Life without chocolate

I like to be comfortable. I mean, who doesn’t? I like my soft bed, my temperature-controlled living and working environments, my three square meals per day, my chocolate, my morning coffee, my warm showers, my sweatpants, my living room couch, my nice-smelling candles, my gentle music…I seek comfort. I get resentful, panicky, or sad when I learn that one of my pet comforts may not be available to me on a given day…and heaven forbid any one of them should ever be taken away altogether. (Would life actually be worth living without chocolate? It bears thinking about.)

I’ve been giving this a lot of thought this week, because–you guessed it–Lent is just around the corner. I’m beginning the mental preparation process now: pep talks, stern warnings, scoldings, that sort of thing. (A lifetime without chocolate probably wouldn’t be all that worthwhile, but I can make it 40 days. Right?) I used to think I’d be really good at Lent when I got older. I’d be holier then, that’s what I thought. But somehow or other Lent actually gets harder every year. I get more and more entrenched in my silly little creature comforts, to the point that giving them up feels like invasive surgery.

Here’s a rough sketch of what your humble blogger looks like on Ash Wednesday:

It’s not pretty.

But praise God for his mercy. In the midst of my dread (and I’m embarrassed to admit this, but it’s real dread. Lent: the season of discomfort, and worse than that, the humiliation that inevitably follows on being brought nose-to-nose with all my weaknesses and bad tendencies. You mean I’m not perfect yet?? What more can I possibly have to do?), he gives me such hope. And today as I reflected and prayed about Lent, about what I should give up, about how I can possibly work on being a saint when the idea of 40 days without chocolate has me in the fetal position, he gave me a clear answer, contained in three words: Duc in altum.

Put out into the deep.

Just get into the boat and shove off. Let go of the shoreline. It’s so easy to climb into the boat after him while it’s still tied up at the dock: as soon as things get unpleasant (those wooden seats are so hard…I’m feeling a little seasick…I have to go to the bathroom…) or scary (big waves…sharks…) I can get out, go back to land, get comfortable again. Maybe, if it’s a really nice day, we can go for a little sail, within sight of the beach of course, as long as we don’t go too far. But that’s not enough. It’s only half an answer to his invitation. He doesn’t want us to sit at the dock, but to embark on the full voyage.

Put out into the deep.

That’s what Lent is for: letting go of that safe, comfortable shoreline, sitting tight in the boat, and casting off. And doing it with joy. As St. Jose Maria Escriva writes, “Put out into deep water! Throw aside the pessimism that makes a coward of you.” That’s my prayer this Lent, for all of us: that we might follow Christ to Calvary, and discover the mysterious and awful joy of the cross that has won our salvation.

 

On the 14th of February…

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day: the day we celebrate our squishy emotions for other people. I’ve always enjoyed Valentine’s Day, believe it or not–granted, I’ve always been single, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get chocolate (from friends or from Mom), or cards, or even on occasion flowers. What’s not to love? But the approach of this holiday has gotten me thinking about emotions.

I am always surprised–and impressed–by people who can express their emotions. People who are okay with crying in front of others, or who can look you in the face and say, “I am so grateful to have you in my life” without being awkward, or who gasp and smile at beautiful things (a sunset, for instance) and want to share their enthusiasm with those around them. I’m even impressed when people get angry and let others see it. After all, what good does it really do to smile and pretend everything’s hunky-dory when you’re seething with rage? Of course there is something to be said for governing your emotions, and I’ll be the first to advocate for that; but it’s just as important to know how to be open about them in a healthy way.

Now I like to think I’m a pretty open person. “I have no secrets,” I often say, and it’s true. If you know me, you know basically everything there is to know about me (with a few exceptions, of course–every life has to have its veils, and I think that’s a good thing). When it comes to what I think and what I do, yes: I’m pretty open. But I am not at all open about what I feel. I’ve realized this pretty starkly in this past year, especially after moving in with a roommate who’s so beautifully open with her emotions. She doesn’t mind saying, “I love you!” or urging you to look out the car window at a beautiful scene, or even crying when she recounts a truly moving moment in her life.

Of course, in a big way this comes down to personality differences, and that’s okay. But it’s good to know where your own personality could use some toning, like a muscle. I remember making the conscious decision to start saying “I love you” to my family members when I was a junior in high school. It took months before the words would come out naturally, and a good year before I could say it without blushing or stammering or feeling a little queasy. Then I had to get over the hump of saying the same thing to my dear friends.

After all, it’s a big part of generosity to be willing to share with those around you…especially, to let them know what they mean in your life. And I don’t mean cheesiness or sentimentality, both of which tend to come across as insincere and downright annoying. But people need to know they have value; people need to know they are loved, appreciated, admired. And how will they know that unless those who love, appreciate, and admire them tell them so?

This goes for anybody, whatever their state in life, but of course (as always), I’m speaking especially to and about single people. We don’t always have those built in structures for letting the people closest to us know we care about them, or for hearing it for ourselves. But it’s so important to tell ‘em anyway. As someone who likes to keep a tight lid on her feelings until she’s stopped feeling them…or at least until she’s had a few weeks to shape them into cohesive sentences, to rationalize them into something comfortable and manageable…I know this is crazy hard. We want our relationships to be natural and spontaneous, but the simple fact is we don’t always have that luxury. Now I’m not advocating for people to go running off to every friend they’ve got, sobbing about their undying love. (Even that mental image makes me squirm.) But here and there, offer a token–a gesture, a word, a note–that goes deeper than the surface level jokes and fun, that lets the other person know “I value you as a person, and I’m grateful for your presence in my life.”

It’ll take me years to master this art, but I think it’s one worth mastering. And for now there are cheesy holidays like Valentine’s Day that offer great opportunities for practice.

 

A weakness for bullet points

The problem with “to-do” lists is that they never go away.

Ever.

They get longer and the items get more complicated and/or expensive, but they cling stubbornly to life.

I got distracted this afternoon at work, thinking about my current to-do list:

• Finish ironing. (Half my clothes have been hanging in the laundry room for nearly a month, waiting for me to take the time to run an iron over them. I’m just making do with what’s in my closet still…and doesn’t need to be ironed.)
• Come up with an armchair for my bedroom. (Once I finally acquire an affordable–or even better: free–chair, I will, I keep telling myself, set up a good schedule for writing in the evenings and praying in the mornings. For now, sans comfy chair, I haven’t come anywhere near such a schedule. What will be my excuse once I do have a chair? That’s the question.)
• Get car washed, inside and out. (I can almost write my name in the dust on my dashboard. And let’s not talk about the exterior…)
• Take same car in for 15k-mile checkup. (If I get it in for the 15k checkup before we hit 20,000 miles, I’ll be doing well.)
• Go to the grocery store. (I like to push it to the point of ridiculous. We’re not quite there yet. I still have: uncooked pizza dough, half a jar of tomato sauce, some pasta, oatmeal, four eggs, half an onion, enough lettuce for one salad, and some cheese. I should be good to go, really, for another week.)
• TAXES.
• Learn new software. (Which I will be able to do much more effectively once I purchase said software.)
• Sell old laptop. (I’ve been meaning to sell that old laptop for two years.)
• Finish blanket for bed. (Started five months ago. Folded up and put in basket two months ago. I haven’t touched it since.)
• Fix items of clothing that have been hanging unwearable in closet for the past two years either due to stains, tears, or size problems.
• In same vein, look into seamstress to re-style old bridesmaid dresses.
• Sell shoes I’ve never worn and probably never will. (Long story.)
• Purchase rain boots.
• Bring up remaining books from parents’ house.
• Re-set living room clock (which never “fell back” in November…and will, at this point, probably just wait until it’s right again in the spring).
• Rearrange bedroom furniture.

It goes on. And on. I won’t bore you with the rest of it, I’ll just continue to be distracted by it. Maybe it’s just part of the human condition. Or maybe it’s a sign that I need to stop making lists and start focusing on the task in front of me. Back to work…

Disquiet

“I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, that you stir not up nor awaken love until it please” (Song of Songs 8:4).

I’ve been chewing on this verse of late. I’ve always taken a lot of comfort in it–it helps me breathe easy again on those days when I start to feel a little bit guilty for still being single and liking it. “It’s okay,” I tell myself, “love hasn’t awakened in me yet. There’s nothing wrong with it. The Bible says so.”

But how do you know when “it please”? This disquieting thought has begun to intrude on my comfort. Should I be doing anything differently? In my insistence on not “stirring up love” am I stifling it? How does one know the difference?

This particular reflection has been stirred, I think, by my upcoming birthday. For the first time in my life, I’m actually just a little bit uncomfortable with that looming date. Not afraid of it or annoyed with it, or even intent on hiding my age (I’ll be twenty-six)…just mildly uncomfortable, because I can’t help but be aware of the fact that twenty-six is on the “descending side” of the twenties…the side of the arc that slopes into thirty. And, well, that’s a thought that gives a girl a slight chill now and then. Especially when her heart remains very much intact and very much her own.

There’s a lot more to life than this, isn’t there? I see it all around me, but it’s like a game other people play, and I’ve never had the chance to learn.

For now, I’ll let love continue to sleep in me. I just hope it makes itself very apparent when at last “it please.” Because I’m pretty sure I don’t know anything about it.

A Thursday Song

I haven’t had much to say–or a whole lot of time in which to say it–this week, so please pardon the dearth of posts.

But to augment your afternoon, I give you the song that’s been stuck in my head all day. Oren Lavie’s “A Dream within a Dream.” In case I’ve never mentioned it before, I’m head over heels in love with this artist and all his work.

That is all.

A thank you note

I just want to send out a hearty thank you to all my dear friends, many of whom I know do read this blog. After a lovely weekend (yet another in a long series of lovely weekends) spent with some of the good people I am blessed to call “friend,” I woke up this morning overwhelmed with gratitude. And so I’m going to be awkward and sentimental and a little bit silly and say so…out loud…in public.

Thank you for being my friend.

Thank you for agreeing to give up your Friday and Saturday nights here and there to spend time on my living room couch (or your living room couch) talking about life, or driving off on adventures to local pubs or dancing venues or wherever else.

Thank you for emailing me now and then to wish me a good day.

Thank you for your random text messages.

Thank you for your words of support and encouragement, or for whatever other tokens of love you give just because.

Thank you for laughing at my jokes, and even the crazy things I say and do late at night when it’s waaaay past my bedtime. 

Thank you for listening to me talk and talk and talk…and for talking back.

Thank you for praying with me.

Thank you for praying for me.

Thank you for asking me to pray for you.

Thank you for your example (and each of you is an example to me)…of holiness, of kindness, of cheerfulness, of industriousness, of honesty, of discipline, of a thousand things I just can’t list here.

Thank you for being.

 

 

The reality(ies?) we live in…

Be forewarned: the following are the disjointed and rather aimless mental meanderings of an erstwhile philosophy major who probably should have waited until tomorrow to write a blog post…

 

There can be such a big disconnect between the reality that goes on in a person’s head and actual reality. Believe me, I know. I walk past countless personifications of this fact every day on my way to work: the homeless regulars who take up their stations on the sidewalk along Massachusetts Avenue, sometimes calling after people for breakfast or change, and sometimes just sitting lost (completely lost) in the worlds in their heads.

Of course these are the extreme examples. What about the rest of us? Because we all certainly fall into this as well: we take up a particular idea or fear, and we let it skew our entire perception of reality. We end up living in a disconnect between what’s really real and what’s real only in our own minds. We do this in our self-perception, of course. Take Callista Gingrich’s hairstyle of choice, for instance. She’s an intelligent, successful, potentially attractive woman–who appears to have chosen to ignore any and all outside opinions on her appearance…because she likes it. It’s a clear case of the reality in her head vs. the reality the rest of us see.*

Even those of us not in the public spotlight tend to have a view of ourselves, our own strengths and weaknesses, quite different from the view everyone else has of us. In some ways, the rest of the world may be more right than we realize. But in other ways, only we can really know our own motivations, thoughts, plans, dreams, hopes, etc. The trick lies in finding the balance between letting other people totally determine your view of yourself, and allowing realities about ourselves that other people notice to change us for the better.

Prime example? My senior year of college I developed a rather foul mouth. Okay, so I steered clear of the doozies, but I certainly dropped more expletives than I ever had before. I commented on this new habit of mine one day, in passing, to a close friend, but not because I thought I really needed to change it; I was just commenting. Maybe in some deep subconscious way I was seeking validation. Either way, to my surprise–and extreme embarrassment–she nodded and said, “Yeah, I’d noticed that.” She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t have to. Starting that moment, I went on a pretty serious vocabulary purge and cleaned up my act (er…mouth).

But in general I’m still working to find that balance. I guess we all are in our different ways. I tend to worry way too much about what other people think, sometimes to the point of paralysis. I want people’s “permission” to be, to act, or even to think a certain way. In my head I know that you can’t always make everybody happy: people will get ticked off with you sometimes, but as long as you’re not sinning…don’t worry about it. But I still get queasy and nervous and weepy when I learn that so-and-so is peeved with me, even if I have zero control over the situation.

Which brings me to my next point. Most of us experience that disconnect between reality and the reality in our heads especially in our relationships with other people. Why else would it be so easy to fall “in love” with a person you barely know? Or to decide right away “we’re friends” or “we’re enemies” when you’ve hardly exchanged two words with the person in question? I know we all do this. And it takes on many, many forms. Perhaps we place people on pedestals and expect them to keep their foothold there. Or we fall in love with someone we’ve seen across the room, and we build entire lifetimes with them in our heads. (Don’t try to tell me you’ve never done this. I will simply laugh at you.)

For myself, I am constantly surprised by the actual reality of other people. I can know a person for years, and then suddenly, one day, who they actually are leaps out and catches me off-guard. I place them in this or that category in my head, only to discover later that they’re so much more than my silly little label.

I would argue that real love happens only when we finally relinquish the person in our head to the real live, autonomous person. In a way, it’s relinquishing authority–or at least, a supposed authority. An acknowledgment of the other person’s freedom, dignity, and goodness. Because to acknowledge that the other person has an existence of his own is to acknowledge that he does not belong in my head. That his life is not a story I have any right to compose, any more than I want him trying to write my story for me.

I guess God does this perfectly, doesn’t he? In answer to those who say God must not care about us because so many dreadful things happen day after day to his “beloved” children, we can only say: He is the ultimate lover. He values our autonomy even more than we do ourselves, even to the point of allowing the sometimes awful consequences he sees so much more clearly than we ever can.

I’m not really sure where these musings came from or where they’re going. Just following up on a thought I’ve been toying with of late, that living sanity is like walking a rope bridge above a raging river. Insanity is–in so many ways–so much easier. But of course, there’s ultimately no surviving it.

 

*There are those, I am sure, who would argue that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, or that fashion is a subjective area. I grant this to some extent, but at a certain point I think we all have a basic agreement on what simply does not look right…or natural.

Dancers don’t wear sweaters.

I love dancing.

I mean, I really, really love it. (Hence the second post on said topic in one month.) To this day I bless my mother for deciding ballroom dancing lessons would be a healthy and productive social outlet for her teenage daughters. I’ll never forget my first round of swing dance lessons in New Jersey. There were eight or nine of us teenagers, and we all slouched onto the roller skating rink-turned-dance-floor once a week and did our best to pound out the steps as the instructors called them. By now I’ve got a pretty solid background in swing (East Coast), with waltz, cha cha, and even a little bit of tango and fox trot thrown in…at least enough that I can toe my way around the floor without seriously injuring myself, my partner, or anyone else. But my roommate has been slowly introducing me to a new ballroom dance (really, a whole new culture of ballroom dancing): salsa.

Okay, so I’m really bad at salsa. They’ve probably started passing around flyers with my face on them at the club where we sometimes go, just to warn other dancers to keep away. Last week I put a whole slew of fellows through the ringer with my ineptitude. There was the poor little Asian man who kept glaring wildly at the ceiling and crying, in the tone of one coming head-to-head with an existential crisis, “Something is not right!” Or the burly guy in jeans who finally dropped my hands and said, “Fine, I’ll dance to your rhythm.” Or the suave black dancer who grinned at me smugly and said, “You’re a beginner.” I chose not to mention my ten years of swing dancing experience and only nodded. To which he replied, “I can tell. Dancers don’t wear sweaters.” (A reference to the cardigan I had on over my sleeveless shirt, because…gosh, I dunno, it was 15 degrees outside and I was cold.)

That aside, I love the way dancing presents so many opportunities for…charity. I mean, let’s face it, you’re going to run through a wide variety of partners, some good, some okay, some just plain bad, and it’s tempting to roll your eyes, or comment, or leave the dance floor before the end of the song when the other person and you just aren’t working out. I’m so grateful for the good dancers who simply laugh with me at my fumbles and mistakes and offer kind, practical tips on how to improve. And because I’m determined to have a good time, I bite my tongue and say nothing when I encounter the ruder sorts like those mentioned above. In the same vein, I danced my fair share with men who simply (*cough*) weren’t very good. But you know, that was okay too. I appreciate them trying, and even more, asking me to dance at all. It’s a give and take. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, but you should both walk away with your dignity intact.

Still, after a few weeks of bumbling my way through Latin dances, I can’t wait to drag my roommate (and anyone else who’ll come along) out to Glen Echo for a night of good old-fashioned swing.

Yenta, Yenta…

Oh no!

It hit me with the force of a thunderbolt this afternoon, that I have developed a nasty, subconscious habit…a habit I have guffawed and deplored in others for years. A habit I’ll be working hard to squelch in myself now that I’ve had to consciously acknowledge it. What is this habit, you may ask?

Matchmaking.

Okay, but up until now I have never carried my matchmaking to the point of action, I just like to think about how nice so-and-so would be with so-and-so…how their senses of humor might match up, or how cute they’d look in church, or even how they both happen to love chocolate chip cookies. Little things. But like Emma (from Jane Austen’s classic), I catch myself reveling in a thrill of real pride whenever two people end up together and I can convince myself, “I knew it!” (even though, usually, I didn’t).

Today, I almost did something that would have carried me over the line from the game I play in my head to the real deal. I came *this* close. I even toed the line a little bit to see what might happen. Nothing happened. Then I woke up and saw what’s become of me, and I ran screeeeeaming away.

I am better than this.

Seriously, it must be some bizarre, psychological need I have to impose romance on those around me, even if I’m not really seeking it out for myself. Sheesh. Please, if you see me in some corner at a party, watching people with a peculiar glint in my eye and a sappy smile on my face, slap me, throw something at me, call me names–do anything you must, only I beg you, save me from myself.

Some disjointed thoughts on love

As a follow-up to last week’s post on experiencing the love others have for me, I want to take a look at the reverse side of the coin: loving others.

I admit, this is much harder for me to write. First of all, because loving others is something I’m still learning, and still not very good at.* And secondly, I’m incredibly uncomfortable with emotions and anything that smacks of the sentimental, the sappy, or the “squishy”–all of which are at some point inevitable in loving, at least if you want to be any good at it.

Still, there are three related things I have discovered about love in my life, all of them closely related to last week’s post: 1) I never love other people quite right when I’m not loving God as I should. 2) I find that love just pours from me when I remember to stop and recall how much I am loved by both God and other people. The more I remember to be thankful, the easier it becomes for me to give love. And 3) I am constantly discovering that I love others more and more easily and fully as I grow (through the grace of God) in love of myself.

I guess that first point should be pretty self-evident. God is the source of love, so if we’re not drinking from that source, how on earth can we expect to have any love to give out? It’s an old and obvious point: you can’t give what you don’t have. I am often surprised at how easy it is to love God, and yet what a big deal we make of it. All he wants is for us to love him: to spend time with him, to give him our hearts. That’s it. I picture one of my piano students, who every weekend has some gift for me, or a hug, or a kind word–sweet tokens of love that require little effort, but that she gives with such generosity and joy. They honestly make my day every Saturday. And that’s all God wants from us: a quick hug, a visit, a flower plucked from the garden. Why is that so difficult?

I still struggle to carve out twenty, thirty, forty minutes for him in a day. I groan when I realize at 10 p.m. that I haven’t prayed the rosary yet (you mean I have to pray right now? I wanna watch tv…or read a book…or just sleep…). Horrors. I have to stay up an extra thirty minutes spending time with the One who created me, sustains me in existence, and loves me beyond anything I can comprehend. So…I have a lifetime of work cut out for me when it comes to loving God. Thank goodness each day is a new start on that journey.

The second point (gratitude) is very much tied up in the first. I’m finding that gratitude acts as a sort of lever in the soul, opening it wider and wider to love and to joy. I look back with shame on so much of my life, when my thoughts were always turned in on myself, my relationships were all about me (how I felt, how much I got paid attention to, how loved I felt on a given day), and there was always some dark cloud overhead to complain about. Gratitude has forced me to turn my eyes upward and outward. Once you do that…you have to be thankful. There’s so much to be thankful for. And once  you’ve stopped the navel-gazing, you realize how much other people want and need to be loved, and you’re able to address those wants and needs because you can see them–because you’re looking.

And then there’s the third point–the hardest to get to in so many ways–loving oneself. You have to give love from a secure and healthy source. If you’re shaky in your view of yourself, how can you possibly give fully of yourself? I’m not saying that those who struggle with self-love can’t love other people. Obviously they can and they do. But you will love other people best when you love yourself honestly. (That is: recognizing your faults, but also that you are loved and redeemed.) True self-love removes so much of the insecurity, the doubt, and the jealousy that otherwise crowd to the surface when we’re trying to love others.

Self-love also opens the way to forgiveness. We’re all carrying scars, some of them incredibly deep and painful. In my own experience, the slow, awkward process of learning to love me has allowed me to look back on all the old hurts with compassion, with mercy, and even with gratitude. Like that painful 10th grade crush that went nowhere (trite? Probably. But you name me one girl who wasn’t scarred at least a little bit by a tragic high school non-romance), or feeling overlooked in school, or even those uncomfortable moments when a person you’ve met about four times in the past six weeks squints at you on meeting #5 and says, “Wait…what was your name again?” Or even worse, “I don’t think we’ve met…”

I guess ultimately it’s all about the right ordering of things. The outside (meaning, everyone and everything that isn’t God or I) has to stay outside, and  you can’t really approach it correctly until you’ve got the inside ordered correctly. We have to love God first. Loving God and recognizing his love for us teaches us to love ourselves. Once we’ve got those two things in place, we can really reach out and love others well.

Taking a look at the practical application of all this, one of my commenters last week asked how I go about loving others. Yikes…tough question. Honestly, I think the best acts of love are hidden, so I’d rather not delve into it too much. One little act of love I’ve gotten into making recently, though, is one that’s new to me…but pretty standard for most people I think: making phone calls. Who knew a five-minute phone call to my sister or my grandmother or a close friend could really make their day? I’ve always been incredibly nervous about the phone. I hate to invade another person’s time, so I’m much more likely to send an email or a text message. But sometimes people need that forceful, audacious display of love. I’m still getting used to it, but it gets easier with each call.

Still, it’s all about those little things. I’ve had many friends in my lifetime who never seemed able to give me the time of day, who remained distant and aloof, but would assure me in our periodic meetings that they’d “always be there for me if I needed something.” I always felt guilty for finding that answer unsatisfactory. Now I see why. True love isn’t about being willing (or at least thinking you’ll be willing) to answer a 3:00 a.m. phone call. It’s about sharing your life with another person, and that means the details.

To quote that old school chaplain again, “Love is in the details.”

A little note; a text message; washing the dishes; visiting home for a weekend; anything that lets the other person know: I’m thinking of you and I’m putting you first. Because I love you.

 

*I recognize that no one is “very good at” this, that it’s a lifelong process, and that we’re all standing at the beginning of it. But there are beginners and there are the just-barely-out-of-the-box types who can barely stay up even with training wheels. I’m this second sort, so I have absolutely zero right to write about any of this. But I’m not letting that stop me, now am I?