ON FACEBOOK. That douche.”).

Except, of course, for when it comes to my brother.

That guy’s kind of a tool.

* I don’t have a brother. This is merely an example. You know, in case you were like “WHOA, WHEN DID SHE GET A BROTHER?"

**and I don’t have a brother. We covered this, remember?

*** Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!

Vision?

One of my friends recently gave me a piece of foam board. “So you can make a vision board,” she said. “I think you need one.”

It’s been sitting in my office, as white as the day I received it, for about two weeks now.  Not because I don’t want to MAKE a vision board – I do – but because I can’t think of anything to put on it.

I feel overwhelmed by its blankness. I don’t know where to start. When I look at my life and try to think of where I want it to go, I feel panicked, as though I am standing on my tiptoes on a thin ledge. 

This is a problem.

It has also been pointed out to me that I’m doing this to myself, because if I don’t have a plan (or don’t commit to one), then I won’t be able to fail.

Which, true.  

But also, ouch.

And probably not something I’m going to resolve on a Monday morning, when it comes to it.

Something There Is That Doesn't Love A Wall

"I read your blog," she said. There was a moment of silence. "It was well written," she said, and then added, "I don't agree with you, but I liked how you said it."

Sometimes, we don't agree. Sometimes, people aren't who we want them to be. We disappoint each other, reveal ourselves in ugly ways, err on the side of disrespect.

 And yet.

I think that the most loving and kind thing we can offer is acceptance. I think that sometimes the answer is just this: meeting someone where he or she is, with the quirks and disagreements and whatnot, and deciding that none of them are so important as to let go of a relationship.

Don't get me wrong ... Sometimes things ARE that important. Some things can not be overlooked. But a lot of the time, what we use to build fences between ourselves and other people are not of huge significance; they are excuses rather than reasons.

Constantly peering over fences in an effort to see other people is no fun at all; the walls we put up between ourselves and others? They don't allow for many hugs.

The world doesn't need more walls.

But it could always use another hug.

Fundamentals

I was raised a fundamentalist Christian.  In case you are not aware of what this means,  please allow me to explain that fundamentalists believe that every word of the Bible is literal truth. As an adult, I find this somewhat difficult, since the Bible also acknowledges that Jesus liked to tell parables to get his point across (which, obviously, even the Big J didn’t pretend were literally fact) and also, because the Bible had to be translated into English by people, who are generally accepted as having their own, biased agendas, and who may have … you know … TWEAKED the message here and there.

Being raised a fundamentalist makes life … interesting. For example, it was very important to my family that I do well in my public school, but it was ALSO very important that I not believe in evolution. Also, the existence of dinosaurs was something of a difficult to explain mystery. Where did dinosaurs live? Answer: outside of the Garden of Eden … the Lord works in mysterious ways … stop asking so many questions. Why couldn’t a woman be a pastor? Answer: Because Jesus doesn’t want them to. Stop asking so many questions. How come I have to stop asking so many questions? Answer: Stop asking … Go to your room.

If Jesus doesn’t want people to have abortions, how come abortion was invented? That is the Devil’s work.  Isn’t Jesus the boss of the devil? Yes. Then … Look, sometimes we get tested and we have to do the right thing. How come that lady is married, even though the husband is mean to her and her kids? The Bible says divorce is bad.*

(To be fair, my parents were very very tolerant of my constant “But why” and “How come” nattering. The above is an exaggeration, but let’s say this: I was NOT popular in youth group because I liked to ask questions, and because I liked to THINK about the answers to those questions, and because I wasn’t afraid to question the answers I was getting.)

It’s probably not a secret that, as an adult, I am NOT a fundamentalist Christian.

But say I was.

Say, for the sake of an argument, I took the Bible quite literally. So I would be able to say that a family is one Mommy and one Daddy and some kids. Okay.

But.

What then, would I do with a mother who was carrying a baby of an entity that’s not even HUMAN? And who gets some carpenter guy to pass off the kid as his? Then I have a jacked up family that’s got TWO Daddies – one of whom is a deity – and a Mommy who LIED to him about it, until he eventually figures it out – oh, right, Joe isn’t my dad at ALL, but GOD is. AWESOMESAUCE.  And also, I was born in a barn? WHAT? – and then they’re all, well, maybe this isn’t the most NORMAL family ever, but we have love here, right? Love is what’s important, little Jesus. We’ll figure it out. In the meantime, go help your dad – you know, Joseph – build something and remember that we all love you.

Taken literally, the Bible leans toward one kind of family. However, it also turns around and presents one of the most nontraditional family structures ever as being totally okay. 

And I think the kid in question turned out okay.

I think that all children who are loved, either by Mommy and Daddy, Mommy and Mommy, Daddy and Daddy, or whatever combination of parents and steps and whatnot, will pretty much turn out okay. Because, literal or not, the story of Jesus’s birth shows us that all real families – the kind who live down the street or the kind that raise the Son of God, are about love, no matter what they look like.

And THAT is something I can wear as one of my fundamental beliefs.

*For the record, when you’ve been taught that marriage is forever and that divorce is bad? Getting divorced is more traumatic than it needs to be. Just saying.

A Tale of One Wedding

Here's a story about a wedding. It takes place in a brewery, which is not a terrible place for a wedding to take place, especially if both the bride and the groom are big fans of beer. (They were.)

This wedding wasn't supposed to take place in a brewery. The original plan was for it to take place in a church, actually. But sometimes plans go awry. The church -- for a variety of reasons, the main one being that the bride was kind of a shameless, beer drinking, living in sin kind of a floozy (the church was not accquainted with the groom, but at that point, was definitely comfortable with that) -- declined to allow the nuptials to take place under the watchful eye of Jesus and the Apostles.

As such, the wedding was relocated to the brewery -- it was already contracted for the reception, so having the wedding there as well seemed like it would be a perfectly natural thing to do.

So instead of stained glass and pews, there were tables and the sight of some very large, stainless steel tanks. Instead of a minister, there was a newly appointed Justice of the Peace -- a friend of the bride, and a good sport. Instead of organ music, there was a band.

And so there was a wedding.

Some of the bride's more religious friends did not attend, what with the whole "wedding in a brewery" deal.  (Some of these same friends probably pray for the bride's soul regularly, and with good reason.)

The bride was okay with it, though. She was also, by the time the wedding rolled around, okay with getting kicked out of church and not being allowed to get married there. Because, you see, she got it. If a religious entity wanted to deny her the right to get married, she could still get her license and have it done differently in a legal way. With beer, a band, and a party, and without religion. Because marriage, as it turns out -- both the original ceremony and -- in this case -- the later divorce -- are legal matters. (The bride, who would later become an ex-wife, would tell you that NOTHING demonstrates that marriage is largely a civil matter rather than a religious one in quite the same way that divorce does.)

North Carolina is voting today on an amendment that could potentially put into law a definition of marriage that would exclude same sex couples, and the push for that is, largely, a religious one.

As the former bride who got the boot and then got married in a brewery, I take this personally. Because getting told that I couldn't get married in a church was painful at the time, but I had other recourse -- all of which involved civil rights and civil actions -- and I was raised by people who taught me to believe that everyone deserved the same civil rights. Every single person.

Marriage equality is not about religion. Any church has the right to turn anyone away.

Marriage equality is about civil rights.

I don't live in North Carolina anymore, but if I did, I would be voting no on Amendment One.

And then I'd recommend some nice breweries as good places for weddings.

Chasing Rainbows

There's something about the first thought that you have in the morning. It might be super random and relate to the last thing you remember dreaming of -- such as "I don't think a meat cleaver is REALLY the best way to execute zombies" -- or it might be related to things you have to do during the course of the day  -- "Oh gracious, but I don't want to dial into that conference call today" or it might be something completely random, something that you need to know and have in your heart.

Something like, "I need to stop doing the things that don't make me happy."

Which was my first thought upon waking a couple of weeks ago.

Look, I know that there are some highly unenjoyable things that are required as part of regular life. Things like doctor's appointments and taxes and oil changes. They're necessary, and they probably don't bring you giant swooshes of joy in your heart. I'm not talking about those things.

I'm going to keep doing those.

But.

There are some other things -- things that I've been doing for years, things that I do without even thinking about them -- that may not make me totally miserable (though some of them do, let's be honest) -- but that don't make me happy and that directly contribute to unhappiness.

And that, my friends, strikes me as being incredibly dumb.

Large scale change is not the easiest thing to accomplish -- if it was, we'd all have incredibly lovely lives, wouldn't we? -- but perhaps it's not the hardest thing either. The tricky bit, I think, is believing that chasing after change, running after dreams, and reaching out for the thing that might make you really happy is something that you deserve. That you're important enough to be worthy of that which you would want.

That it's okay, in fact, to let go of the things that don't make you happy and take up the things that do.

Starting right now.