I've been a little...off...lately. I've been in a really good place for quite a while now, but the last few weeks, I've just been feeling blah. Maybe it's the old "I'm not where I thought I would be at 30" feeling creeping up. I just can't shake the feeling of knowing I should be doing more, but not wanting to. I'm just tired. I'm tired of trying to get somewhere and not having it happen. For the last ten years, I've been trying to become an editor. I went back to school, I quit my steady full-time job for two part-time jobs, I took an internship in New York City that didn't pay and that cost me too much to go to, I took on some freelance work. I'm just tired. It's not working. It's not panning out. And I'm feeling like a failure. I want kids so badly, it hurts. Ben and I talk about it almost daily. But, I can't have kids before I have stability. And I had stability. And I gave up all that stability for...this... For working nights and weekends, for living in an apartment that's not big enough for a family, for wasting my time at a job that makes me feel incompetent, and another one that I love, but doesn't pay the bills. I didn't even come on here to complain. I came on here to make myself feel better, because writing is therapeutic.
Last week, I had a two-day team building thing at one of my jobs. As I always do, I went into it dreading the experience. It was going to be two days of listening to people tell me how to work as a team, forcing me to do group activities with people I don't know. I was pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be a really great experience. I got some networking in, and met some really great people. One exercise they made us do was to come up with a list of things we want to accomplish and why we haven't been able to do that. One of my goals was to get published. And one of the reasons why I hadn't accomplished that yet was because I don't have much confidence in my writing. It's not just my writing I lack confidence in, though. It's my work in general. I want to be an editor so badly, I could cry. But, every time I go in for a job interview, I know there's someone out there who can do it better. I know there's someone who is better at it, more experienced at it, and will be more confident in their editorial decisions. There is someone else out there who will be able to stand up to their author on the changes they've made. And most importantly, there is someone out there who is not filled with debilitating self-doubt.
With this list, we were then assigned to pair up with someone we didn't know and get feedback from them on how to balance out that reason for not succeeding at our goals. I said I wanted to be able to have more confidence in my work. I told my partner that when someone tells me I'm a good writer, I assume they're being nice. No one's going to tell me it's bad. I have never once believed someone who told me how good I was at writing. There have been times when I've written something, and then gone back and read it later and thought, "wow, that's really good, I wrote that?" But, that's where it stops. One person told me I need to reach out to more writers to get their feedback, because they'll be honest. I admitted that I probably don't ask other writers for their feedback, because I know they'll be honest. Another person stopped me and said, "okay, I'm going to get deep right now. You need to figure out where that feeling comes from. What happened that made you feel that way?" I know what the answer is...but, I can't blame everything on my mother, can I? :)
As a kid, I was always writing. I remember around third grade or so, I started writing songs for every holiday. Just silly songs, that I would sing to myself in the shower. I also wrote a book about the dolls in my dollhouse and got such praise from my teacher that she showed it to the school principal. That was the last time I really remember feeling good about my writing. From there, I moved on to poetry. In high school, I was your stereotypical sad sack teenager, who obsessed over boys and wrote sappy love poems. In eighth grade, someone on the bus stole my poetry journal and read them out loud to the bus (he had no idea those poems were about him...). I quickly told him they were a friend's. He responded with, "really? They're actually pretty good." But, the damage was done. I was mortified. Some time during my junior year of high school, I took a poetry class. I wrote a poem in that class that I was so proud of, I actually showed it to my mother. That had never been done before. I had never shown her a single sentence I'd ever written.
She laughed.
Yes. Laughed. I was crushed. Destroyed. Devastated. And she had no idea what she'd done. There was a particular line in the poem that she found funny, clearly because she didn't understand metaphors. It was something about old wounds turning to scabs that I have to pick at until they become scars. I stand by that line. For a sixteen-year-old, it was a good line. And it made sense in the context of the poem. Mom didn't get it. I pinpoint that as the day I lost confidence in my writing.
That doesn't mean I ever stopped writing. I just stopped sharing it with people. I have kept a journal since I was nine years old. I don't write in it as regularly as I used to, but reading over them occasionally helps me get back in touch with that girl I used to be. That sad, confused, frightened girl, who had no idea what she was doing, but just wanted to love and be loved. I took writing classes in college, and did okay. I went on to get a bachelor's degree in English, but skirted by with C's. I now have a master's degree in Publishing, which I absolutely adored. I've done the blog thing on and off for several years now, but I can't say I've ever really taken it too seriously. I've tried a few different angles, a few different topics, but I don't find my life very interesting. I just blog about life. I always feel like I need something about my blog to set me apart from the rest of them, but I don't know what that is. What sets me apart? I wrote a beautiful piece about Ben last year and his stepdad read it and said I was a great writer (he said it to Ben, not to me). I attempted to write a novel a few years ago, which I let Ben read (before we were dating) and he said, "you're definitely a better writer than I am." I've had people tell me over and over and over again that I'm good at what I do. I'm currently a copywriter at one of my jobs and my boss tells me in every one-on-one that I've "got the chops." So, what do I do? How do I build myself up to the level where everyone else puts me? I'm smart, I'm educated, I'm funny, I'm open-minded, I'm passionate, and I'm strong. But talented? I don't see it. Maybe ya'll can help.
(Here's the poem my mother laughed at-written 5/3/02 for a creating writing class. It was about my almost-boyfriend at the time, who eventually became my ex-husband. I was 16 years old.)
Salt
I never understood the phrase "your eyes are like the ocean"
Until I saw the ocean in your eyes
But, perhaps yours are deeper than any
So much more transparent
There's so much more under the surface
The waves are so relaxing...so gentle
Carrying away anything that gets close enough
But, lately the tides have been changing
I've got my own personal ocean
It gets deeper by the hour
And I'm flooded with emotions
No longer transparent, but translucent...
And those waves...now so damaging
So terrifying, overtaking the world
My world
But still, they carry away everything
And they drown out anything in the way
All the "salt" in your eyes
Being poured into my heart
Anything I bothered to open, filled with your salt
And how it burns...yet at the same time
It heals...
And soon, I'm left with only scabs
But, I must pick at them
Until
They become irritated again
And become scars
Constant reminders...
And I know I'll get caught in your ocean again
But next time
I'll get stung
By something I never even saw coming
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
Friday, March 18, 2016
Finding Myself Again
So, since my last post, I've gotten over 100 views, which is absolutely unheard of for me. Thanks to Sophie for the assist!
Now, I feel pressure to write regularly, which was probably part of her sneaky plan.
Anyway, last time I wrote, I talked about a topic of Sophie's choosing, which was, what it means to be a woman. She told me that it was my turn to pick the next topic. And I've been putting it off, because that's what I do. For the last week or so, though, I've been thinking about what I want to write about. Or rather, what I want Sophie to write about. So, I've asked her to write about the one book/CD/movie/etc that changed her life. I'm going to write about the same.
I've mentioned the book many times in my writings, but I don't think I ever went into detail about how or why it changed my life. The book is Delirium by Lauren Oliver. It's a young adult dystopian, which I'm sure we're all sick of by now, but hear me out. It was recommended to me by one of my grad school friends and she discussed it so beautifully that I had to read it. In an effort to not completely screw up all that is beautiful about the book, here is the description, taken directly from the website:
Before scientists found the cure, people thought love was a good thing.
They didn’t understand that once love -- the deliria -- blooms in your blood, there is no escaping its hold. Things are different now. Scientists are able to eradicate love, and the government demands that all citizens receive the cure upon turning eighteen. Lena Holoway has always looked forward to the day when she’ll be cured. A life without love is a life without pain: safe, measured, predictable, and happy.
But with ninety-five days left until her treatment, Lena does the unthinkable: She falls in love.
I read this book during the summer of 2014, during the height of my depression. At that point, it had been over a year and half since my divorce and the passing of my stepdad (which happened two weeks apart from each other, for all you newbies). I had been living in my own apartment for about six months, the first time I ever lived alone. I was dating Ben at that point for over a year, and I was well on my way to rebuilding everything I'd lost in the divorce. But, I was still miserable. I had been seeing a therapist for over a year and she was amazing, but it wasn't enough. I had stopped taking my anti-depressants, because I wanted to prove that I didn't need them (I did). It was getting progressively more difficult for me to get out of bed and carry on my life. I was still in grad school, but had just decided to take time off (which I didn't do), because I couldn't deal. I was crying every day. I was still scared, and still in the process of transitioning my ways of thinking. I have always been rather rigid, for lack of a better word. I have always been fiercely against drinking, and smoking, and drugs, etc. I went to college, got a job, bought a house, and got married, because that's what people are "supposed to" do. In a nutshell, my life was incredibly boring. It wasn't until I decided to go back to school that things started clicking. But, it was still scary. I'd lived 27 years with certain beliefs, and certain views, and certain ways of thinking. As Ben likes to say, "I'm un-manipulatable." I'll take that as a compliment, regardless of how it was meant. I don't easily change my mind. I don't easily back down. Until my marriage fell apart, I believed love was all that mattered in the world. I believed that as long as you loved someone enough, anything was possible. Love was my religion, if you will. Even though I was raised Catholic, I had long since given up on the idea of religion as a whole. I consider myself an Atheist (though, I do understand the need for some people to have religion in their lives. I respect that, but it's not for me). For those who consider themselves religious, compare my divorce to you suddenly discovering, without a shadow of doubt, that God does not exist. That's what it felt like. My entire life philosophy had been wrong. Everything I'd built my life around, everything I'd believed in, everything I'd fought for, and stood up for was wrong. Where did I even begin to rebuild?
It took me a really, really long time to get out of that. I will admit that part of that is probably because I fell into a new relationship immediately (like, within days of making my divorce public...don't judge...). Ben and I were best friends. He was at my wedding, we worked together, we talked every single day. He was there for me when things fell apart. But, it got serious with him very quickly. And while I was raised pretty conservatively, Ben was textbook Liberal. Ben had the old "I'll try anything once" attitude, which was absolutely terrifying for "I like predictability" Kim. Our adjustment period was probably longer than it should have been. And we fought A LOT. But, we both knew there was something rare between us, so every time we broke up (once is too many times, to be honest, but these were extenuating circumstances), we talked it out and worked through it.
That being said, there were still some things in his life that I wasn't comfortable with. There were still things that I couldn't get past. There were still things that I judged, and I ran from, and I didn't want to accept. A lot of tears went into it. A lot of fighting. A lot of back and forth, and head bashing, and hair pulling, and eye rolling, and frustration. I didn't have the presence of mind at the time to put things into words. There were too many other things for me to work through to worry about other things that were incredibly minor to him, but unbelievably important to me.
Cut to July 2014. We had just gotten home for Atlantic City, where we spent my 29th birthday. His aunt and uncle have a house there with a little apartment attached, which is where we stayed. It was lovely getting to hang out alone and spend some time with his family as well. They're all great people and we get along wonderfully. That was the first trip him and I took that didn't end in some sort of disaster. There was no fighting. Things were good.
I had started reading Delirium while we were there, but I find it difficult to read on a beach, where there are so many distractions. But, as soon as I got home, I sat down to read it. And didn't stop until I finished (nearly 400 pages later). It's the first time I can remember reading an entire book in one sitting (minus the few dozen pages I read in AC). I left my bedroom only to go to the bathroom and eat (I actually don't remember if I even ate that day, I was so engrossed). I read a lot, and I had never read a book that spoke to me on such a personal level. My Goodreads review that night said simply:
This book just changed my life.
It made me believe in love again. It made me believe in fighting again. It made me want to live.
I have absolutely no other words.
To this day, I've never written a proper review for it, because I don't have the words. It was in those hours of reading that book that I came to life. My perspective on so many things changed. My views on society changed. It reignited the spark in me that had long died. It made me want to live again, and fight again, and be who I knew I was meant to be. I texted Ben begging him to talk me out of heading to the bookstore and buying the rest of the trilogy (he didn't answer in time...thankfully, I lived around the corner from the bookstore and bought them before the day was over...). When I got home from buying the other two books, I messaged him on Facebook and asked him to do something he never in a million years expected. For reasons of privacy, I will not disclose what it was (get your mind out of the gutter folks, it's nothing like that). But, it made us closer. It was the one thing we spent most of our time fighting about. The one thing that I couldn't get past. The one thing that was keeping me from really giving myself to him completely, and I let it go that day. That was the day I decided not to live in fear anymore. That was the day I knew I needed to start pushing the boundaries and forcing myself out of my comfort zone. That was the day I started believing in love again, and knowing that it can be enough if it's done right.
Every time I have a customer come in the bookstore where I now work asking for a good book for someone who likes sci-fi or dystopian or something with a journey, I recommend this book. The usual reaction when I explain the plot is, "oh, it sounds like The Giver." No disrespect to The Giver (which is also one my favorite books of all time), but this one is better. Maybe it was a matter of timing. Maybe it had to do with the fact that it was exactly what I needed in my life at that particular time. I do believe that things effect us differently at different points in our lives. Maybe if I read it again today, it wouldn't pack the same punch. But, I know that book will forever hold a spot in my heart, for what it did for me.
Last year, I had the pleasure of meeting the author (and her editor, who gave my resume to her superiors!). She was in Princeton, NJ promoting her new book, Vanishing Girls, which I bought, but I brought Delirium along with me. When I reached her table for my autograph, I told her (a very condensed version of) my story. I told her that her book pulled me out of an 18-month depression. She asked me if I was "better now" and I told her that I was. We chit-chatted for a minute about grad school, and she signed my book and posed for pictures. Ben asked me the other day, if there was one book I would take with me in a fire, which would it be? That one.
Never underestimate the power of words.
Now, I feel pressure to write regularly, which was probably part of her sneaky plan.
Anyway, last time I wrote, I talked about a topic of Sophie's choosing, which was, what it means to be a woman. She told me that it was my turn to pick the next topic. And I've been putting it off, because that's what I do. For the last week or so, though, I've been thinking about what I want to write about. Or rather, what I want Sophie to write about. So, I've asked her to write about the one book/CD/movie/etc that changed her life. I'm going to write about the same.
I've mentioned the book many times in my writings, but I don't think I ever went into detail about how or why it changed my life. The book is Delirium by Lauren Oliver. It's a young adult dystopian, which I'm sure we're all sick of by now, but hear me out. It was recommended to me by one of my grad school friends and she discussed it so beautifully that I had to read it. In an effort to not completely screw up all that is beautiful about the book, here is the description, taken directly from the website:
Before scientists found the cure, people thought love was a good thing.
They didn’t understand that once love -- the deliria -- blooms in your blood, there is no escaping its hold. Things are different now. Scientists are able to eradicate love, and the government demands that all citizens receive the cure upon turning eighteen. Lena Holoway has always looked forward to the day when she’ll be cured. A life without love is a life without pain: safe, measured, predictable, and happy.
But with ninety-five days left until her treatment, Lena does the unthinkable: She falls in love.
I read this book during the summer of 2014, during the height of my depression. At that point, it had been over a year and half since my divorce and the passing of my stepdad (which happened two weeks apart from each other, for all you newbies). I had been living in my own apartment for about six months, the first time I ever lived alone. I was dating Ben at that point for over a year, and I was well on my way to rebuilding everything I'd lost in the divorce. But, I was still miserable. I had been seeing a therapist for over a year and she was amazing, but it wasn't enough. I had stopped taking my anti-depressants, because I wanted to prove that I didn't need them (I did). It was getting progressively more difficult for me to get out of bed and carry on my life. I was still in grad school, but had just decided to take time off (which I didn't do), because I couldn't deal. I was crying every day. I was still scared, and still in the process of transitioning my ways of thinking. I have always been rather rigid, for lack of a better word. I have always been fiercely against drinking, and smoking, and drugs, etc. I went to college, got a job, bought a house, and got married, because that's what people are "supposed to" do. In a nutshell, my life was incredibly boring. It wasn't until I decided to go back to school that things started clicking. But, it was still scary. I'd lived 27 years with certain beliefs, and certain views, and certain ways of thinking. As Ben likes to say, "I'm un-manipulatable." I'll take that as a compliment, regardless of how it was meant. I don't easily change my mind. I don't easily back down. Until my marriage fell apart, I believed love was all that mattered in the world. I believed that as long as you loved someone enough, anything was possible. Love was my religion, if you will. Even though I was raised Catholic, I had long since given up on the idea of religion as a whole. I consider myself an Atheist (though, I do understand the need for some people to have religion in their lives. I respect that, but it's not for me). For those who consider themselves religious, compare my divorce to you suddenly discovering, without a shadow of doubt, that God does not exist. That's what it felt like. My entire life philosophy had been wrong. Everything I'd built my life around, everything I'd believed in, everything I'd fought for, and stood up for was wrong. Where did I even begin to rebuild?
It took me a really, really long time to get out of that. I will admit that part of that is probably because I fell into a new relationship immediately (like, within days of making my divorce public...don't judge...). Ben and I were best friends. He was at my wedding, we worked together, we talked every single day. He was there for me when things fell apart. But, it got serious with him very quickly. And while I was raised pretty conservatively, Ben was textbook Liberal. Ben had the old "I'll try anything once" attitude, which was absolutely terrifying for "I like predictability" Kim. Our adjustment period was probably longer than it should have been. And we fought A LOT. But, we both knew there was something rare between us, so every time we broke up (once is too many times, to be honest, but these were extenuating circumstances), we talked it out and worked through it.
That being said, there were still some things in his life that I wasn't comfortable with. There were still things that I couldn't get past. There were still things that I judged, and I ran from, and I didn't want to accept. A lot of tears went into it. A lot of fighting. A lot of back and forth, and head bashing, and hair pulling, and eye rolling, and frustration. I didn't have the presence of mind at the time to put things into words. There were too many other things for me to work through to worry about other things that were incredibly minor to him, but unbelievably important to me.
Cut to July 2014. We had just gotten home for Atlantic City, where we spent my 29th birthday. His aunt and uncle have a house there with a little apartment attached, which is where we stayed. It was lovely getting to hang out alone and spend some time with his family as well. They're all great people and we get along wonderfully. That was the first trip him and I took that didn't end in some sort of disaster. There was no fighting. Things were good.
I had started reading Delirium while we were there, but I find it difficult to read on a beach, where there are so many distractions. But, as soon as I got home, I sat down to read it. And didn't stop until I finished (nearly 400 pages later). It's the first time I can remember reading an entire book in one sitting (minus the few dozen pages I read in AC). I left my bedroom only to go to the bathroom and eat (I actually don't remember if I even ate that day, I was so engrossed). I read a lot, and I had never read a book that spoke to me on such a personal level. My Goodreads review that night said simply:
This book just changed my life.
It made me believe in love again. It made me believe in fighting again. It made me want to live.
I have absolutely no other words.
To this day, I've never written a proper review for it, because I don't have the words. It was in those hours of reading that book that I came to life. My perspective on so many things changed. My views on society changed. It reignited the spark in me that had long died. It made me want to live again, and fight again, and be who I knew I was meant to be. I texted Ben begging him to talk me out of heading to the bookstore and buying the rest of the trilogy (he didn't answer in time...thankfully, I lived around the corner from the bookstore and bought them before the day was over...). When I got home from buying the other two books, I messaged him on Facebook and asked him to do something he never in a million years expected. For reasons of privacy, I will not disclose what it was (get your mind out of the gutter folks, it's nothing like that). But, it made us closer. It was the one thing we spent most of our time fighting about. The one thing that I couldn't get past. The one thing that was keeping me from really giving myself to him completely, and I let it go that day. That was the day I decided not to live in fear anymore. That was the day I knew I needed to start pushing the boundaries and forcing myself out of my comfort zone. That was the day I started believing in love again, and knowing that it can be enough if it's done right.
Every time I have a customer come in the bookstore where I now work asking for a good book for someone who likes sci-fi or dystopian or something with a journey, I recommend this book. The usual reaction when I explain the plot is, "oh, it sounds like The Giver." No disrespect to The Giver (which is also one my favorite books of all time), but this one is better. Maybe it was a matter of timing. Maybe it had to do with the fact that it was exactly what I needed in my life at that particular time. I do believe that things effect us differently at different points in our lives. Maybe if I read it again today, it wouldn't pack the same punch. But, I know that book will forever hold a spot in my heart, for what it did for me.
Last year, I had the pleasure of meeting the author (and her editor, who gave my resume to her superiors!). She was in Princeton, NJ promoting her new book, Vanishing Girls, which I bought, but I brought Delirium along with me. When I reached her table for my autograph, I told her (a very condensed version of) my story. I told her that her book pulled me out of an 18-month depression. She asked me if I was "better now" and I told her that I was. We chit-chatted for a minute about grad school, and she signed my book and posed for pictures. Ben asked me the other day, if there was one book I would take with me in a fire, which would it be? That one.
Never underestimate the power of words.
 |
| "For Kim- I'm so happy to hear that this book helped you through a dark time in your life. Good luck with your grad program!" |
 |
| Thank you, Miss Oliver, for your words. |
 |
| Telling my story. |
Tuesday, March 8, 2016
Sophie's Choice
A friend and fellow blogger challenged me to write a blog post about a subject of her choice (visit her amazing blog here: http://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/). She chose, "What Being a Woman Means to Me." It is purely coincidental that this falls on the same day as International Women's Day, but a happy coincidence nonetheless. So, in a word, being a woman to me, means fearlessness. And I will explain.
As women, we are taught from a very young age to act a certain way, to dress a certain way, to look a certain way. We are pigeon-holed into certain careers. We are paid less than our male counterparts. We are taught to walk down dark streets in fear. During our school years, we are prohibited from wearing certain things, so as not to "distract" the boys. To this day, I will not pump gas after dark, unless I am in danger of completely running out and being stranded, because I've been trained to be afraid of what's lurking in the dark. In a nutshell, we are taught, from birth, to be afraid. So, for me, being a woman is about beating those fears. It's about not letting those fears, and those labels, and those restrictions define who we are and what we are capable of. I joke pretty regularly that "I'm not very good at being a girl," which of course means, I'm not very good at holding myself to society's idea of what I should be. The career I've chosen to pursue may be predominantly female, but it's still an ambitious career. My education is higher than women of past generations were able or allowed to pursue.
My mom and I joke about the fact that she once told me she didn't want a daughter, because she "didn't know what to do with one." I like to pretend that I'm offended, but I know what she really means. As a kid, my mom was a tomboy. She had three older brothers, was very athletic, and was not much a fan of dresses. She liked toy guns, and playing cowboys and Indians, and getting herself dirty. So, when it came to raising a daughter who was supposed to be "girly," she didn't know what to do. Fair enough. I'm decidedly more feminine that I imagined I'd turn out by this age, but I'm still not good at the "girl" thing. I do always feel like I've been too sensitive for my own good, I think I have a strong motherly instinct, and I like making a house a home. But, I have always gotten along better with men. When it comes to social interactions, I don't have much in common with women. I don't even really know what that means, but I find women exhausting sometimes. Maybe it's just the ones who are trying too hard to fit into the stereotypes. Stay-at-home moms bum me out, because I feel like us women fought so hard to have the right to our own careers, and there are so many women now giving up that right. Obviously, I'd love to be in a situation where I didn't have to work, but I'd work anyway. Because I've worked too damn hard in my life to not go after that career. There is no reason in the world why I can't have a family and a career. I don't want to rely on a man. I don't want to know that I need someone else. I don't want to know that my well-being, my life, my stability, all depends on someone else. What if he loses that job? What if he gets injured, or worse? What if we split up (it's happened to me before, as we all know...and it crushed me financially). I want to know that I have what I have because I worked for it. I want to know that it can't be taken from me by anyone else. I want to go to the doctor on my own benefits, pay my rent with my own paycheck. It's nice having Ben's paycheck to soften the blow, but this apartment is under my name. I was approved for and signed the lease based on my own credit, and my own history. I like that. It makes me feel more stable. It makes me feel like less of a stereotype. And when we have kids, you better believe I will continue to work. Because there's no reason why I can't, or why I shouldn't.
So, for me, being a woman means living your life without fear. Don't be afraid to go for those dreams, no matter how many people tell you they're impossible, or that you don't have what it takes. Don't be afraid to expect equal and fair treatment. Don't be afraid to dress how you want, or act how you want, or like what you like, just to fit into some old fashioned idea of what you're supposed to be. Hold your head high, make your own decisions, and be proud of who you are. Because you earned it.
As women, we are taught from a very young age to act a certain way, to dress a certain way, to look a certain way. We are pigeon-holed into certain careers. We are paid less than our male counterparts. We are taught to walk down dark streets in fear. During our school years, we are prohibited from wearing certain things, so as not to "distract" the boys. To this day, I will not pump gas after dark, unless I am in danger of completely running out and being stranded, because I've been trained to be afraid of what's lurking in the dark. In a nutshell, we are taught, from birth, to be afraid. So, for me, being a woman is about beating those fears. It's about not letting those fears, and those labels, and those restrictions define who we are and what we are capable of. I joke pretty regularly that "I'm not very good at being a girl," which of course means, I'm not very good at holding myself to society's idea of what I should be. The career I've chosen to pursue may be predominantly female, but it's still an ambitious career. My education is higher than women of past generations were able or allowed to pursue.
My mom and I joke about the fact that she once told me she didn't want a daughter, because she "didn't know what to do with one." I like to pretend that I'm offended, but I know what she really means. As a kid, my mom was a tomboy. She had three older brothers, was very athletic, and was not much a fan of dresses. She liked toy guns, and playing cowboys and Indians, and getting herself dirty. So, when it came to raising a daughter who was supposed to be "girly," she didn't know what to do. Fair enough. I'm decidedly more feminine that I imagined I'd turn out by this age, but I'm still not good at the "girl" thing. I do always feel like I've been too sensitive for my own good, I think I have a strong motherly instinct, and I like making a house a home. But, I have always gotten along better with men. When it comes to social interactions, I don't have much in common with women. I don't even really know what that means, but I find women exhausting sometimes. Maybe it's just the ones who are trying too hard to fit into the stereotypes. Stay-at-home moms bum me out, because I feel like us women fought so hard to have the right to our own careers, and there are so many women now giving up that right. Obviously, I'd love to be in a situation where I didn't have to work, but I'd work anyway. Because I've worked too damn hard in my life to not go after that career. There is no reason in the world why I can't have a family and a career. I don't want to rely on a man. I don't want to know that I need someone else. I don't want to know that my well-being, my life, my stability, all depends on someone else. What if he loses that job? What if he gets injured, or worse? What if we split up (it's happened to me before, as we all know...and it crushed me financially). I want to know that I have what I have because I worked for it. I want to know that it can't be taken from me by anyone else. I want to go to the doctor on my own benefits, pay my rent with my own paycheck. It's nice having Ben's paycheck to soften the blow, but this apartment is under my name. I was approved for and signed the lease based on my own credit, and my own history. I like that. It makes me feel more stable. It makes me feel like less of a stereotype. And when we have kids, you better believe I will continue to work. Because there's no reason why I can't, or why I shouldn't.
So, for me, being a woman means living your life without fear. Don't be afraid to go for those dreams, no matter how many people tell you they're impossible, or that you don't have what it takes. Don't be afraid to expect equal and fair treatment. Don't be afraid to dress how you want, or act how you want, or like what you like, just to fit into some old fashioned idea of what you're supposed to be. Hold your head high, make your own decisions, and be proud of who you are. Because you earned it.
Sunday, March 6, 2016
Top Secret: For Your Eyes Only
I'm going to let you all in on a secret today. It's my deepest, darkest secret, and I've only said the words to two people in my entire life. Are you ready? Hold onto your hats. Here we go:
I like you.
Are you still upright? I'll give you a moment.
On a more serious note, though, for as long as I can remember, I've heard second hand that people think I don't like them. "How come Kim didn't come out? Doesn't she like us?" "So and so thinks you don't like him/her, because you didn't come out the last few times." I'm exhausted by defending myself. I have always felt like it's okay for everyone else to be who they are and do what they want, but it's not okay for me. Unless everyone else is faking it. But, I do like you. There are a million and one reasons why I might not hang out on any given day. If it's on a Friday night, it's probably because I just worked all week, and I want to spend some quiet time alone away from people. If it's on a Saturday night, it's probably because I have work the next morning and don't want to be out too late. Sometimes, it's because Ben likes background noise constantly at the apartment and I like when he goes out alone, so I can have some peace and quiet. Sometimes it's because I'm broke. Sometimes, it's because whatever you're planning on doing isn't something I enjoy, so I'd rather stay home than risk being miserable all night and everyone thinking I hate them...oh wait.
I have struggled my entire life to fit in somewhere. I believe I've blogged about this before. But, I always feel like I don't like the right things. I don't appreciate the same things as everyone else. I don't define fun the same way other people do. I'm some crazy freak of nature, because I actually enjoy my own company. I am an introvert to the very last bullet point. I'm a simple person, who likes simple things. Large crowds and group outings exhaust me. They make me tired. They make me cranky. They make me anxious. If you're going to be hanging out at your house, I'll be more inclined to go, depending on what the activities are. If you're planning on sitting around drinking, smoking pot, and talking about old stories from college, that's not going to be fun for me, because I don't enjoy any of those things. It's not personal. It's not about you. It's not about your friends, or your house, or your political views, or your religion, or anything else. It's simply because I'm trying to keep myself from a situation that makes me not a pleasant person. I feel like I can never win. If I go somewhere because I want people to think I don't hate them, then I often end up miserable, and the whole plan backfires anyway. If I don't go, because I'd rather hang out by myself and catch up on my show, or do some reading, then they think I don't like them anyway. At this point, I'm translating that to mean, "oh, Kim didn't come. That's fine, we don't like her anyway."
If you are someone who was able to click on this link directly, then I like you. And there is a 100% chance that I wish we hung out more. I don't even need fingers to count the number of people who I can count on in a pinch, because there aren't any (Ben not included). And that's probably my fault. I'm sure I've turned down so many invitations and blown off so many people that they don't see a point in inviting me out anymore. I get it. That doesn't mean it doesn't suck. That doesn't mean I don't still want to be asked. Sometimes I sit at home on a Friday night, miserable because I don't have anyone I can just call up and hang out with. There are times when I'd give just about anything to get out of this apartment. And a few years ago, I started drinking a little bit, because I didn't think I had a choice anymore. That's all anyone does. Like, that's it. And I find it super lame, and seriously frustrating. (I guess that "super lame" comment is probably another reason why I don't have too many friends). I eventually discovered that it's still not really for me. First of all, I don't like the taste of alcohol. Any alcohol. You can give me every drink you can think of and tell me that "you can't even taste the alcohol in it," and I promise you, I can. It's been tested time and time again. I can taste it. And I don't like it. I'm sorry. On the rare occasion that I've been able to choke down a few glasses for the sake of "socializing," I just haven't enjoyed myself. I don't like being drunk. I don't enjoy not being myself, not being aware, not being completely there. I suppose part of me can understand the draw of that, but it's not for me.
I'm simply too old at this point to pretend to like things that I don't, just for the sake of some social interaction. Game nights are an easy way around it, because everyone can drink themselves stupid while I still enjoy the board game aspect of the night. Those are the nights I like. I also like scrapbooking, and reading (duh), and going to thrift stores, and decorating, and baking...but I can't really do any of those things with other people. I'm sorry that most of my hobbies and interests don't involve other people. I'm sorry that I enjoy my own company. I'm sorry that you don't enjoy your own enough to be able to be alone. I'm sorry I don't enjoy the same things you do. I'm sorry I can't fake my feelings and pretend I'm having fun when I'm not. I'm sorry that I don't accept more social invitations (I've made it a New Year's resolution to do so). I'm sorry I am who I am.
Of course, obviously I'm not. I am who I am and I like who I am. I've been through an unbelievable amount of bull shit to get where I am. I've transformed so much of myself, and had to change my way of thinking on so many things. And after all of that, after everything I've been through, and after all the education I've gotten, and all the people I've met, I still am who I am. I'm still "the most not fun person" you've ever met. I'd be lying if I said that didn't make me sad. I don't want to be boring. I don't want to not be fun. I just want to be who I am and have that be okay with everyone, without my motives or my feelings being questioned.
Okay?
So, I like you. I love you. I wish we hung out more. And I miss you.
I like you.
Are you still upright? I'll give you a moment.
On a more serious note, though, for as long as I can remember, I've heard second hand that people think I don't like them. "How come Kim didn't come out? Doesn't she like us?" "So and so thinks you don't like him/her, because you didn't come out the last few times." I'm exhausted by defending myself. I have always felt like it's okay for everyone else to be who they are and do what they want, but it's not okay for me. Unless everyone else is faking it. But, I do like you. There are a million and one reasons why I might not hang out on any given day. If it's on a Friday night, it's probably because I just worked all week, and I want to spend some quiet time alone away from people. If it's on a Saturday night, it's probably because I have work the next morning and don't want to be out too late. Sometimes, it's because Ben likes background noise constantly at the apartment and I like when he goes out alone, so I can have some peace and quiet. Sometimes it's because I'm broke. Sometimes, it's because whatever you're planning on doing isn't something I enjoy, so I'd rather stay home than risk being miserable all night and everyone thinking I hate them...oh wait.
I have struggled my entire life to fit in somewhere. I believe I've blogged about this before. But, I always feel like I don't like the right things. I don't appreciate the same things as everyone else. I don't define fun the same way other people do. I'm some crazy freak of nature, because I actually enjoy my own company. I am an introvert to the very last bullet point. I'm a simple person, who likes simple things. Large crowds and group outings exhaust me. They make me tired. They make me cranky. They make me anxious. If you're going to be hanging out at your house, I'll be more inclined to go, depending on what the activities are. If you're planning on sitting around drinking, smoking pot, and talking about old stories from college, that's not going to be fun for me, because I don't enjoy any of those things. It's not personal. It's not about you. It's not about your friends, or your house, or your political views, or your religion, or anything else. It's simply because I'm trying to keep myself from a situation that makes me not a pleasant person. I feel like I can never win. If I go somewhere because I want people to think I don't hate them, then I often end up miserable, and the whole plan backfires anyway. If I don't go, because I'd rather hang out by myself and catch up on my show, or do some reading, then they think I don't like them anyway. At this point, I'm translating that to mean, "oh, Kim didn't come. That's fine, we don't like her anyway."
If you are someone who was able to click on this link directly, then I like you. And there is a 100% chance that I wish we hung out more. I don't even need fingers to count the number of people who I can count on in a pinch, because there aren't any (Ben not included). And that's probably my fault. I'm sure I've turned down so many invitations and blown off so many people that they don't see a point in inviting me out anymore. I get it. That doesn't mean it doesn't suck. That doesn't mean I don't still want to be asked. Sometimes I sit at home on a Friday night, miserable because I don't have anyone I can just call up and hang out with. There are times when I'd give just about anything to get out of this apartment. And a few years ago, I started drinking a little bit, because I didn't think I had a choice anymore. That's all anyone does. Like, that's it. And I find it super lame, and seriously frustrating. (I guess that "super lame" comment is probably another reason why I don't have too many friends). I eventually discovered that it's still not really for me. First of all, I don't like the taste of alcohol. Any alcohol. You can give me every drink you can think of and tell me that "you can't even taste the alcohol in it," and I promise you, I can. It's been tested time and time again. I can taste it. And I don't like it. I'm sorry. On the rare occasion that I've been able to choke down a few glasses for the sake of "socializing," I just haven't enjoyed myself. I don't like being drunk. I don't enjoy not being myself, not being aware, not being completely there. I suppose part of me can understand the draw of that, but it's not for me.
I'm simply too old at this point to pretend to like things that I don't, just for the sake of some social interaction. Game nights are an easy way around it, because everyone can drink themselves stupid while I still enjoy the board game aspect of the night. Those are the nights I like. I also like scrapbooking, and reading (duh), and going to thrift stores, and decorating, and baking...but I can't really do any of those things with other people. I'm sorry that most of my hobbies and interests don't involve other people. I'm sorry that I enjoy my own company. I'm sorry that you don't enjoy your own enough to be able to be alone. I'm sorry I don't enjoy the same things you do. I'm sorry I can't fake my feelings and pretend I'm having fun when I'm not. I'm sorry that I don't accept more social invitations (I've made it a New Year's resolution to do so). I'm sorry I am who I am.
Of course, obviously I'm not. I am who I am and I like who I am. I've been through an unbelievable amount of bull shit to get where I am. I've transformed so much of myself, and had to change my way of thinking on so many things. And after all of that, after everything I've been through, and after all the education I've gotten, and all the people I've met, I still am who I am. I'm still "the most not fun person" you've ever met. I'd be lying if I said that didn't make me sad. I don't want to be boring. I don't want to not be fun. I just want to be who I am and have that be okay with everyone, without my motives or my feelings being questioned.
Okay?
So, I like you. I love you. I wish we hung out more. And I miss you.
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