Distraction and Dessert

As we grow older we become more self-aware (or at least that is the hope). This awareness is supposed to make us more fully realized human beings.

What no one ever tells you is that this awareness can also suck. That’s right, looking at oneself in the metaphorical mirror can really be brutal at times. Now I get it, we have to see our problems in order to change them. But dang it, sometimes it is really hard to look at those flaws. I don’t know about you but there are things about myself that I really don’t want to know.

For instance, I have been grappling with the fact that I don’t always deal with frustration or disappointment in my life directly. This has proved problematic over and over again. There is something very healthy about taking things head on, facing them and working through them. I don’t do this. My tactic avoids them as long as possible until I act out in often-destructive ways in different aspects of my life.

For instance, say you really wanted a fudge Sundae, but you cannot have a fudge Sundae, so instead of dealing with the fact that it is not available to you, you eat all the deserts that you didn’t really want. These desserts taste bad, and are completely sub-standard, but they are there and they are available. They serve as a distraction, until you have a tummy ache and are still have the longing for the thing you originally wanted.  This principle is how I operate in my life. It gets pretty ugly.

But I guess knowing these things about oneself is the first step to change, and change I must. I refuse to settle for a stale cookie, when I deserve a Sundae.

I also made another discovery… writing a blog when one is hungry is not the best idea.

The Social Recluse

When I was a little girl there were few things I dreaded more than the party invite. The idea of being trapped at a friend’s birthday celebration was enough to cause my child’s heart to sink. And if it was a slumber party forget about it. The result of these invites would lead me inevitably into a fight with my mother, she could not understand why her daughter was so reluctant to go and have fun.

The thing was, it was not fun for me. It was an exercise in social torture. I would get so anxious being around all the other kids that I would inevitably say or do something stupid (or at least thought I did). I often left these parties feeling as though I had embarrassed myself in some unredeemable fashion. Sure there were moments were I really did have a good time, but typically I had worked myself up so much prior that my adrenaline (and even more dire my bowels) would keep me from really enjoying myself.

So I found that reading alone in my room was a far more desirable use of my time.  This past time kept me safe from making a fool of myself, though it did have the side effect of loneliness. This was a very hard thing to reconcile as a child; in fact it is a very hard thing to reconcile as an adult.

I have become far better in social situations as a grown up type person, but the socially anxious side of me lives on, despite some of my best efforts to eradicate it. And I feel like this is a season where my deep down hermit is reemerging with a vengeance.

Believe me when I say that I truly do enjoy the company of family and friends. I like spending time with people that I care about. But I have found that events with lots of people, even those that I love, tend to be extremely draining for me. And if there is an event with a lot of people I don’t know then I become so over stimulated and worked up, that all I can think about is how to get out of the situation as soon as possible.

I know that being an anti-social recluse is not an option. And to be honest too much time in my own company would probably make me certifiable.

But I know there has to be a balance (one I have not found yet). I mean, it’s got to be ok to be a bit of a homebody right, to like to be alone from time to time?

Of course the flip side is, if it’s fear that is driving my anti-social behavior than that’s something to be examined. I have spent too many years allowing fear to dictate my actions. When one does that it severely impairs their quality of life. I know this from first had experience.

I don’t know, I guess I am just looking for the happy medium. A point were I find the right balance between my social side, and my hermit side. If and when I find it, you will be the first to know dear readers. 

Closet!

For the longest time I have had a great deal of difficulty getting rid of things. The problem has been so sever that I have often wondered if I was a hoarder. But recently I discovered it’s not my need to keep things around me that has caused my possessions to pile in obscene amounts, no it’s my inability to sort and organize.

The fact that I would rather let things pile up than sort them truly came to a head when I moved into my current apartment. You see, in my room I have a decent sized closet, one that I was ecstatic about in the beginning, but soon became the preverbal thorn in my side.

I had no idea how to efficiently use the space, so I found myself just piling things in the closet in a haphazard manner. The closet that I was so excited about in the beginning became the bane of my existence. I found that trying to pick my outfit for the day became a weird act of masochism.  A continues stream of profanity could be heard coming from me as socks and belts fell on my head from the precarious perches they sat on.

However, the anxiety I had from living with the overstuffed closet was trumped by the anxiety I felt when I would think about actually sorting through and organizing the monstrosity.  So there I was trapped under brutal landslide of earthly objects and self-loathing associated with my inability to sort and discard them.

Enter my mother. She decided in an act that was purely altruistic to help me organize my closet. Of course I met this kindness in an adversarial way because well, I am a brat.  And sharing my mess with anyone does have the side effect of raising my blood pressure. Of course after getting through the initial discomfort we began to make lots of headway.  After a few hours of really concentrated effort my closet became something so beautiful that words cannot describe it.

I cried.

Yes as embarrassing as that is, I cried because I had an organized closet.  It is the first time I have ever had that. I mean there have been times were I have made things appear neat, only to realize upon closer inspection that there still was no rhyme or reason to object placement. But now everything has an actual home. And there is a reason for the home. Space is utilized with purpose. This may seem like such a silly thing to my hyper organized, type A friends out there, but for me this is extremely new and so liberating.

In fact having my closet so neat actually drove me to purge lots of things, and clean up the rest of my room. I have kept it this way for a week, and it’s been pretty easy since everything has a place and there is a place for everything!

It’s yet to be determined if I can keep this up long term, but right now I am hopeful that I can, and that is the best Christmas gift my mom could have given me.

Year In a List

So as the year is closing I can’t help but feel a bit reflective.  And in this spirit of reflection I thought I would make a list, not unlike the one I made for my last birthday. So here it is, my 2011…

I made lots of new friends.

A play I wrote was produced thanks to an amazing friend.

I cried a lot.

I laughed more.

Wore a canary yellow dress.

I moved into an apartment with dudes!

Started writing my Thesis.

Taught my first undergraduate class. 

Watched some good movies.

Watched some painfully bad movies.

Started using mass transit on a regular basis.

Lost a very dear friend.

Wrote some bad poetry.

Had a crush or two.

Drank more than one glass of wine.

Danced some, not nearly enough.

Made some bad decisions.

Said goodbye to my twenties.

On occasion stopped and smelt a rose or two.

Fixed a Fridge.

And started a Blog!

Stuffed Turkey!

I have fallen victim to one of the more obscene of holiday traditions. One that I am sure has been occurring in spades all across this great nation of ours.

That’s right, I have been eating way too much. I have over indulged in ways that should be outlawed. I’ve had so many sweets that Buddy the Elf himself would get a tummy ache. And don’t get me started on the cheese consumption.

It really is an absurd thing, the way we eat, and eat and eat during this time of year. There is something truly disturbing about it. I find myself feeling guilty about the decadence, especially when so many go without.

I can’t help but think that if we were a little less indulgent, and a little more mindful of what we are sticking in our face, that we would feel better during the holiday season. And if we felt better, we could enjoy each other more.  After all the holidays are stressful enough without poisoning our systems with toxic foods.

Of course this is coming from a person who has saturated her body with seasonal treats, and is sick of them. Come next year when this time rolls around, I could forget how ill I’m feeling now and happily jump back into the holiday binge once again.

But until then, I think I need to eat a salad.

Make It Work!

I’m turning into my Dad.

I have said it before, but it’s worth repeating. I’ve known this for a while now. I have been aware for years that I have my Dad’s offbeat sense of humor, and that I get anxious in big crowds the same way he does. We both love a weird news story. And every time I find myself watching the discovery channel I know it’s because of his influence.

So it shouldn’t have been a surprise when I found myself fixing the fridge in our apartment. We noticed sometime last week that the though the freezer part was still working, the fridge itself was lukewarm at best. After having to throw out a carton of eggs and pouring foul smelling milk down the drain, it was clear that something had to be done. I contacted my parents and they suggested defrosting it. One of my roommates and I did that (so we thought). Unfortunately the appliance still was not working. We feared we were going to have to call a repairman and being broke grad students, this was not a pleasant option.

The next morning I decided to look for local repair guys online, but instead of doing that, almost unconsciously, I typed “how to fix your fridge” into Google. I suddenly had a vision of my dad with an owner’s manual sprawled in front of him while he pieced some poor ill working thing together.

After doing some research I unplugged the fridge and inspected the thing from top to bottom. I checked its coils and located its condenser (the condenser is enclosed so there was really nothing I could do but locate it). 

And then I discovered the problem. Turns out that we only did a surface defrost, the freaken thing was frozen from inside out. So I did a major defrost number two and that did the trick.

Now I know it was an easy fix, but there was something rather empowering about realizing that I had a bit of control over the machines around me. And I know that one has to be careful with DIY projects, I have no desire to cut myself open, or electrocute myself. But I have to say I’m so glad that I grew up in a household where working with your hands was valued. 

Even more important however, is the feeling I got while I was giving the fridge its diagnostic tests. I felt like my dad, and the connection to my lineage was lovely.

Perspective

A man’s growth is seen in the successive choirs of his friends.

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

I have always enjoyed this quote and recently I had an experience that makes it fill particularly poignant.

A friend came to visit me recently, and it gave me some perspective. We were little girls together and though we don’t see each other nearly enough anymore, being around her makes me feel like I am home.

Now, I know that I have a problem with needing affirmation, and believe I am working on it.  However, I have to say that this friend of mine is so awesome, she travels the world and she embraces her life in a way that I can only describe as living in Technicolor. So when she does approve of any aspect of my life I can’t help but feel happy.

When she told me she would be passing through, I was excited, but nervous too. I wanted to show her I was doing well. I wanted her to approve of my life here. I wanted to show her a good time, the way she always has when I have visited her.

Truth is I had nothing to worry about. She was actually proud of me! She told me how impressed she was that I was living in my apartment and doing the mass transit thing. She told me “these are not baby steps”. And to be fair she would know, she has seen me at some of my darkest most anxious hours.

It was such a gift for her to meet some of the wonderful people I hang with out here, and she got to explore my hood. I would have loved for her to be here longer, to get to really know some of the people who fill my heart and days with their love and support, but alas she was only her for a brief stay. But short or not, I was grateful for it.

It’s hard to see your own life with objectivity, but seeing my growth through her eyes was a beautiful thing.  I hope she sees how amazing she is through mine.