Monday, June 28, 2010

Why do I do these things?

I have no desire to date the gentleman who just asked for my phone number. He's older than me by a lot and I'm not attracted to him. Then why did I give him my number? Why not? I don't have many friends. It's not like he proposed marriage... If he calls, we'll hangout. I'll let him take me out for a milkshake or ice cream. It's no big deal. I've got to start making friends somehow, right?

In the middle of the niigghht I go walking in my sle-eep.


I'm doing it again, and I have to stop.  I commit myself to the point of mania.  At my old job, in my old town, there were no other options. It was work or bust.   However, that mentality often left me scrambling for "me" time.  

Today, I volunteered to go into work and make some calls to students just to make sure they're coming.  If I don’t I'd just sit here on the floor of this apartment watching things on the internet. Or I'd go out into the world of Seattle and spend money that I shouldn't.  I figured getting exercise and connecting with people is a much better choice.

Saturday I drove out to the Olympic Peninsula in a school bus to drop off a trip.  We passed beautiful lakes, mountains, and hot springs.  It reminded me of the islands.  It was a 14-hour journey.  I wasn't told, but more likely than not, I forgot, that I was spending the night.  As a result, I spent the night alright -- shivering.  


Once every few hours I would create this odd porous cocoon of warmth.  I remember asking myself, "How did you sleep when you had away games in high school?"  Combining that eleven-year old knowledge with my WFR training I took off my shoes and put my feet in my waterproof Timbuk2. Whatever heat I created would bounce off the liner and warm my feet.  I then did the same with my legs by taking my Mountain Hardwear softshell zipping it around my thighs and calves and tied the sleeves in a knot so tight it might as well have been a tourniquet.  Then, my core the most important part to keep warm.  I zipped my Mountain Hardwear fleece to my chin, turned my North Face rain jacket around and zipped it backwards so my face was protected by the back of the hood.  I was comfortable, for the most part.  
As the moon rose, comfort sank. I hopped from the reclining driver's seat to one of the seats with, “the hump.”  I'd often roll over onto the hump, bump my head and startle myself awake.  At one point I went into the bathroom, and did jumping jacks to get my blood pumping.  Upon returning to the bus I realized I couldn't do it any more.  I had to start my 7-hour trip home.    
 Two hours in, I needed a nap. So, I pulled over in the infamous, and desolate Forks, WA for a snooze.  Not ignorant to the tales of vampires and werewolves I locked all doors said a prayer and kept my hand on the wooden stake I keep in my backpack.  The rest of journey was fine.  I was exhausted, but happy.  I’ve become an expert at crossing Lake Washington (?) on a ferry. 

I’m going to try and keep some of my time for myself during this week off.  I leave for my first trip out in the field in early July. Eight days backpacking on the Olympic Coast.
Yesterday I had a long conversation with a friend that made me laugh till I cried and that felt good.  I miss intimacy.  That cave where it usually sleeps might be my downfall.  I don’t want to create false bubbles of familiarity because it’s easy.  I don’t want to date someone just because they’re there. I can feel it happening. 


Friday, June 25, 2010

Sexless in Seattle

 
"Come, you spirits 
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, 
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full 
Of direst cruelty."  -Lady Macbeth

I will never be cast as Lady Macbeth.  

Before I could utter a single word of my monologue the director and his minions would sniff out the  
biological alterations that occurred as a result of this day and say,  "thou aren't a woman... thou art a eunuch -- of sorts. Away you liar and never come again."

When Bob from B3 Bob's Bikes and Boards reassembled my bike  he did so  with the expertise that a novice such as myself, lacks. As a result,  the seat was lifted to it's rightful position: Really Freaking High.

I, and the more tender parts of me spent 11+ Seattle miles being assaulted by the cushionless Nishiki bike seat I inherited from the previous owners. Each bump, jolt, and near miss left my brain screaming, "MY  VAGINA!" but my lips played the role of prison guard and uttered nary a word. 

As soon as I left my apartment a light mist, which soon turned to a rapid drizzle greeted me on the morning of my virgin ride in this wonderful, yet incessantly moist, city. I set out toward the community center with a  enough trepidation to open up a fault line.  The ride was, well, interesting.  I'm not in shape enough to conquer this geography, but I will be. Well, I'm in ok shape, but not having the slightest clue where I was going didn't exactly help matters.  I rode for about 30 minutes arrived at what I thought was my destination, wiped the water from my glasses, and settled down to take a brief rest.  Then my boss said, "You know the training is at  XYZ facility, right?"  "Uh yeah, I just stopped to get directions." Dangit! Here's the thing when he said you have to do this to get there. I, apparently shut him out and imagined that he was sending me to the location with which I was most familiar. 

He was not.  

About 20 minutes, muddy calves, soaked shoes, and a sopping wet back later, I arrived at the place I thought I was supposed to be. It was, in fact, the wrong location.  They gave me instructions, offered me bus fare, and sent me on my way.  When I said that I had no clue how to put my bike on the front of the bus they called an avid biker within the company and he helped.  I made my way down some crazy hill, carried my bike down to the tunnel and waited.  When the bus came all of the directions I'd been given took a little nap and I stood stupidly staring at the contraption.  A very nice lady with a baguette sticking out of her bag helped me and then the bus was on it's way.  45 minutes later I got off the bus and arrived where I was supposed to be.  The training had already left.  Laughing I waited patiently for the group to return.  

In the past six hours conquered a few things:

-Riding my bike in Seattle
- Being outside in the rain in Seattle
-Riding my bike outside in the rain in Seattle
-Driving in Seattle
-Driving a minibus 
-Driving a minibus in Seattle

How is this my life?  Just when you think you've grown enough, more lessons are thrown your way.  Hopefully, my womanhood will peek out from its hiding spot and I'll become a lady once more. Til then, I'm just gonna keep asking for help, laugh till my face hurts, and hope for the best.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Sick

My homesickness is similar to the flank pain of renal failure.  Throbbing… walking through my back and abdomen when I’ve lain still just a moment too long.  I wonder if I would’ve grown up here if I’d be on the east coast feeling the same thing.  I love it out here and want to stay as long as it will have me, but I wish those that I loved were here too.  I missed McCai being born and that hurt.  I miss Zander calling me Yee-Hee and giving me goodnight hugs, kisses, and expressing his wishes for me to read him a book.  I even miss him tiring of my storytelling, shutting it promptly and asking his mommy to take over. 

I miss sleeping on a friend’s couch.  Not only because she carefully made the bed with borrowed sheets and a loaned pillow. But because she is no more than a room away and raises alarm when she hears me blow my nose in my distinctly violent way.

I miss driving home around dinnertime and stopping by a neighbor’s house to pee and raid their fridge.  I miss glasses of wine dipped in the familiarity of years.  I’m exhausted with the thought of “putting myself out there” like the possession of some Hollywood madam.  I want to sit solidly in the presence of love and know that its kiss is only inches from placement on my skin.

I don’t miss Hershey, or Pennsylvania. I miss my people. 

I miss
… understanding the vocabulary of a toddler I’ve known since before his birth
… Middleswarth barbecue chips and all the unhealthy wonderment
… longboarding on familiar roads that didn’t, in the least bit, resemble the death trap hills of now
… remembered breakfasts at The Pantry with a friend who is more like a mother
… a grey haired beast of a puppy who is more needy than any child I’ve ever known
… the accessibility of love

I love
… being so close to the natural world that I love
… the proximity of possibility
…  the possibility of tomorrow with my people of now
…  the sudden simplicity of my wardrobe
…  the passion which bubbles the surface of this city
… the views
… how I feel
… the intellect of Seattleites
… the conversation with coworkers in the tiny moments
… the crisp Seattle air that bites when I breathe
… being here

I want
… nothing more than to acknowledge the juxtaposition of emotions that have graced me with their presence.  I wouldn’t change where I am, or how I feel for a world of gold.

Sometimes the only cure for this sickness is being grateful that you have something to miss.   

Saturday, June 19, 2010

A mistake

I'm tired.  Work was great.  I'm the only woman in a pool of men.  It's nice, but I can't figure out why.  We played frisbee for a bit in the park before we began, and frisbee is not my strength.  I was nervous and caught, but mostly dropped, the frisbee like a prissy 8th grade girl.  Finally, when we sat down and began a dialogue, my intelligence kicked in, and I was at home.   I was given room to speak from the heart and I'm usually good with words.  The longer we were together the more at ease I became.   

Today,  we're all going camping.  (How am I going to sleep in a tent with a bunch of dudes? ) I just hope my comfort from yesterday bleeds through today.  

It's just camping for one night.   Then I leave Monday for a 4 day skill building trip.  Friday to drive a group to the Olympic Coast in a minibus (I KNOW) and then return the same day.  I leave the next day for a 6 day backpacking trip.  

Somewhere in there I have to find the time to finish my Study plan for grad schoo, and prepare for the first semester.  Woo-Hoo Masters degree!

Seattle feels like I've made a mistake.  Like I've been living on the wrong coast for all these years and I've finally come home. 

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Birth

I have at least three friends who are set to give birth today, or in the near future. No matter how scared I am about Seattle, it's so much smaller when compared to expelling a human being from your womb.

In the grand scheme of things, moving to Seattle is ice cream and raindrops.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Terror

Sometimes I choose to do things that leave me with macabre sense of doom.  Moving 3,000+ miles away from familiarity to the unknown is one of those things.

I'm scared.

Today is Garvey's 5th birthday and it's that thought which finally pushes the tears from their eye side waiting room rolling down the surface of my cheek, and finally,soaking into my sweatshirt.  He has no idea that I'll be back. That I wouldn't abandon him for the world.  I know he's just a dog, but that knowledge doesn't make leaving him any easier.

Terror is an ant that crawls beneath your skin when you have no idea what's next.  It crawls from the dermis through the subcutaneous tissue, and settles in an organ or two.  Rooting around and kicking up dirt until it chooses to settle somewhere for the night.  The next morning the same ant, along with its holographic brethren, wakes up and the fear begins again.  Only this time it feels like there's an ant hill throwing a kegger in your digestive system.

No matter how often anyone tells me I'll be okay it won't mean anything until I feel it.  "The things we must learn before we do them, we learn by doing them."  I just want to be okay. I just want people to like me. I don't want to stand in front of the mirror criticizing every centimeter of myself.  I don't want to care about what people will think, but I do.

My dog likes me.  Having him would make this so much easier.  On an extra scary day I could come home and lay on the floor and fall willing victim to his loving assault.  I won't have that safety net.  That sucks. How can I remember to be enough of myself in the midst of all this terror and change?

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Really?! Really.

I loved yesterday -- until I went to leave work.  Two of my students, who always help me carry my stuff to my car, were performing our usual Monday evening ritual when I saw a post-it note stuck to the window of my car.  I walked up recognized the hand-writing and went, “ Are you serious?”

My life is intentional.  I prefer relationships and conversations I’ll remember instead of those that discuss the daily migration of the clouds and sun.   I’m more likely to ask my students “What sustains you on the inside when all else falls away,” than some random awkward time filler of a question. 

My jewelry is intentional.  I wear a silver necklace with a star chain.   It is the same one I gave one of my favorite (yes, we all have them) students.  My bracelets all have stories.  The silly bands are from my girls, I bought one in China, one in Thailand,  another at place in Chicago, another at the The African Art Museum at the Smithsonian, and yet another is from my trip to Jamaica.  My love for stories decorates my body like a Christmas tree.

Yesterday wasn’t difficult for me at all.   Well, I did tear up when I drove past the Reese’s plant and the smell of peanut butter and chocolate nestled into my sinus cavities. I almost cried again when a co-worker came in on his day off to give me gluten-free cookies and say goodbye.  But, for the most part yesterday was a blast.  My kids chased me with water balloons (some of which burst, a lot that didn’t), helped me create a playlist of their favorite songs so I can remember them, I skateboarded like a kid for three hours with shoes and even barefoot.  At devotions the girls shared their favorite memory with me. I was kinda surprised that 99% of them were violent i.e. “Ms. Whit remember when I stole your shoes, hid under a van and you drug me out screaming like a crazy woman and then we wrestled?!” When I see myself through the eyes of others I realize I’m a complete maniac.  The girls loved it when I was driving a van down Springboard drive, screamed at the top of my lungs, “ROADS ARE FOR PANSIES!” and drove off-road into a baby cornfield with my sweet little cherubs screaming like recently acquired kidnap victims.

That being said…

The past three years of work has been reallllly weird for me.  I dated a coworker (...yeah yeah I know don’t shit where you eat…whatever… lesson learned). I also became friends with another coworker.  During our relationship for reasons that are drizzled throughout this blog, their relationship became inappropriate.  I handled it well. We talked about it in therapy, discussed how he was just reliving the cycle of every other failed relationship, and then we tried to work through it. We broke up, got back together, broke up, got back together, broke up yada yada yada et al infinite.

They started dating 3 months after we broke up. That was hard, not gonna lie.  Something like four months later they got engaged. That was hard, not gonna lie. Granted, I did call it like 4 weeks into their relationship, and my coworkers were super sweet.  They called me at home so I wasn’t blindsided when I got to work the next day.  Even though I shook their hands and offered my congrats things were super weird …like really weird.  With the help of friends, my journal, and lots of conversations with myself in my car, I got through it.  I got to a really healthy place.  There are some things that stung. Like when I had to use a laptop at work, opened the lid and found a note that read, “You are loved,” in her handwriting. It was his computer, oops.  I remember leaving that same note and others like it throughout his things for him to find. I was lame. 

I’m a big believer in the “Woman code,” or the “Bro code.” Don’t get involved with a friend’s ex, sleep with their significant other, or use their underwear.  She violated that and it hurt for a really long time.  It hurt more than anything he’d ever said or did to me.  She and I sat down and talked about it and I asked her for the space and time to heal.  She consistently had a hard time honoring my requests.  She’d rub my back, or caress my arm at work.  She’d insert herself in my conversations.  She’d call me after work and say asinine things in an effort to rebuild our relationship.  She would talk to my coworkers about my relationship with him and tell them things he’d said to her.  It was weird she was weird. Because she didn’t give me the space to heal and be okay it took three times as long for me to get over it. 

So yesterday when I saw this note on my car window I was like Seriously?!  I read it and the words were nice, but really? Stop trying to hijack my day.

So I went over to the mailboxes, and wrote a reply that read exactly like this:

*insert her name here*

You don’t get it.

You’ll never get it.

Jéhan

Then I placed her printed oddity into an envelope along with mine and put it in her mailbox.  The end.

Seriously?  Get out of my life.  You’re like the gnat that flies in my face that I can’t swat because PETA will come after me with bloody paintbrushes.  When I’m not at work or on campus I don’t think about either of you.  When I’m there, your presence permeates my skin like an acidic lotion because you continue to spew yourself down my throat.  I’ve been mature. I’ve ignored the angry part of me that wanted to cuss you out, slash your tires, and put sugar in your gas tank.  I’ve reminded myself that you’re just naïve and I can’t hold it against you. I’ve remembered that we have to work together and I have to humor your stupidity for the kid’s sake.  I’ve kept the lioness behind the electric fence. But I’m not on payroll anymore.  Knock it off.  If you cross the line again like say I dunno show up at my door in Seattle, send me text messages, or even email me. I will weather the sting of that electric fence.  You will see me for who I’m completely capable of being.  You will understand boundaries.  All bets are off.  No holds barred.






Monday, June 14, 2010

Crocodile Tears

Today is my last day of work, weird.

I saw my girls yesterday and they presented me with a poster of pictures from this year by the dumpster where I was throwing something away.  How sentimental.  :)  They gave it to me and asked me if I was going to cry when I left. I went, "Uhh, probably not? I don't know. Why? That's weird, why do you want me to cry?" Their response, " I dunno...we cried making this."

They want me to cry so they can see how much I care about them.   I don't know if I'll cry. I'm not a crier, at least not in that sense.  There will probably be a salty oil spill on the plane on the way to Seattle that will terrify those around me.  I'll think of them and their poster and my dog and my friends and Middleswarth Barbecue chips and I'll be sure I'm making a big mistake.  While dating what's his face we would go to these pre-marriage therapy sessions (seriously, thank God for those) and he would talk about want to see me more vulnerable.  How he, in so many words, wanted me to cry more.  I remember being totally baffled like, wait, you actually want to see me cry.  Both he and the therapist tried to explain that it wasn't about the tears, it was about me needing him.  He wanted to feel needed.  That never sat right with me.

My goal for today is to write something so the girls will know just how much I care about them.  I'll urge them to measure my love, not by the tears on the last day, but through every interaction we've had over the past year.  I will miss them. In fact, I already do. I just wish they could understand that this is for me. Me leaving my alma mater to move across the country to a city I've never been is a decision I'm making for myself.  I want them to make similar decisions throughout their lives.  They should be loving, kind, benevolent, and philanthropic, but at the end of the day they need to make decisions that will benefit them so they can benefit others.

Hopefully, someday, they'll forget about measuring love by crocodile tears. They will, instead, recognize it in the words and actions of those around them.

 

Sunday, June 13, 2010

"Going to the chapel...

...with no intentions of getting married"

I'm totally at that point in my life where an impressive percentage of my friends are floating into wedded bliss, promising to float into wedded bliss together, or entering into long-term relationships with the hopes of, yup, floating into wedded bliss.  To be honest, it's freaking me out. I've gone to two weddings in the past few weeks and they've been good to me. Watching my friends say their vows has been wonderful. Their stories are often stories detailed in comic books and fairy tales.

The thought of getting married literally sends me a bubble guts care package.  My stomach urinates acid into my throat, the moisture in my mouth evaporates, and my jaw clenches like a pitbull with a meaty snack.  It could have something to do with only recently learning how develop relationships with men that aren't painted with childhood issues stemming from my horrible relationships with my brother and dad.  Or maybe it's the fact that my first hardcore relationship showed me that there are men who are completely unrelated to me who are just as, if not more, toxic. But I'll leave that to the experts to figure out.

It's not that I don't want to get married. I do.  I think. Just not now.

I can't help but wonder how people got it so right.  How they're at a point in their lives where they can say,  "I want to be with you and no one else foreva' and eva' Amen." Whaaat?! My grandparents have been married for 56 years.  Yahoo! But, there are like three or so illegitimate children sprinkled into the pudding. What? Why?  Seriously is it that hard to say, "I promise to love and uphold and yada yada yada insert wedding vows here," and mean it?  You married that person. Why would you cheat on them? If something is pissing you off, tell them.  If your needs aren't being met emotionally, sexually, board game style or whatever TELL THEM.  Don't cheat. That's not fair, it's not nice.  I'm not sure I can forgive cheating.  It's like unforgivable.  You might say, "Well Jéhan, then you're not ready to get married, love is unconditional." Yeah okay. Then you're right.  I'm not because, hello, cheating can't be filed under the same unconditional love category.

Maybe that's the crux. I'm not ready to say the things I need to say to have the marriage I want.  I'm just not ready.  I'll take that over the constant knocking thought that maybe I'm just not the marrying kind.

Friday, June 11, 2010

I wanna go home

A friend recently wrote on my fb wall, "you have 650 friends...how loved you must be!!" Sidebar: The fact that I deleted 200 “friends" recently and I'm at 650 is a little weird.  Nonetheless, I am indeed loved by many.  J

The past two and a half weeks have been bananas, in a good way.  I've been traveling all over the place to visit friends and family.  I'm exhausted.  The kind of exhausted that greets you with morning with a vertigo handshake.

I drove to State College to visit an old friend...perhaps one of the oldest and most intimate.  She was in my student home when I was in middle school and I chose to go to my high school student home because she was there.  She was who I wanted to be when I grew up. She listened to the Doors, and Grateful Dead, and I'm pretty sure she's the reason I developed a crush on Kurt Cobain.  Somehow she got our houseparents to allow her to get a bird and keep it in our room.  I love(d) her dearly.  It's funny how some people just feel like home.  I like that.  People who feel like warm chocolate chip cookies and milk.  

I'm staying with a family who I met through work. She was my co-worker, then my friend, then my boss, then my co-worker, then just my friend.  She's pregnant with her 2nd child (I hope labor happens soon because she might just go nuts).  She and her husband have introduced me to what it's like to be amazing people and raise a child.  Their son is one of my favorite beings on this planet. Here's to hoping that baby number two graces us with his presence before I head out to the Pacific Northwest.  

On June 5th two of my friends from college got married.  The bride is one of my best friends.  I think it's because we both have a similar grasp on the frailty of human relationships. We expect the same kindness from the world that we give, and tend to take it personally when it's a bit stingy giving it back.  The wedding was comfortable.  It was gorgeous. It was them.  Friends and family were in attendance.  The music was straight from a playlist on one of their iPods if either of the had one. I met and got to know some of their L.A. friends and it was cool to put names to faces and spend time with the other bridesmaids.  It’s the people like that that make me want to live in L.A. But then I remember that the soul of L.A. is cracked and burned and would eat me alive if I spent too much time there.     

The wedding in Jamaica was quite an experience as well.  I stayed with family and went to the resort in the evenings for the festivities.  Capitalism is such an odd experiment.  It’s allowed the people of Jamaica to live in poverty while the foreigners with wealth benefit from the countries natural resources and tourism.  It’s hard to see.  I’m planning on spending a lot more time in Jamaica over the next few years.  I have to do something to benefit my country. I’d also like to help reconnect other Afro-Caribbeans in the States to their roots.  You’ll have to check out www.19more.org for updates.



I write this to say that even though I’ve been homeless, literally, since May 25, 2010, I haven’t felt that way.  Yes, it’s been a little hard to iron my clothes on a friend’s bathroom counter, pack for a three day camping trip from my car, and leave my dog with pretty much everyone I know in Central PA, but I’m still okay.  I’ve moved around more often than *insert famous musician here* on a farewell tour.  I used to feel lost and empty.  But in adulthood I’ve made friends with my lifestyle and have realized that the people who are supposed to be in your life will be in your life regardless of distance.  My definition of home transcends the Reaganomics era building surrounded by a white picket fence.  Home, for me, is a feeling not a place.  For once in my life I get that.