The Ideal

After we finished walking the Camino last May, we spent the better part of a week in Barcelona.  We spent two or three afternoons at the topless beach, reveling in the perfect weather. I wore my entire bathing suit to the beach, but took off my top with all my other clothes. Five years ago, I wouldn't have thought one second about baring my breasts in a public place, much less one where there were so many other amazing breasts to compare with mine. But after spending time in Korea, becoming comfortable with my own body in front of other women at the public baths, and ultimately becoming comfortable enough to stop caring if other people weren't comfortable with my body¹, the topless beach thing wasn't a big deal. I didn't feel stared at or ogled. I had just finished walking over 500 miles for 32 days, and my body was a prize. I wasn't completely happy with my size (does this EVER happen?) or with every part of my body, but I was satisfied enough to feel that I was owning my body in a way I hadn't ever done so before. 

I had gotten up every morning and fed myself well and then walked for miles every day, fully deserving those sweet hours of sleep between yellow arrows pointing the way to Santiago. I felt productive in a new way. I didn't necessarily produce much, except for an exceptional amount of perspiration and dirty clothes. But I was going somewhere; I had direction and purpose to wake up to each morning; I had my body to thank at the end of the day. 

Back to the beach. Back to a time when Kenny and I spent an entire two days of the trail talking about baby names and using phrases like, "In three more years," or "after we hike in Peru" just to make sure we agreed about the timing in our marriage for children. We were leaving the beach the last day when I saw a small girl, maybe a year and a half old standing under one of the showers for rinsing off the sand. She couldn't push the button to make the water come out, but she was standing there with her hands out just waiting. She also happened to be completely nude and adorable with her perfectly round tummy and her pudgy little hands waiting expectantly for the water. And then her mother came up to her and decided it was time to go. Her mom was topless and had another baby in a stroller. And you guys, this woman was breathtaking, both in the usual sense of being a beautiful woman and also in the sense of being a mother. And as I looked at her and watched her chase her babies inside that skin, I turned to Kenny and said, "That's the mother I want to be." 

So far, I'm not the mother I want to be. I started this pregnancy at 66 kilos (145 pounds) and yesterday in my 23rd week, I weighed in at 77 kilos (169 pounds). Now, I am not that woman who was in shape before her pregnancy and is mourning the loss of her figure. I happen to be in love with my big round belly, because that's where Jude's hanging out these days, and pregnant bellies are cute. However. The rate at which I promptly quit living my life and immediately began consuming unethical amounts of carbs have devastated the rest of my body. My boobs are huge to begin with and now I barely know what to do with them. My thighs and my butt have never even concerned me before, and now I find myself gazing at them with an open mouth in the mirror. Where did these come from? And HOLY BACK FAT. I guess Jude is just rearranging all the fat that can't settle around my midsection anymore. He is delegating it to my back and my upper arms. And I know that this post is silly in some respects. That worrying about the state of my body and my weight is somehow supposed to be outweighed by the joys of growing a child, the wonder of making another person inside me. 

But. It's just not healthy, is it? And health should be more of a priority for me. The weight I've gained isn't just pregnancy weight. It's lazy weight. Weight that doesn't have to be here. And it bothers me. I want to be a cute pregnant lady, not the one who uses her pregnancy as an excuse to eat three donuts in one day (hello, yesterday). There are a lot of things I need to work on. In my last post, I wrote about how dissatisfied I was with my inability to DO anything. Well, in the past week, I've volunteered to help at a library story time on Saturdays, volunteered to sing and dance at church once a week in an English play time, and found a prenatal yoga class that I'll start next week DESPITE the fact that I don't really speak enough Korean to understand what the teacher says without watching her the entire time. Add to that my private tutoring and I've got something to do almost every day of the week. So, I've managed to spread out my time and efforts and I'm hoping just having a reason to leave the house everyday will help stall the back fat extravaganza. Oh, and taking nightly walks with my husband, holding hands and talking about our days and our future. Yes. So, now begins the battle: The Ideal vs. My Back Fat. Let's hope the Ideal takes this one, eh?

1. I think this is actually the real issue. It’s not usually about what we think or feel about ourselves when we look in the mirror, but it’s about what we imagine other people to think about us when they look at us. It’s always the pressure of “the other” we’re measuring ourselves against. I’ve worked hard to guard against this and now I mostly try to measure myself against the best version of myself. But of course, this is also difficult. 

My Soul vs. My Meat

I'm embarrassed to admit that I spend most of my days doing nothing much. Sometimes, I make our bed and sweep the floor. Some days I might even wash all the dishes after all the meals to alleviate the guilt I feel about living with my parents-in-law. Usually, I sleep in, eat, wander from coffee shop to coffee shop, and watch a ridiculous number of CSI reruns on TV. And everyone I talk with makes wonderful, compassionate excuses for my month of sloth.

The thing is, I have to figure out what I'm doing. I can't keep doing nothing. It's easier and I'm sick of myself taking the path of least resistance. I've been given an amazing time to prepare for this pregnancy, to accomplish so many things. Heck, I've been given 10 months to DO WHATEVER I WANT. How many people get this opportunity? How many people are running through their busy lives wishing for what I've been given? And here I am, having wasted the first 5 months of my time "off."

What really makes me sick is that I know all the time-management techniques. I know how to organize my time, turn big lofty goals into small actionable to-do lists, use 10 minutes productively. I just don't. Kurt Vonnegut once did a really good job of paraphrasing Romans 8:  My soul knows my meat is doing bad things, and is embarrassed. But my meat just keeps right on doing bad, dumb things. This is exactly how I feel now. I'm embarrassed when Kenny comes home in the evenings and asks me what I did that day. I sometimes don't have anything to tell him. And luckily, I have the most amazing husband in the world, who thinks writing blog posts and making vlogs and desigining in Photoshop count as legitimate tasks that deserve my time and attention.

I'm ashamed of how much time I've wasted. I'm ashamed at how easily I've allowed myself to continue making bad decisions. And I'm scared. I want to find some overarching sense of direction and purpose before Jude comes, because if he comes and falls into that spot, I think it becomes dangerous. I have the time to make sure that I'm not completely alienated when this boy comes into our world. Whether he speaks English with me at home or not, most of his world will take place in Korean. And if I'm not privy to that world, I'll be quite alone.

So, here's hoping my meat and my soul get it together. This post is the first step of many.

Missing Home

Is it possible to miss a place you haven’t left yet? From what I’m feeling lately, I think so. This is our first house as a married couple. This is where our cats have grown up. This is where we know our grocer and our favorite barista by name. This is just home now. I know the bus numbers. I have grown to love Wonju and how it is half city half countryside. I love that there are still undiscovered gems to be discovered down alleys and back roads here. I don’t feel I’ve exhausted the possibilities in my small city. I surely haven’t exhausted the mountain trails, either. 

I know that relocating to Seoul is the best thing to do for us. Kenny needs to be in the middle of things to find a job he loves and that he’s qualified for. We’re both tired of teaching and I know that this is a fresh start for us in so many ways. I am looking forward to it with that giddy excitement bubbling in my gut that I have before I ride a rollercoaster. I know that to enter a new place I have to leave the old one first. I guess that’s why change is full of beauty and sorrow at the same time.

I’m cherishing up all the moments I can here. We fly a week from today and when we return, our days in Wonju are numbered.

I’ve been thinking about the name of this blog, how it will no longer be quite accurate. But I’ve also been thinking that Wonju is the place I grew into my role as wife. It’s where I grew to understand what love looks like (I still claim it looks more like washing the dishes and cleaning the litter box than any grand gestures). It’s where I fell in love with so much of my life. So maybe, in some way, I’ll always be Wonju Wife. And in some way, Wonju will always be home. 

To Facebook or Not To Facebook?

(source)

Is this even a question? For me, it is becoming one. Lately I’ve been thinking about how I connect with people. One day I looked up and wondered why I was even scrolling through the news feed. It had become a habit, something I did between teaching classes; when I was bored, it was something I did to delay the inevitable work in front of me. Lately though, it’s becoming clear that Facebook is not working for me. I’m not making or maintaining deep relationships there. I’m not meeting new interesting people there. I’m not hearing what people really have to say. And are we really saying anything important? I’ve been reading some interesting articles and posts about Facebook, about what it’s becoming and what we are becoming as we use it.

(This one is lengthy, folks. This post is not limited to 420 characters.)

Gwen Bell, one of the most respected social media guru’s on my radar recently wrote a post entitled Defanging Facebook. She and her friend Patrick talk about moderating or abstaining from the site altogether. For me, I don’t think I’ll ever completely give up Facebook, because it is a way to keep in touch with my mom and my sister, both of whom refuse to start using Twitter. Facebook mainly serves as a jumping off point for Skype conversations or longer in-depth email exchanges. And for that reason, I’ll keep it around, at least for now.

Another point of view to consider is Don Miller’s look at Digital Clutter. (Recently, Don has been rocking my world daily with his “Creator” posts, which are basically simple directives about who creators are and what they do.) But he got rid of his Facebook after asking himself some questions:

the question I ask myself with digital communication is different: Did I or anybody else benefit from this the past year? That’s a harder question to answer. Did anybody benefit from seeing my pictures from that retreat? Maybe. Did I benefit from knowing it was so and so’s birthday, or that so and so was in a relationship? Maybe, but probably not, to be honest. I’d rather find out that so and so was in a relationship when they came through town, stayed in the guest room and we caught up while listening to whatever music we discovered. So I decided Facebook should go.

Interesting questions, hey?

This article, written by Zadie Smith for the New York Times looks at The Social Network, the movie about Facebook, but the last half is really a reflection on how we are presenting ourselves, how we are being minimized by the site:

When a human being becomes a set of data on a website like Facebook, he or she is reduced. Everything shrinks. Individual character. Friendships. Language. Sensibility. In a way it’s a transcendent experience: we lose our bodies, our messy feelings, our desires, our fears. It reminds me that those of us who turn in disgust from what we consider an overinflated liberal-bourgeois sense of self should be careful what we wish for: our denuded networked selves don’t look more free, they just look more owned.

I agree that sometimes we leave out the “messy” parts. Who wants to project that they’re a miserable piece of garbage at the moment, feeling everyone is happier than they are? It seems that the Facebook “status” is causing serious anxiety for students, or anyone for that matter. Ask yourself how many times you’ve paused before hitting the Share button. How many times did you revise your status because it sounded too depressing, or even too happy? I’m not going to talk about how many times I’ve reworded something or gone back and praised God for the little x lurking in the corner. 

(source)

This college professor dares his students to take a media fast from all technological and traditional media for three months and asks them to journal about their experiences. Could you do it? How much would we really miss? Are important, authentic dialogues taking place that we would miss? Or would we connect more with the people around us, connect more with the people we live with, heck, would we connect more with ourselves as we sit and listen to our brains, instead of constantly hacking out a new status update?

We keep saying that Facebook is a way to “keep in touch” with people. Maybe so, because I keep in touch with my family across the world, but is it really making us more social? Slate has an interesting article that says it’s doing the opposite:

By showcasing the most witty, joyful, bullet-pointed versions of people's lives, and inviting constant comparisons in which we tend to see ourselves as the losers, Facebook appears to exploit an Achilles' heel of human nature. And women—an especially unhappy bunch of late—may be especially vulnerable to keeping up with what they imagine is the happiness of the Joneses.

and then there’s this:

Facebook is "like being in a play. You make a character," one teenager tells MIT professor Sherry Turkle in her new book on technology, Alone Together. Turkle writes about the exhaustion felt by teenagers as they constantly tweak their Facebook profiles for maximum cool. She calls this "presentation anxiety," and suggests that the site's element of constant performance makes people feel alienated from themselves. (The book's broader theory is that technology, despite its promises of social connectivity, actually makes us lonelier by preventing true intimacy.)

When I read that last line, “preventing true intimacy,” I thought about the relationships that are only played out on Facebook and if they really contain any true intimacy. Are your relationships through social media authentic? Or are you part of the play?

(source)

There’s this video about how to use Twitter and they mention that 150 connections is the maximum number of meaningful relationships you can have and still be getting something out of them. So when I saw that I had over 300 friends on Facebook, I went straight for the “defriend” button. My new criteria for friends are that they have to have written something on my wall, left a comment, or sent me a message within the last year. If you haven’t communicated with me in any way over the past year, it’s not likely you’re ever going to. And you can always look me up and write a message without being my friend.  ;)

I can’t completely knock Facebook, because at this point, I do use it and I’m not willing to give it up. Although, if I did, I’m sure I could still find ways to get in touch with family and friends to make Skype dates. But for now, I’m wary and cautious of what I’m projecting, how seriously I take what other people are projecting, and who I’m allowing Facebook to say I am. 

What about you? Are you your Facebook status?

Time to Be a Big Girl

0ver the past week, I've had some serious revelations about my character. Well, perhaps I shouldn't say revelations because that hints that I immediately came upon these things within myself, like stumbling and banging your shin against an out-of-position coffee table in the middle of the night. No, it's not like that. It is more like I finally decided to stop ignoring the large, lumbering ghost tapping on my shoulder from behind.

It is this: My main source of motivation, my main goal in life at this moment is to get from one comfortable place to the next. I think about hard work. I romanticize hard work. I admire people who work hard. I pretend sometimes that I do this kind of hard work. But, not really. I work hard to get back to comfortable. I work hard for short periods of time with shallow goals ahead of me. I sometimes aspire to discipline, but when I find it's more difficult than I planned, I easily let my aspirations slide out of memory. If I chance to look behind me, I can see pile after pile of abandoned intentions, shirked responsibilities, and avoided obligations littering the path I've come down.

I have been a child. I have not held myself accountable. It's time to grow up. It's time to accept that "comfortable" is not a worthy achievement. Comfortable is easy. Comfortable has little value and doesn't like to stay for dinner. It is short-lived, short-sighted, and temporary. It is best friends with indulgence. I'm tired of pursuing comfortable. I want to pursue something that matters and is meaningful.

I think I'm finally ready to figure out what that is. And chase it without restraint, no matter how much hard work it takes to get there. And no matter how little comfort accompanies me on the way.


"Virtue —even attempted virtue— brings light; indulgence brings fog."  -C.S. Lewis

New Rules

I make stupid rules up all the time in my head. As if there aren't enough rules already.

Tonight, at a seriously safe intersection where you can see cars in both directions for a good distance, Kenny wanted to jay walk. He was anxious to start his run and the track was across the street. But would I do it? Nope. Gotta follow those rules. Because with my luck, we'd get stopped by one of those traffic cops with their little white hats and their tight pants and their electronic ticketing thingies. And that's why I follow the rules. I follow the rules because it works for me. I see the logic behind rules; I understand they're usually there to keep me or other safe; I feel all squirmy inside when I break the rules.

Then why am I making stupid ones for myself?

I'm stopping this madness right here. For example, I have this stupid little rule in my head that every post on this blog must be either a) profound, b) extremely well-written, c) funny or d) have an amazing photo attached. While all of these are excellent reasons to share something, they're not the only reasons. Maybe I have a crap day and I need to talk about it. Maybe I have something to say, but it's not profound, well-written, or even funny. So, I'm posting WHAT I feel like it WHEN I feel like it. Yep, that's the new rule around these parts.

Also, this is like the least sexy September in the history of Septembers. I'm fat. I'm lazy. I'm cheating on my life with the TV. Tonight I went for a walk that turned into a run that turned into a sprint-as-fast-as-you-can-from-here-to-there-just-be-faster-than-your-self-loathing kind of thing. It's the first time I've gone out for some exercise in a while. New rule: Stop making excuses. (There's no need to point out the 500 other posts in which I tell myself to stop making excuses. I'm very aware that they exist, thankyouverymuch. Apparently I need to continually remind myself of this rule.)

New rule: Give more. I've been getting wonderful, kind comments and during the vlogging season of August, I was giving as good as I was getting. But now? I'm crap at commenting on... well, anything! Twitter, blogs, vlogs, dailybooth. You name it; I suck at commenting. I would love to be the awesome girl who sends everyone handwritten letters every month, or the woman who is so thoughtful and remembers people's birthdays with presents and care packages. And who is to say that I can't be that girl? But right now? Until I get my stuff together, I can comment away. (File this under: stop making excuses.)

And the last rule: NO MORE RULES! Who needs so many rules anyway? Especially self-imposed rules. I'd love to just start living a more disciplined, scheduled life and not have to make rules. I'd rather just DO what I want to do. Eh, we'll see.

What are some rules you make for yourself? Are they silly? Or do they really help order your life and make you a better version of yourself? Because my rules are pretty crap.

Catching My Balance

(On Phewa Lake in Pokhara / photo by The HubbO)

Lots of things are changing for me. I feel funny about it, though. I think I may be getting more used to change, or handling it better anyway. Perhaps this was due to happen because of the way I live. I don't live in a permanent residence; I don't have a long-term job (I sign contracts for a year at a time, or sometimes 6 months); I don't know where I'm going to be a year from now.

I feel like I live in a boat. I know I'm in a boat, and I know what kind of boat I'm in, but I have no idea where the boat is going or where my final destination is. And right now, that's okay. I like this boat. There's a hot Korean man in this boat with me! But it has taken me a long while to get used to the roll of the waves under my feet, the undulating and shifting. I feel like I might finally be catching my balance.

Today was Saralyn's last day at work. She's leaving Korea on Sunday. Another of my coworkers left today as well, and with his departure, I am now the longest-standing employee there. I have been there longer than the new director we got last month. I have been there longer than the elementary school principal we got in February. I have been there longer than all the employees who arrived in January, February, and now the two new ones who have arrived in August. It is strange. Staying put and watching everyone pass through. It's like this school has become a long hallway. I keep walking down the hallway, but everyone else takes the emergency exit. That's not intended to be any kind of commentary on the school itself. I'm fine there. But I'm not used to these revolving-door relationships. People come into your life for only months at a time. And yes, they usually make a graceful exit, but it's an exit all the same.

My schedule at work is also changing. I'm losing some of my girls that I've taught English to for a year now. Everyone knows I don't love teaching, and I surely don't love kids. But I do love my students. I'll be seeing them in the hallways, but I won't be their teacher anymore. I'm also losing some of my breaks, although not all of them. Mondays and Fridays will be full, busy days. I'll most likely have to work a lot harder the first few weeks of this next semester. Perhaps I'll enjoy feeling like I've earned my weekends.

Of course, I'm still complaining about all these changes. But I find that deep down, I'm becoming okay. I want to become a more flexible person. And I'm finding that if I keep my mouth shut a little longer, process change inside myself first, then I begin to accept it much better. It's not so tough. I want to stop being afraid of small changes. I want to become a person who can accept big changes with grace, allowing them to shape me into a richer, more authentic person.

I don't want to become callous. I also don't want to become so flexible that I lose my direction altogether. I do want to let life surprise me. I do want to live an inspired existence. And inspiration doesn't follow agendas or ask to be pencilled in.

I'm a little bit proud of myself for keeping my balance in the boat this month as the waters are stirring and unsteady underneath me. And that's a little change, too.

Inside My Head

What we think about ourselves is dangerous territory. And talking about what we think about ourselves with others is like sticking dynamite in your mouth and hoping it doesn't go off. I find when we begin to have a genuine conversation, an authentic dialogue about who we really believe ourselves to be, we discover that we're not so alone in our neuroses.

But it takes a certain kind of person to get to that place. Usually, if you try to talk about what you think about yourself, you will be bombarded with comments like, "How could you think that?" or "Don't be so negative." "Don't be so hard on yourself." "No, you're not ___________!" (Fill in the blank with whatever your current body/self-related obsession happens to be). And I find discussions like this to be stupid and somewhat pointless. When I tell you what I think about myself in my head, I don't need you to tell me that I'm wrong to think that. If I'm telling you about it, I probably already know it's way off course. And that's the thing about self-image. How can we ever be certain about what others think of us? And honestly, they're probably too busy going over their own list of flaws in their head to care too much about yours.

But VEDA? VEDAers, as I've taken to calling the participants, are not like this. They are listeners. They are willing to open up authentic dialogues. They are willing to hear the most horrible things you have to say about yourself and respond with sympathy, not trite platitudes about how you should love yourself. Because we all know we should love ourselves. Sometimes, what we really need to hear is, "Yeah. Me too."

I was really blown away by the response to my own VEDA video, and definitely moved by many others' honest and vulnerable videos. I thought I would share some of that here. I also want to send you over to read this post from Kerri, who is sadly not participating in VEDA, but has ended up writing a beautiful and inspiring post on body image at the same time!

These are the stories we're telling ourselves about who we are. These are the dialogues we're running in our heads. These are the words informing our esteem, determining our worth. They are not perfect, but they are honest. And they are real.

Another Year Over

(photo)

A year ago today, on August 15th, Kenny and I landed in Incheon airport and began the long process of settling down. A few weeks later, we were moved into this apartment in Wonju. This little place has become a precious home. It's the first place we've lived together, considering the first 6 months of our honeymoon were spent alternating between mountain shacks, jungle huts, sweltering hostels, 5-star hotels, and one of the guest rooms in my parents' house. We have snuggled down into a routine here. We know the back roads; we know where to get good coffee; we know where to find smiling, kind faces.

And most of all, Wonju has been comfortable. This year of our lives has been so domestic, so tranquil, and perfectly lovely. So, obviously, the things to do now is shake things up. So, in February, when my contract with my current employer is up, we're packing up all our stuff, storing it at the parents-in-law's place, and heading out for our next big adventure.

On February 21, 2011, we will celebrate our 2 year wedding anniversary. One week later, I will work my last day at Yonsei ELP. And one week after that will find us with backpacks strapped on headed for our second honeymoon. We are hiking El Camino de Santiago. Yup. That's what's next on the big trip agenda. We'll start from the south of France at St. Jean-Pied-de-Port and make our way through Spain to Santiago de Compostela. It's the most traditional route, and also the most well-known. We're looking to make our journey in 35 days, but we all know how slow I am. Unlike our Annapurna trek, I won't be able to have a wonderful porter carry my bag. I'll be doing it myself.

Yes, I am scared. Yes, I am excited. Yes, I am so ready to challenge myself. We may begin our traveling by hitting a few spots in Europe first (Prague, I'm looking at you) and finishing up with a week or two in Barcelona.

And after that? Your guess is as good as mine! NOW is the time to start your life over every other year. NOW is the time to travel to places and do things that once we're tied to a house payment, or children, we won't be able to do. NOW is the time to risk spending most of our money (besides our savings) on seeing the world, doing something magnificent and difficult and of worth, and come back to nothing. NOW is the time to start over as many times as we feel like it. NOW is the time to not know what to do with my life or where it's going. NOW is the time to celebrate our marriage and rejoice in the fact that without each other, neither of us would be going on these adventures. NOW is the time to refine ourselves through sweat and heavy luggage, and hard-earned sleep.

So, I have 6 months to read, plan, read, hike, read, get stronger, read, plan, and leave. Woot.

(photo by cornyvall)

P.S. I'd like to say for the record that we still have not purchased toilet paper. ONE YEAR and we have not had to buy toilet paper or laundry detergent. And this isn't the end. It's not like we're about to run out. We still have tons of it stacked in the storage closet and on the veranda behind a screen. I remember thinking it was so silly to give toilet paper as a gift. Now, I completely understand. And you know, it's just a funny housewarming gift. Talk about community! What a beautiful year of our lives has just been lived.

The Gift of Watermelon

I'm seriously beginning to doubt that watermelon is a gift.

When someone gives you a watermelon, sure, your first thoughts are, "How thoughtful! How lovely! How heavy." And then it's basically all downhill from there. Watermelon is a lot of responsibility. First, it's a hassle to get into. And second, where are you supposed to put it?

I am as excited about watermelon in the summer as the next person, but good grief don't give me one. The gift of a watermelon is really someone saying, "I think it's time you rearrange and clean out your fridge." If you do not rearrange and clean out your fridge, your watermelon will not fit in it. Even if you cut your watermelon into lovely lunch box size pieces to take to work with you for the millenia to come (because that's how much watermelon you now have), you have to put it somewhere. I like to keep some sliced up in a plastic Lock-n-Lock with a lid. But that Lock-n-Lock was probably already in use in my fridge. So, when I received the above watermelon, I had to empty out a whole bunch of things to make space for those cut pieces. And then, I still have the other big hunk of watermelon (I guess that's a fourth? Half of a half?) to store somewhere. In our fridge, I get to throw it in the bottom crisper drawer that is just deep enough to hold it.

And then there's the dilemma of how to consume the watermelon. I was only given half a watermelon, and it has turned out to be an inconvenience. I can't imagine anyone gifting a whole watermelon. That's just mean. I like to freeze some of it, but only so much because of freezer space and also, you must get out all the seeds. So, the gift of a watermelon is really someone saying, "Hey, you don't have enough to do. Pick all the seeds out of this with a fork."

Let's face it. You can only make so many watermelon smoothies, fruit salads, and watermelon-on-a-plate-let's-call-this-dessert before you are out of ideas. And let's face it, we are only two people. So, inevitably, we will watch this watermelon rot in our fridge. In other words, the gift of a watermelon is really someone saying, "You're a terrible person." And you believe it because you are such an irresponsible, uncaring, and insensitive person that you will let a wonderful, delicious fruit like watermelon go to waste sitting in your crappy fridge that freezes anything if it's too far back on the shelf.

Unless you believe that someone is in need of a serious fridge purge, needs a hobby that involves a fork, or is simply a terrible person, don't give them a watermelon. Otherwise, go for it.

A Year Ago

{me, dad, and mom watching fireworks in Tennessee, July 2009}

Last fourth of July, I was with my family in Tennessee, watching fireworks outside while the sky was preparing a huge thunderstorm. It was Kenny's first 4th of July celebration and he seemed to enjoy it. I miss my family more around holidays. It makes me realize how important tradition in our family was, and still is, to me. I am staunchly against any changes made to our holiday traditions, even if I'm not there to witness or experience the changes. Perhaps I feel their continuance is some kind of insurance. Even though I'm not there, I can trust that things will go on the same as they always have, so if and when I do return, I can settle back down into my place there.

I often feel like my family is growing and evolving without me. And that may well be true. Even from this distance, I can see the ways they are holding each other up in love, supporting each other disappointments, and generally rejoicing in each other's existence. My family does all of those things for me, too. But sometimes I feel I'm outside the circle.

I know, I know, I don't have any right to complain. I'm the one who picked up and moved. I'm the one who decided to come back to Korea. I'm the one who is trying to make a life in this country rather than mine. If you said all these things to me, I would have to admit that you're right. No one forced me to make the decisions I've made. And the thing is, I don't regret my choices. Every day I know I'm in the right place. I know that I'm supposed to be with Kenny, wherever in the world that is. That feeling of belonging- of being able to belong anywhere in the world because I'm with the person who helps my life make sense- that's something worth following. I never doubt that I'm in the right place. I just doubt that I'm doing the right thing in this place.

I will always miss my family. I think until I have a family of my own to help me make new traditions, I'll feel like that puzzle piece everyone searched for but couldn't find because it fell between the couch cushions. I know that I'm missed at home. I can't wait to get there and see my sister's new house. I can't wait to just ride around in a car running errands with my mom and make her laugh so hard she can barely drive straight. I can't wait to sit with my dad and try to listen more than I talk. There are so many things I'm excited to do. And I'll get to do them at Christmas for two weeks. I am excited for Kenny to experience Christmas at our house, too.

{bursting with love}

I can't stop thinking that if I were doing the right thing, if I found a way to support myself in a way that nourished and enriched my spirit instead of draining it slowly, that I wouldn't quite wish myself home so much. Not to say that I think I'll stop missing my family. Nope. That ache will always be hanging around, waiting for the right moment to smart so intensely I can't breathe. But that ache is cherished because it means I was and am a part of a family that knows what real, unconditional love is.

This fourth of July, I watched two kind, generous, and loving people get married. As they start their journey together, I hope that I can start another of my own, too. One where I am brave enough to do what I need to do. To dig out my place in Korea, even if the shovel gives me blisters.

What's Working

Instead of complaining about all the things I'm not doing right at the moment (okay every moment), these are all the things I'm doing that are working.

This kitters hug is working for me. Not so much for the kitters, eh?

I'm getting up early in the morning. Now, my definition of early may not be your definition of early. By early I mean that I am getting up early enough to be showered by 9. And that's progress people! I got so tired of coming home to a junky house that I never felt like cleaning at night. Then I would sleep in late and not have time to clean up before leaving. There were always lunch dishes in the sink when we would come home from work, the bed would be messy, and my office desk a disaster. I didn't talk about it before, because usually when I talk about something before I do it, I just turn myself into a big fat liar. So I just started doing it. I get up in the morning with the goal of going to work with a clean house behind me. It's so nice to come home in the evening and relax with the HubbO instead of feeling guilty because we both have to clean up when we're tired and cranky and hungry. So, getting up and getting straight into the shower works. (I'm also much nicer to my husband post-shower!)

Doing work at work. I have the best work schedule a girl could ask for this semester. Every day I have a break from 3:30 to 5:20. I used to use that time to explore the Internet (many times believing I had come to the end of it), write emails to friends, read a book, or go out for coffee. Although I still sometimes go out for a walk with Saralyn and sit on our bench in the sun at the park across from the school, or run some errands during this time, I make sure all my work is done first. It is making me better prepared for class and that is making my classes go well. Not that I didn't prepare before. But I would oftentimes forget things and be running from class to office again and again, going to the copy machine, or waiting on the printer. And all of those things were a waste of time when I had a huge break to prepare! So, now, I'm focusing only on work first. When all my work is finished and I've got everything I need ready, then I'm free to do whatever I want! It also helps that Kenny's grandmother is still hanging on. We could be called to Seoul for her three day funeral at any moment, so I have to be uber prepared in case other teachers need to teach my class or if they have to welcome my students into their own classes. Doing work at work totally works.

Counting calories. I downloaded a calorie counting app on my iPhone, but realized it wasn't doing me much good since I couldn't just plug in kimchi bokkumbap or ddeokbukki into the thing. So this morning I got Kenny to download a calorie counting app from the Korean app store. I'm having to learn a lot of new words to use it, which is great too, but now I can get closer to knowing how much I'm eating. I'm also being extremely aware of snacking. I used to snack during every break at school, feeling very deprived if I didn't have something to eat every time I wanted. But now, if I must snack, it's once and one thing. I've also cut out my daily Iced Caramel Macchiato except for once a week. I can drink other kinds of coffee, but I don't. Iced Caramel Macchiatos are my favorite, so I don't settle for less. This is helping me sleep better at night, I think! And also helping me curb an extra 200-300 calories a day. Counting calories works.

The weather is working for me, y'all. Finally. I've gotten rid of the jackets and am simply wearing long sleeve t-shirts or a t-shirt with a sweater. Can't wait until I can fit comfortably in my new jeans! That's my everyday outfit for summer: jeans, t-shirt, light sweater, and FLIP-FLOPS BABY! I even painted my toenails red last night just in case flip-flop weather shows up unexpectedly! Warm, spring weather with blue skies works.

Tights that look like jeans. I bought two pairs of tights that resemble jeans at Uniqlo this weekend. I mean, I know they don't really look like jeans, but they're close enough and the right colors. And y'all, as long as The Belly is hanging around, these leggings are making my dreams of sitting and bending comfortably come true! I have a pair of jeans I can squeeze into (I have two pairs I fit well, but they have been retired for the gaping holes in the thighs!), and I do wear them. But by the end of the day I usually find myself in a bad mood because I'm uncomfortable for most of the day. So, leggings and all things elastic and stretchy work.

Those are a few of the things that are working for me. What's working for you?

[Funny the Way It Is]

[push play, read]




I listened to this song on the bus home tonight. I realized a few lines of the lyrics captured the culmination of some debate going on inside me about convenience and comfort and what they cost.

standing on the bridge
watch the water passing under-
neath it must have been much harder
when there was no bridge just water
now the world is small
remember how it used to be
with mountains and oceans and winters and rivers and stars...

I live in the country of convenience. We have the fastest Internet; we have the most efficient airport in the world; we have ridiculously affordable health care; we have free shipping with online shopping; we can order food and have it delivered in a park, on the sidewalk, in an alley. And that delivery guy will come back later to pick up your dishes. We live in apartments surrounded by every kind of convenience you can imagine. Korea is saturated with convenience. Everything is done for you. You don't even pump your own gas in this country.

And I will tell you, dang, it's comfortable. I sit around and think about ways I can make my life even more comfortable. And generally, I discover how many things I need to achieve this. I need a better rice cooker so my rice will stay fresh longer and cook faster. I need a car so I can go where I need to go exactly when I like and skip the 10-minute-wait between buses. I need a better computer so I can spend more of my time in front of it. I need cable TV so I can watch programs I have seen before in English. I need a better cell phone so that I can Twitter on the go (because does Twitter really count if you must be tied to your computer and an Internet connection?). I need a personal trainer who will roll my belly out of bed in the mornings and march me to the gym. I need a personal chef (okay, I sort of have this one covered with the HubbO, but still) who will force me to eat things that are good for me while at the same time relieving me of the worry about and proximity with the food I consume. I need a lot of money so I don't have to teach. Because then I could spend all my time on the Internet, and everyone knows how great the Internet is!

And all of those things are fine. I love things. They're great. And I love easy and fast.

But what I don't love is who I become when everything is easy and fast. I don't love how those things prompt me only to consider further what more I need in order to be comfortable.

These things never stir me to create, to commune, to care about the person next to me. These things never allow me to test my patience or my discipline, both things running on empty. I am beginning to be drawn to the simple things in life. And I want to find beauty in waiting on the bus, instead of inconvenience. I want to order my life so that I don't need my rice cooker to keep my rice for 49 hours. And I want to stop seeing only my needs and the things that would make my life easier, instead of discovering the ways I can reach out and embrace a bit of difficulty or complexity. I want to stop complaining about being busy and having no time, and rejoice that I have a community to be a part of and people to care about. I want to work hard and build something for myself instead of ordering it to be done for me and delivered to my door for free.

I never understood why artists and writers always went to the woods or sparsely furnished shacks on the beach. I always wondered why they needed to seclude themselves from everyone else to get their work done. But it's not the people or the place they're running from. It's the things. The convenience and the comfort. Because let's face it; how many times can you site comfort as the great motivator? It's not. It just doesn't move us. It doesn't make us dance. It doesn't help us value vulnerability with each other or even within ourselves.

And we're ruining things with it. I crossed a good number of swinging rope and stone bridges built across small streams and hung across large coursing rivers in the Himalayas. And I was so thankful for those bridges. They held me and led me to places I couldn't have dreamed up. But the bridges are simply not enough. It's not enough that people can walk through the mountains and cross the water with relative ease now. People can't drive their cars through the mountains, and well, that's just annoying, isn't it? So not only do we want bigger and better bridges, we want roads. We want a clearly marked line to follow on the map. We don't want to twist and turn and investigate corners. We want to know where we're going and exactly how many minutes it's going to take us to get there.

The roads that are being constructed and laid through those mountains are destroying Nepal. Eventually, it won't be any big deal to hike through the Himalayas because you'll simply be able to drive through it. Without relying on the generosity of mountain farmers to feed you. Without poking dirt-bathed babies tummies on a stone wall. Without talking to the people of this land and trying your tongue at their names for the earth and its inhabitants. Nope. You'll be able to drive through it, with your air-conditioner on, your iPod plugged in, and all other experiences drowned in the comfort of your leather seats and the convenience of your four wheels.

Perhaps if I was Nepalese and walked everywhere, I would think differently. Perhaps speaking from the heart of comfort and availability and the opposite of hardship, I find the simplicity of others' lives beautiful. Yet, I have felt that simplicity work within me. I have walked through those mountains, trying to avoid the roads and being thankful for small bridges. I have seen what it is like when there are "mountains and oceans and winters and rivers and stars." And I met myself clearly there. My vision was not blurred by modern gadgets that keep me busy. Because the longer I think about it, the more convenience hides me from myself. Extremely comfortably hidden, actually. I don't have to look inside myself to, to examine myself, to reflect on my character, my choices, my heart. I certainly don't have to consider anyone else in this scheme of the easy life. If it's easy then it's good. If it's difficult, or complex, or fuzzy then it needs some work and someone needs to fix it so I don't have to do that work myself.

I'm tired of it. I'm tired of feeling the things I have within me being hushed by my comfortable life. Of course, we'll see where all this weariness gets me the next time I have to, God forbid, stand in a line and wait for something. Or when I need to order my time more wisely so I'm not 5 minutes late to everywhere. Or when I need to turn off the TV and shut down the computer in order to sit in front of the looking glass. We'll see. I am looking to simplify my life. Hoping to ignore the comfortable and choose instead the creative.

But y'all. I still want a car. Really, really bad.

[More on Middlemarch]

'You must be sure of two things: you must love your work, and not always be looking over the edge of it, wanting your play to begin. And the other is, you must not be ashamed of your work, and think it would be more honourable to you to be doing something else. You must have a pride in your own work and in learning to do it well, and not always be saying, There's this and there's that- if I had this or that to do, I might make something of it. No matter what a man is - I wouldn't give twopence for him' - here Caleb's mouth looked bitter, and he snapped his fingers - 'whether he was the prime minister or the rick-thatcher, if he didn't do well what he undertook to do.'

George Eliot wrote these words  found on page 562 of my 1994 Penguin Classics copy of Middlemarch borrowed from the school's library. And it got me thinking about "my work." What exactly is my work? Surely it isn't teaching. I enjoy it and it suits me, mostly because it feeds my self esteem to have someone looking at me for at least 6 hours out of everyday. It's nice to have a room full of people listen to you, and sometimes to write down what you say. There is some satisfaction in feeling a bit more important than I know I truly am. But this work is not what I love to do. And I do find myself, more often than I'd like to admit, looking over the edge and wondering when I get to play.

I've been absent for a while. I've been silent for a few weeks, with random posts stuck in here to hold my place in your mind or your Reader. And I have missed something. I've missed the way I feel at home when I think about things in words. I've missed the way I make miniscule but important self-discoveries when I try to fit everything flying through my head into paragraphs. I've missed the joy I find in the dance of my fingers over the keyboard. And it makes me hope that this is my work. That writing is my true work. I find that I have pride in my writing in a way that is not found in any other area of my lfe. Not a pride that sets me above others, but rather one that makes me thankful and sure of myself.

I guess I am still trying to find a balance in my life. A balance that creates a space for my husband, for housework, and for writing. (We won't mention that I have a full time job). I'm not balancing those things well. It seems I am either an exceptional wife who writes little but remembers to clean the litter box, or I am a writer who does little else exceptionally. This writing thing is powerful and time-consuming. And I can get lost in it.

But when I find myself lost in writing, I found myself missing out on my life. I'd like to be worth twopence, though. I'd like to be able to devote myself fully to my passion. I've been given the gift of actually knowing what I'd like to do with myself. So many people are still wandering about, trying to figure out what they're suited for. But I know. I know! I'm wondering when I'll be brave enough to try to feed myself with these sentences.

Until then, I will be mindful of not saying "There's this and there's that- and if I had this or that to do, I might make somehting of it." I have this and I have that. And I can make something of it. I think.....

It's Still Thanksgiving Back Home

Dang, I miss my family.

Some November goodness...

First snow.

Bike ride.

Bike ride face.

Motivation in winter = Miracle.

The HubbO and Miso = My True Loves!

I could wish really hard that I was at home eating fried turkey. I would inevitably be tackled mercilessly, drug to the floor and then tickled until I almost peed, all the while my throat growing hoarse with my screams for help being entirely ignored by the rest of the family sitting around the table. Because my cousin, Danny, is at home. I could wish really hard that I was sitting next to Uncle Mitch and Aunt Yvette, listening to my mother's laughter. I could predict the amount of time my dad felt was socially acceptable to be downstairs until he climbed back up the stairs to his hermit hole. I could wish really hard that I was talking about poop with my brother-in-law, while my sister gagged and rolled her eyes at us. I would tell her the turkey was so "moist." And maybe add that "I heard that murmur!" I could wish really hard that I was there to hear my cousins snoring in the bedroom and the living room.

Or, I could be thankful for my warm home here in Wonju. For my mother-in-law sleeping on my couch tonight (at her insistence). For my kitties snuggling in bed. For my kids making me laugh so hard today. For the man I'm falling asleep beside. For this new wakefulness stirring in me.

And The List remains the same.

The Gift of Good Books

I love it when what I'm reading all comes together for me, when what I read meets me where I am. I don't have to stretch to reach it, turn over to be touched by it, or look anything up in the dictionary. It just sinks right down into my soul and tweaks it a bit. I'm living in these words from Don Miller's Through Painted Deserts this week:

I want to keep my soul fertile. For the changes, so things keep getting born in me, so things keep dying when it is time for things to die. I want to keep walking away from the person I was a moment ago, because a mind was made to figure things out, not to read the same page reccurently.

I've been thinking a bit about discipline and what that looks like for me. And it's funny because I normally think about discipline as the inhuman ability to do the same thing over and over. Like my father. But for me, I think discipline is more about the ability to change things. Even the things that are comfortable. Sometimes most of all the things that are comfortable. What I'm trying to say is that all our lives, we'll be in the process of changing. I think that's the real discipline: to be able to accept when the time for change comes and to not spend time mourning the death of the things that should die, but to get busy having thing born inside you. I've been changing a few things, small things. But it feels good. Sometimes though, we get all caught up in the changes we should be making, in the life we should be living, and we forget that all the good stuff isn't holed up hiding out in our future selves somewhere. So, to temper this responsiveness in my soul:

You feel like this life is always leading up to something, but it isn't. I mean life is just life. It's all happening right now, and we aren't going to be any more complete a month from now than we are now. 

So, the changes are important. Discipline is important. But it's not like I'm ever going to be a more complete person. I've somehow found myself unconsciously buying into this idea that I'm incomplete. I need to buy things, to subscribe to things, to eat certain things, to acquire certain things to be complete. But really, I'm complete already. As complete as I'm going to get. I just have to LIVE now. And living is definitely NOT the same thing as consuming. Consuming is exhausting work, and I'm tired of it.

And then, after reading this book a few weeks ago, I come across a few passages in Wendell Berry's The Gift of Good Earth, which is beautiful. Never thought I would describe a collection of essays from the late seventies and early eighties on agriculture as beautiful, but so be it. It's also profound.

A second law is that anything diseased is more profitable than anything that is healthy. What is wrong with us contributes more to the "gross national product" than what is right with us.

And

In a healthy culture, of course, personal health and frugality would not be difficult- they would not be perceived as "disciplines." They become difficult when disease and waste become normal.

And maybe you guys are all rolling your eyes with that "duh" look on your face because you think about these kinds of things on a daily basis. For me, this is not necessarily new territory, but a new way to see things I've been looking at for a long time. And to understand that I'm finding certain "disciplines" difficult not just because I am broken or damaged or don't have enough intestinal fortitude. But because where I live, disease and waste are normal. And rewinding, moving backwards is almost always counterintuitive and hell, it's just hard. Because personal health and frugality are not prized by our cash economies or our entrepreneurial spirits.

I've been valuing indulgence, treating myself, and getting what I want over personal health. I've been valuing instant gratification and the quick-fix or most convenient solution over frugality. And although it feels easier, it's not. Like I said, it's exhausting and I've nothing to show for it. But working hard for health and working hard to live simply- that's worth it. I will always have something to show for it.

So I guess, I'm changing. And then, I'm being okay with the fact that I'm living life now. That when I make these changes, I don't somehow become more complete. But that with each change I learn how to live a little better, a little more fully. And reminding myself what's important: health, simplicity, frugality.

What's important to you? What changes are you making?

Filling the Cracks

It's winter outside. And somehow I'd forgotten how dang cold it gets in Korea during the winter. I mean, I was only freezing my butt off at my wedding in February, but returning in August completely erased my memory of all wind chills and snowy sidewalks. But the wind is back.

The wind? Not my favorite. The wind has a way of reminding me that I do not know how to keep it out. I will get dressed in my cozy, warm apartment and think that I have all my bases covered. I'm layering, I'm wearing my heavy coat, wearing my lined boots, remembering my polar bear hat. But the wind lets me know otherwise. It comes in through the cracks, baring weak spots with a shocking icy sting. And I remember I've left my scarf because the wind is saying hello to my neck. I've forgotten my gloves because somehow the wind is holding hands with me in my pocket and fingering my wrists. I make a mental note to search again for my lost long underwear because these jeans are not cutting it. The wind is just ignoring them, acting like they do not exist.

Last night I was sitting at the bus stop with Kenny. Apparently, the wind was feeling neglected and was trying to get our attention by doing some crazy dance through all the tiny cracks in our winter attire. I was running my mouth, as usual. Talking about some things that had annoyed me throughout the day, mentioning how some of my coworkers were really great and I was enjoying working with these people, and then complaining a bit about some acquaintances who make me feel awkward sometimes. And then, Kenny stops me. And he says, "Danielle, I know you don't mean to do it, but you are like that sometimes. You know how you complain about people talking on the bus? Or whispering around you? Or excluding people on the sly in conversation by talking about something they're not familiar with or able to discuss? Sometimes you do that. I'm not saying it to hurt you, and you don't do it on purpose. But I thought you should know."

And dang it if those words weren't colder than the winter wind. His observations cut straight through my thick coat and seared some truth on my insides. Because so many times I walk around thinking, I've got it together. I'm not being a horribly inconsiderate person. I'm doing just fine. And then I start to complain. And the minute I open my mouth, my husband is there to shove those words back in. He holds up my own words in front of me, making me see myself in my own mirror. And sometimes, it's really ugly. But now I can see where the cracks are. Now I see the weak spots.

So tomorrow, I'm wearing a scarf.

Home

This weekend we lugged the cats up to Kenny's parents' house in Seoul. It was an ordeal, but the kitters seem to enjoy exploring the new digs and are comfortable enough to lounge around on the furniture, displaying their soft round bellies to the ceiling.

This afternoon, on my way to Gwanghamun to meet Jennifer for some good eats, I rode my old bus. Good old blue 340 bus. And I walked against the wind past the apartment I lived in last year. And I rode the escalator down into the guts of Cheonho station. I felt like I was at home. Good grief, I thought, I only lived here for a year. But when I was there today, I knew where I was. Maybe that's what home is: knowing where you are. And somehow knowing where you are scoots a little insecurity out of the way and makes a place for you there.

I didn't live there long. But good things happened to me in this place. I discovered an entire country here. This is where Korea starts for me. Everything I learned about this country, about the people, and about myself spiders out from the 9th floor of Platinum River Apartments. And then it all doubles back into that little room where it was cried over, shouted about, and processed through. I got engaged here. I cooked horrible food in my apartment. I met my friends in the backstreets and down by the river here. Maybe that's what home is: where good things happen to you. And the good things that happen shove a little of the unfamiliarity out of the way and make a place for you there.

I've felt this sense of home before while we were spending a week or so in London at the tail end of Le Honeymoon. I just knew where I was. The place was familiar. I had only lived there a year, and not even in London at that. Exeter is a far cry from London. But James and Dennis were there. And perhaps that's why I felt comfortable, like I was being received into the city again. Maybe that's what home is: where the people you love make their lives. And they make small spaces in their city for you with the love in their hearts that moves some of the strangeness to the side and that pocket just opens up enough for you to slide into your place there.

I belong in Rome, Georgia, too. There are invisible footprints I fall back into every time I wind my way up the S curve on the hilltop campus of Shorter College. I learned to ask questions there. And maybe that's what home is: the place that helps you ask questions. Because asking questions seems to displace a bit of uncertainty and make room for the answer. If there is one. And when there's no answer, well, you've got a bit more elbow room to swim around in with your question.

Of course, I am at home in Tennessee. In the wood cabin with the red roof and the glowing porch lights on Poplarwood. Because when I'm there, I know where I am. And good things happened to me there. And the people I love still make their lives in that house. And it's the safest place I know of to ask hard and uncomfortable questions in.

Maybe those of us who wander aren't missing out on home so much as everyone thinks. Perhaps we're just lucky enough to have more than one.

Frankly Speaking

Pursue, keep up with, circle round and round your life... know your own bone:

gnaw at it, bury it, unearth it, and gnaw at it still.  ~Thoreau

__________________________________________________________________________________

It all comes down to fear. I am afraid.

I've been thinking in spare moments. In the few minutes walk from the bus stop to the school. In the few minutes waiting for my macchiato in the coffee shop. In the few minutes while I wash the dishes. When I find myself thinking about why I'm not doing what I'm meant to be doing, I try to stop myself. But tonight, I didn't get to myself soon enough.

Why am I still struggling to get up in the morning? Why am I still spending more time reading blogs than writing one? Why am I still spending more time planning how I will study Korean than actually studying Korean? Why am I still talking about the planning stages of my writing project with Kenny instead of writing it? Why am I reading 10 different books now instead of writing one? Why am I lying in the bed for two extra hours in the morning instead of moving my body?

Today, while grading tests, I felt the fear turn over in my stomach. I realized I wasn't attempting anything because I was afraid of failing. I'm afraid of finding out that I'm not capable of what I set out to do. And so, to counteract the possibility of failure, I find ways to make sure I cannot succeed. I always have an excuse. My business seems to be creating excuses. 

I'm struggling to get up in the morning because if I have extra time, I should have something to show for it. What if I don't have anything to show? I'm spending more time reading other people's blogs than writing on mine because what if I don't get any comments, and no one reads my posts, and I'm not who I think I am to the blog world? I'm spending more time planning my study of Korean because what if I study a lot and hard and do the best I can and I never improve? I'm still talking about writing our book because what if I try to write my sections and it doesn't come together? What if I am not a writer at all? I am reading books because it's an excuse for not writing one myself. What if I stop reading and start writing, but nothing ever comes of it? I'm refusing to exercise because what if it doesn't help? What if I'm this big a year from now? What if I give up before I see results? I am afraid of failure.

Even in teaching, I find myself holding something back. I'm afraid that if I give it everything I've got and yet my students don't excel, I will find I am not a good teacher. 

I keep telling myself that these things are waiting for me. They are waiting for me to get up the guts and do something. But what if they're not? What if, at 26 years old, I have to start over? 

I'm afraid of being lost. 

FAAAAAAAAAT!!!

Pardon all the excessive editing done to this piece. It was the only clip I could find.

Anyway, as I was saying, "FAAAAT! Fat fat fatty."

So Matthew Broderick is moi and Nathan Lane is also moi. This is what my insides yelled at my outsides when I found myself standing naked in front of the mirror this morning. Oh yes. You're hearing me right. The Belly is back! In full force, too. But.

I just finished reading Anne Lamott's Traveling Mercies this afternoon. For some reason, reading this was so insanely perfect. She has this way of praying that is so simple and full of faith. When she is scared, she says, "I'm scared. Help me." When she is frustrated with someone, she writes her name down and says, "Help me," and slips it into God's Inbox. When she is thankful, she says, "Thank you, thank you, thank you." And for some reason, this seemed so profound to me. I guess growing up in the church, I've always had this idea of what prayer is and what prayer should be for me. I felt like, at times, that my prayers should be "advanced" (whatever that means) because I'd been praying for a long time and usually when you do something for a while you get better at it. So I thought I should be better than "Help me." When I was in high school I started to write my prayers. It worked for me. It helped me to focus and to get down what I wanted to say. And it helped me be honest with myself. And also provided a record to look back at and see who had been faithful. Let me tell you- it was never me. But then it became an obsession, and I began creating rules for my prayer writing. I'm so good at making up rules. And I always think, if I can just follow the rules then I'll have it all together.

I know, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, do you really think anyone ever has it all together? Haven't you figured out by now that this all together mess is a myth? And yes! Yes I know. But somehow the knowledge that all together will never exist hasn't kept me from reverting back to behaving as if it is a possibility. So anyway, I created rules. Then I decided I would break free from my rules. And when I did that, I pretty much liberated myself from prayer altogether. And this has been a seemingly interminable cycle for me. I'll find something that works. Then I'll mess it all up by adding rules and making schedules and disappointing myself fifteen hundred times by not keeping my rules or my schedule and then I feel guilty and then I hate myself for feeling guilty and then I decide to rid myself of the rules and schedules by ridding myself of the thing that was being ruled and scheduled. (Sometimes run-ons are perfection.)

But Anne Lamott, man. She does not have it all together. And she has dreadlocks. And she wrote a chapter on her dreads. She also wrote a chapter on feeding herself. It was perfect. And she wrote about how when her car broke down, she prayed, "Help me." And when her heart was broken, she prayed, "Help me." And when her son wanted to go paragliding off a mountain she prayed, "Seriously. Help me." Her faith is worked out in her life in these tiny small bursts. And these small bursts pile on top of one another and make her faith huge! And I decided that I had put restrictions enough upon prayer, upon eating, upon how my life should go.

And fat works into this how?

I ran today. This evening, actually. I thought about running. I thought about it for a little while longer and realized that I felt like running. I felt like running. And then, I put on my running clothes (seriously, it was a squeeze. The Belly was like, in a hurry to return. No slow weight gain here.) and then, I ran. I just ran. I didn't run seriously far or seriously hard. I ran down the street with my husband trailing along, walking behind me, encouraging me with his little wave and his smile. I took walk breaks to hold his hand. And then I ran some more.

I didn't make up any rules about how far I had to run or how many other times this week I was going to run. Or how because it was Tuesday and not a Monday, it wasn't really the right day to start running again.

I could beat myself up about gaining a lot of my weight back, but really I didn't work that hard to lose most of it. I did work a lot before the wedding and I'm back to wedding size now. The weight I lost while traveling was from hiking for 5 to 6 hours a day, and puking my guts out and then eating nothing but toast for 2 weeks. I didn't get high-school thin because I wanted to. I didn't really have a choice. But this time, I'm choosing it. And I'm not making rules or schedules. I'm going to stop making excuses. And I'm just going to do it.

Anne wrote a chapter on forgiveness. And forgiving myself is something I rarely do. So, I'm forgiving myself for going a little overboard on the American cuisine and for having dessert every night and for lying around doing nothing.

And I'm praying.

"Help me."