O RLY?

And just when I thought I was finished with the problematic justification...

First, I wrote it.  Sent it in.  Elaborate here, add a citation here, elaborate there, add a sentence here, she said.  Usually, elaborate means add.  As in, it's gonna be longer than what it was when I initially turned it in.  I elaborated, I added.  Sent it in again. Then homegirl said, Oh, dear, now it's too long.  O RLY?  Now I got to cut back on what you told me to add.  O-kay.  O-kay.  So then I had to slash that sucker back down to size.  Hombre, te lo digo de verdad.  Whittled that puppy down and sent it back in.  Will it be the last?  Time will tell.

It does feel good to have it off my hands again, though.

Ah, but reading.  Finished Junot Diaz's Drown.  Exquisitely written, but mad depressing.  Now I'm reading this experimental novel written by an Afro-Argentine writer that is chock full of Argentine slang flying over my head.

Ah, but dissertation fellowship application.  Due January 6, genius.  The day you start your new life of the new semester.  You must needs get cracking.  Statement of purpose, et. al., honey.  These documents ain't gonna write themselves and then proceed to attach themselves to Interfolio.  No, ma'am.

Ah, but a sweet, unassuming, long-lashed, dimpled, freckle-faced, guitar-playing, Spanish-speaking, singer-songwriting guy.  Who wants to write a song together.  Who introduced me to linguistics terms like 'idiolect' and 'isogloss' and 'implicature.'  Who appreciates GRE words.  Who "can't wait" to come to church with me again.  Who wants to study the Bible in the original Greek and Hebrew.  Who really wants things to work out.

Yes, yes.  I must be careful and use discernment.  Without a doubt.  This is true.  I am quite aware of the complications of it all.  I don't dismiss anyone's concern.  It very well may not work out and I would have to be okay with that possibility.  But can I be for real about something?

I have been in a few situations where everything looked great on paper, but in the end, to be frank, the other party was just not willing to do what it takes.  He was not willing to work for me.  He was not willing to commit.  He was unsure.  He was not confident enough to or simply unwilling to pursue me.  As my friend used to say, he couldn't back that stuff up.  "He can talk a good game, but can he back that stuff up?"

In other situations (where perhaps the paperwork wasn't exactly the best), I was essentially told that wanting the person I date or marry to share my faith was "too much to ask."  O RLY?

Well, now I'm in a spot where the paperwork isn't all in order, but the other party is quite willing to work for me and pursue me, seems sure of what he wants and is willing to commit.  I'm in a spot where, so far, wanting him to share my faith is not too much to ask.  Time will tell.

Handle it.

I'm at Starbucks, determined to revise my problematic justification before I dare do anything else.  I will finish this today.  Nope, I don't even wanna hear it.  You will finish this today.

But everything I hear (snatched conversations), listen to (Pandora + Starbucks background music), read (FB newsfeed, CNN.com) think about ("How am I going to get this done?"  "How am I going to get through comps?"  "How is this relationship going to play out?") while trying to get to the matter at hand is making me tear up.  In the middle of Starbucks.  With a long since cold caramel brulee latte.

My friend said, "It's okay to cry.  It's just a human response.  Like laughing."  But I guess laughing is more socially acceptable than crying.  Laughing is more okay than crying.  Should it be?

I'm getting this revision done today.  I need to get it done so that I can do some more side editing for my prof.  Extra cash is nice, but I have to handle my own stuff first.

Handle my own stuff.  Handle it.  "It's handled."

Shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, Why hast thou made me thus? But it is a question that rests on my lips more often that I'd like to admit.

Can I say it?  I'm tired of this unsettled feeling.  That there is still so much work left to do before I can even think about settling in any manner anywhere in any concrete kind of way makes tears spring to my eyes.  I'm tired of being assaulted by cognitive dissonance.  It seems that there is no slice of space that will allow me to comfortably settle in.  The idea that I will just have to constantly navigate more or less acceptable spaces along with a constant bit of discomfort makes tears spring to my eyes.

This morning, I woke up and said, "Thank you, God, for taking care of me.  I have confidence in You."  I want to believe it so badly.  I want to believe it constantly and consistently.  Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.

What's really going on?

I met someone when I wasn't trying to meet anyone new.  It came at a time when I had finally decided that I was done dealing with another person in my life.  I was done, as in, I was done opening myself up to him: "You have everything to give and he has everything to take."

It sort of happened.  He asked if I wanted to have coffee sometime.  We started playing the guitar.  We enjoyed each others' company.  I was in denial.  No, it's not like that.  Until it was.  What makes you think this could work?  It couldn't work.  It wouldn't work.  You're too different.  And church!  Hello, skirt girl.  And church.

 Whatareyougettingyourselfinto?  Whatareyouthinking?  Whatareyoudoing?  But I'm not.  doing.  anything.  I'm just trying to finish this program.  How can I shut myself off from the world?  Is that what I'm supposed to do?  I could've said no to coffee.  I could've said no to jam sessions.  I could have said no to going to hear him play open mic at a coffee shop downtown.  But I didn't.  And should I have?

So, what's a church girl to do other than bring up church?  I mean, hey, this is important to me.  What's a church girl to do other than be upfront?  But I'm too much of a weirdo . . . it's too weird, he's not going to be interested, it's so different.  I'm so different.  He won't understand.

But then he wanted to have a Bible study.  We did.  And then he wanted to come to church.  He came. And now he wants to get baptized?

What's really going on?  Like, is this for real?  This is not supposed to be happening.  You weird little flirt to converter.  Missionary dater. Why can't you stick with your own already-churched kind?  But . . . I wasn't trying to . . . 

"Well, just be careful."  "Well, just pray."  "Well, it's a process."  "But, weren't you just talking about some other guy? It's too soon."  "That's really fast, isn't it?"  "Just wait and see."

I know.  I know.  Iknowiknowiknowiknowiknow.

I'm trying to just breathe.  Just trying to not get in the way more than I already have.

I have to be honest and say I don't know what's really going on.  I can't call it.  So I'm trying to let it be.  And I'm trying to enjoy the journey.

All Things Go

1. Gave a presentation about my experience in Cuba yesterday.  It went over really well and I got a lot of positive feedback.  One of my major professor's students came and she said after listening to my presentation, she wanted to go to Cuba, too.

2. An abstract I submitted was accepted to a conference at UT Austin.  I'm really excited about it because it was the conference that I most wanted to attend.  It is on a much broader scale than Romance Languages, and will give me a bit of versatility because the paper I'm presenting is a little outside of my usual scope.  I'll get partnered with a senior scholar and my paper may even have the chance to get published.

3. I got an email from my professor who is now at a prestigious Ivy League and she's arranging for me to spend the summer there either as her research assistant or as a research fellow of some sort for me to get research underway for my dissertation.  She'll find out for sure whether she's won any of the grants she's applied for by the end of the month.

4. Upon my return from Thanksgiving break, a very sweet friend gave me a sunflower and a mix CD he created for me.  He said they were songs he liked that he thought I would like, too.  The first one goes like this.

The Process

"It's a process."

It seems like this has been my mantra for a while.  It's a process.  You can't rush it, you can't foreknow it, you can't control every aspect of it.  Sometimes it (whatever it is) just has to be and it just has to be allowed to develop, if it is meant to develop, according to God's will.

I'm in the midst of a development that has taken me a little by surprise, frankly.  All I can say is this: I have been honest and upfront from the beginning, and the other person has expressed a willingness and openness to learn about and experience aspects of what makes me who I am that are important to me.

I'll just leave it at that, because that's really all it is for now.

I am hesitant because I don't know how things are going to unfold and I don't want anyone to get hurt.

All I know is that I must stay true to myself.  It's the only way I'll truly be happy, and I know that I am and will be respected for that.

(Sigh.)  Personal life issues are not the only little chunk of my life that is in process.  Take this PhD program, for starters.  I am trying not to hyperventilate over comps.  I know I mention something about comps every time I post a new blog entry.  But it's looming over me and no matter how I slice it, I don't feel prepared.  But God is greater than my feelings of inadequacy, and I just have to do what I can to move forward.

I know I'll eventually "come out on the other side."  I look forward to the day that I can say that I finally have.

It Is What It Is

This post is for my mother and for my best friend, two people who are highly supportive of me, but who are also very truthful with me.

I don't know how to express how important it is to have people like this in your life.  I am so grateful for them because I know that everything they say comes from a loving, godly, honest place, even if it's something I don't want to hear.  At the end of the day, it is what it is, and I have to be willing to accept it and be honest with myself about my shortcomings if I am ever to move forward and be consistent and live an overcoming life.

I am in a unique place in my life that sets me apart.  I can either lament it or embrace it.  I can either use it as an excuse or see it as an asset.

I have to be honest and say that there are things about myself that I highly dislike.  Tears well up if I dwell on them too long.  But I am stuck with being me.  And that's okay.

Dates

No . . . not the kind of dates a single gal like me would (like to) go on.  lol. Dates, as in calendar days set in stone.  For comps.

(Sigh.)  I'm supposed to be reading poetry right now in preparation for said comps whose dates are dangerously near.  But in a way, it's comforting because it's like, okay, I have these concrete little markers fixed in time that will come and come to pass, ready or not.  I hope it's the former.

I need to be more settled, more grounded, more focused.  It's not to say that I'm not at all.  But there's something about setting the dates that has made me feel less anxious.

Okay, there's some other stuff I need to suss out (with full awareness of the possible land mine this blog can be.  I write with the 90% surety that no inappropriate eyes are reading this, yet with the other 10% made up of not caring whether said inappropriate eyes were to read it).

1. Just when I get to the point of "being done," phone calls out of the blue.  Is it a coincidence?  A recognizance of the shift in my regard?  Is it a switch flipping and a final realization that things really are never going back to the way they were?  Is it believing that a "crisis" is the only justifiable way to communicate with me? Regardless, let me say this: I am SO glad those curled up in a fetal position in my fluffy pink robe, crying and trying to comfort myself with straight up Nutella because of this days are over.  And I'm not going back to them.  (I will, however, continue to eat straight up Nutella whenever I see fit.)

2. Something that has connected me with, er, "unlikely" others has been playing the guitar.  You may not connect with someone profoundly in any other way, but if you overlap in a creative arena, somehow things just jibe.  Nevertheless, I still find myself asking why.  I mean, I've always been a person who gets along with a wide cross-section of people, and it's great.  But I still wonder, like, how is it that some people that I never thought would be interested in a friendship with me somehow are?  I know that's silly.  I guess that feeling speaks more to preconceptions I have of other people than conceptions people may or may not have of me.  In short, I've recently found myself in the thick of a whirlwind guitarship.

Close/Open

What I think I'm starting to see is that when you finally decide that you're done with a situation and you mean it, you allow yourself to be open to positive interactions with others.

I feel like I'm finally to a point where I realize that I've had enough of dealing with someone in a certain way.  I feel like I'm just done.  I don't mean it harshly.  I do care about him and his family.  If he truly needed anything, he knows I would be there for him.  But other than that, I simply cannot and will not voluntarily open myself up again or give any more than I already have.

I happened to run into him this weekend and, naturally, it was a little awkward.  Before we parted ways, he said, "Call me soon," and then looked at me for affirmation.  I nodded, mainly because I was a little caught off guard and it was my immediate reaction, but I never did call him.  And why should I?  What would I say?  And if he had something to say, why shouldn't he call me?  That's the kind of stuff I'm talking about.

Anyway.  Once I made the decision to purposefully and seriously limit my interaction with someone, I found myself beginning to cultivate relationships and make connections with other people.  I've spent time with colleagues who have helped me stay on track and have gotten me involved in activities that are beneficial for me academically.  I have tried to mentor and be a resource to new colleagues who are just starting out in the program who could use advice and moral support.  I have had colleagues come to church with me.  I have connected with musically inclined people and feel like maybe I'm progressing with playing the guitar again.

I still feel woefully behind in preparation for comps.  I don't know if I'll ever feel ready.  But I'm determined to do what I need to do and I'm going to enjoy the rewarding, exciting feeling that comes from opening yourself up to new (and old) people.

I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy . . .

I have a Japanese student in my class and the title of this post is what I feel like saying every time he bows to me.  If he comes in late, he bows before taking his seat.  If he has a question for me after class, he bows when he walks up to talk to me and bows before he leaves.  I know it's a part of his culture and pretty ingrained in him, so I don't say anything, but it makes me nervous.

I want to feel this productive positive feeling for a long time.  I've been staying on top of grading and planning.  Had productive meetings with a couple of professors this week and even though I still don't feel like I'm where I should be with comps preparation at this point, I still feel like I'll be able to pull it off in January.

I'm participating in a reading with an award-winning Brazilian writer on Friday.  Muito legal.

I've been in touch with one of my former professors about possibly being her research assistant over the summer.  If that all works out, I'd be spending my summer in a really amazing place.

Finally finished an abstract I'm planning to submit for an upcoming conference . . . fingers crossed!

I'm definitely applying for at least two dissertation fellowships.  They're super competitive, I'm sure, but it's worth a try.  Would love to get a change of scene for my last year in the program.  And that's pretty crazy, isn't it?  Next year is my last year.  Yes, honey.

Why Batman is My Favorite Superhero

Because he's a regular guy.  He doesn't have any superpowers.  He's just a regular guy (well, other than the fact that Bruce Wayne is a billionaire . . . I guess he's not exactly a regular guy) wanting to do the right thing for Gotham City.  No superpowers, no superhuman strength, nothing that makes him exceptional other than his own will.

Life Happens. Unexpectedly.

I went home this past weekend. 1. To see my friend, her family and her (my) little cinnamon bun babies for their first birthday. 2. To see my family.  3. To go to my home church's Fall Festival and see all the church folk.

While it was great to see friends and family, the weekend ended on a very tragic note.  A young lady associated with the church that I watched grow up was killed in a car wreck.  She was only 16.

I shed a lot of tears that day.  So many of us did.  Life is so fragile and things in this life often unfold unexpectedly.  In an instant.  How was I ever to know that the words I spoke to her the day before her passing would be my last?

Things can change.  Quickly.  One minute here, gone the next.  He gives and takes away.  His ways are higher than our ways.  All things work together for good.  True, it doesn't erase the pain.

I shed tears today, too.  The alignment of a combination of things which created the perfect conditions for a cathartic cry.  My logical mind knows that it's okay.  It's a season.  I'll come out on the other side very soon.  But sometimes a little rock of despair lodges itself inside and I feel the hurt until it passes.

This is my hope: Just as tragic life-altering things happen unexpectedly, exciting life-altering things can happen just as unexpectedly, too.

Resolutions (?) to Mind Rattlings

Saturday I wrote that I had several things rattling around in my mind.  So  . . .

Atheist friend debates
No more.  Say whatever you want to say however you want to say it, feel free to express yourself and share your opinion, but I'm not getting into it anymore.  I love you with all the love my loving heart has and always will have for you, but I will not talk about my faith in a defensive way anymore.

Bring Your Colleagues to Church Day
One colleague bowed out.  She was just getting back from a conference and was wiped.  She is still interested in coming.  The other, having been raised with no religious background whatsoever came and was enveloped in the eager friendliness of church folk.  "Why do you call each other brother and sister?"  "Why do people raise their hands?"  "Does that overwhelming worship thing only happen to women?" "Is there like a channeling thing going on when people touch other people while they're praying?"  It was so refreshing to hear these questions.  It's important for believers to consider things from the perspective of someone who is not church conditioned. It's so easy for us to remain in our bubble of church culture while forgetting that our whole purpose is to be accessible to people outside of that culture.

Intra-departmental coffee chats
To be honest, I was surprised by the invitation (I didn't tell him that), but it was a nice gesture, so I took him up on it.  We went to a spot I'd never been to before, right in front of my face, and I've been here going on three years.  After ordering, the dreaded question: "Is this together or separate?"  If there's one question I could obliterate from the world, it would be that one.  It's so loaded with societal pressure and awkwardness. As a woman, I do not want a man to think I automatically expect him to pick up the tab because he's a man (because I don't.  Especially since we're all grad students here), but I always hesitate a second before saying "it's separate" because I don't want to communicate brusqueness.  I take out my wallet to show that I am poised to pay, and if more than a second goes by after the dreaded question is asked, I'll speak up.  In this case, traditional gender roles won out.  How sweet (?)  Anyway, we had a nice chat and it was totally fine.  I was feeling like a weirdo about it at first.

Comps deadline
Ah.  There will be no resolution until I reach the end.  Gotta keep on keepin' on.  That's what I've resolved.  Gotta keep on keepin' on.

90s Music or Staying Out of the Hole

Listening to 90s Christian music while working on my professor's manuscript.  One of those Saturdays.  Filled with doing work I should have done during the week and domestic tasks like washing clothes and cleaning my bathroom.  I know, totally livin' the dream.

There's something about 90s music that makes me feel hopeful about the world.  It came from a time when I felt less jaded about things and everything was somehow better.  I guess everyone feels that way about the music of their teenagehood.

A couple of things rattling around in my mind: philosophical debates with an atheist friend I adore but who gets under my skin, the prospect of my own Bring Your Colleagues to Church Day tomorrow, the prospect of a guy in the department wanting to know if I'd "be interested in getting coffee or lunch sometime," the ever-approaching comps deadline that I still feel woefully underprepared for.

Part of me wants to write letters to all of these things that are rattling around in my mind, as I am wont to do, but maybe it's just better to pray about them/chill out about them.

I will make an admission: It's hard to be consistent.  I constantly struggle with my tendency to be all over the map.  My little froggy legs want to make leaps to where I feel more comfortable, to where I'm doing nothing other that what I want to do simply because I feel like doing it.  But then I have to remind myself of something really important: Being consistent and sticking to my guns is the only thing that has kept me out of the hole.

So, what am I doing wasting time by blogging when there's so much to be done?  Manos a la obra, honey.

Is It Just Me?

1. Message last Sunday morning: "The Proposal."

2. Rigsby and Van Pelt get married on The Mentalist.  (Why am I so addicted to such a formulaic show?  That's why.  Yezzir.)

3. At the top of my Facebook feed this morning was a former classmate in an absolutely gorgeous white wedding dress.

4. My office mate has an epiphany when our former professor suggests that she and her boyfriend "just get married."  It turns out her boyfriend had been considering it for a while.  They're getting married this coming summer.

5. My mom called me up giggling with a church friend at Starbucks and put me on speaker phone.  The church friend told me she had changed her name.  Completely puzzled, I asked why.  And she revealed she had gotten married to someone I never imagined she would be with.  At first I flipped out because I was so shocked.  But then I started crying, because I realized it was so right.

God, Friends and My Inner Weirdo

I'm not pushy.

I don't ever want to be perceived as pushy, particularly when it comes to my faith.

If I'm ever in a situation where the topic of faith comes up, I'm more than happy to talk about where I'm coming from.  If anyone ever wants to know more, I'm more than happy to share.

But I'm not the Apostle Paul.  

Sometimes I'm paralyzed by my inner weirdo.  The prospect of the anomaly that I am.  The person who is devoted to her faith and cannot deny the very realness of the power of God but who questions and critiques church culture and mentality.  The person who has devoted a sizable chunk of her life to academia and plans to pursue a career in that world, but whose belief system chafes against its very fabric.  The lone unmarried 30-something engaging in what must seem like some aberrant, liberal exercise in husband-repelling futility in the Southern corner of a conservative church culture.  The churchgoing, skirt-wearing, mild-mannered Pollyanna who must seem like a quaint anachronism in a largely godless profession teeming with competition and cynicism.

But guess where those characterizations of myself and what other people "must" think of me and what I'm involved in come from?  My own head.  

There is a reason why some people seem to be attracted to me and want to get to know other facets of what makes me who I am.  I realize that it's not really me at all.  It's the power of God in me.

I have to learn to trust God more and I have to learn to trust people more.  What I mean is, trust God that He knows what He's doing and that He's giving me the right words to say when I talk to my colleagues about my faith.  And trust people to judge me for who they know I am and how they see me live my life and not based on a reductionist characterization of my particular church's culture.  I should give God as well as the people in my life who I've made genuine connections with more credit.

This coming Sunday is "Friend Day" at my church.  One friend enthusiastically accepted my invitation and another reminded me she'd like to come to church with me sometime and I told her that it happens to be Friend Day this Sunday, so it was as good a time as any.

What I've Been Doing the Past Couple of Weeks Instead of Blogging

1. Baking pumpkin spice muffins.  I've given a couple of dozen away.  One dozen given just because, and another as a belated birthday present.  And you bet your sweet self I kept some for moi, gourmande.

2. Pitching my dissertation topic idea to my major professor.  She was excited about it.  Which made me excited about it.  Which made me feel like God is good.  I came into this program not having the foggiest.  And now I know.

3. Grading midterms.  Ay, caramba.  How can I love teaching with the same passion that I hate grading?

4. Reading, reading, reading.

5. Editing my former professor's manuscript.  And getting a check in the mail from a famous Ivy League (now her place of employment) as the fruit of my labor.  The money's nice, but getting an envelope in the mail  with anything in it from that place is kind of awesome.

6. Writing an article soon to be featured in a Pentecostal publication near you.

7. Eating all kinds of Caribbean delights at this new Puerto Rican restaurant that at opened up downtown.  Tostones, maduros, arroz con habichuelas, yuca frita . . . yezzir.  Or rather, sí, señor.

8. Rocking my boots.  When I start rocking my boots . . . see, y'all don't know nothin' 'bout that.

9. Volunteering once a week at my church's preschool to teach the little ones Spanish mini-lessons.

10. Remembering how much Anointed used to be my jam.  I've been humming this one all day today:

Post-Text Sending Stress Disorder (PTSSD)

Post-text sending stress disorder (PTSSD) is an anxiety disorder.  It can occur after one has sent a (usu. impulsive) text message which is then followed by a prolonged wait for a (possible) response.

Symptoms include excessive self-berating for not being "strong enough" to not have sent the text, even if the content of the text in question is utterly innocuous, restlessness, fidgetiness, heightened adrenaline flow, elevated heart rate, and hypersensitivity to text message receipt-like sounds in the subject's vicinity.

Successful treatment varies, but most symptoms abate if a satisfactory text response is received within minutes of initial onset.  Pavlovian thumb training has also been known to decrease incidence.

Conversations with God

Me: Hey, what's up?

God: As an omnipresent being, I've never quite figured out the correct way to respond to that one.

Me: Oh.  I didn't think about that.  I usually say "nothing much," but . . . yeah, totally doesn't apply to You.

God: So, what's on your mind?

Me: Ha.  Like You don't already know.  I know, I know, You want to hear it from me.  Well . . . You know, I'm just kind of wondering about this whole comps thing.  At first I was determined to take them in November and now it looks more like January . . . I just feel like I'm not disciplined enough.  I'm not taking the initiative.  I have to constantly fight this feeling that I'm not capable, like I'm not cut out for this.

God: I wouldn't have brought you here if you weren't capable of doing it.  And you are cut out for it, you just haven't realized it yet.

Me: Is that so?  How many other things haven't I realized yet?

God: Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to.

Me: True.  Very true.  Okay, so . . . about this other thing . . . 

God: Really?  I thought we agreed that you were going to leave it to Me.

Me: I am leaving it to You.  It's just that I'd like to have a sign or something, you know?  So that I could know for sure one way or the other so that I could—

God: Again, I thought we agreed that you were going to leave it to Me.

Me: I am!  I just want to know one way or the other.

God: Um, that's not leaving it to Me.

Me: (exasperated sigh) God, this is so frustrating.

God: Tell Me about it.  Look, you already have all the answer you need.  Just keep doing what you're already doing.  I'll let you know if you get off track.   You need to relax.  For real.  How many ways can I communicate "I got this" to you before you'll believe Me?

Me: I guess you're right.

God: (laughs) You guess? Girl, you better know.  Just know this.  It's already handled.  If I could ever get you to see that, it would make your life so much easier.  You don't need a "sign," and you don't need to beg Me to take care of it.  I already have.  Just sit tight.

A Reminder

Just as there are times when I'm feeling badly "right now," I have to remember that there are also times I feel great right now.  Which is now.

It's not that anything spectacular has gone down, but for the past few days I've felt good about connecting with and reaching out to other people.  There's such a rewarding feeling that comes when you see that somehow, some small thing you do can make a positive impact upon someone else.

My Brain's Account of Time Spent

One of the Cuban coordinators I worked with when I went to Cuba came to my institution here to give a talk about collaboration between the US and Cuba regarding research and higher education.  It was weird to see him outside of a Cuban context, but it was great.  A lot of the kids who were also in the program as well as the Cuba program director and I got to spend time with him this week.  It felt like a family reunion.  The coordinator told me that I was the most popular girl at the research center we were paired with in Havana and everyone asked about me and if he were going to see me.  I couldn't send him back to Cuba empty-handed. Before I left for Cuba this summer, a friend of mine who had previously studied there gave me a little package to give to one of his friends in Havana.  And now I'm sending stuff to friends in Cuba via another friend, too.  It's the Cuban way.  Yolanda, la nieta de Yolanda, Daysi, Rogelio, Héctor y Rodrigo, tengo regalitos para Uds. que Henry les trae.

One of my colleagues created this FB group for everyone in the Romance Languages program.  It's useful and hilarious, because sometimes you want to post something that is only relevant to people in the program or something that would only make sense or be funny to people in the program.  We had a departmental potluck last night, but beforehand, I was trying to decide which one of my tried and trues I should bring—quiche or zucchini bread—when the solution suddenly came to me.  So, like a dork I posted: "I was having an existential crisis over whether to bring a quiche or zucchini bread to the potluck tomorrow when the solution flashed into my mind like a lightning bolt: A zucchini quiche!"  Thank God it turned out okay because then at the potluck people were like, "I read about your zucchini quiche, so I wanted to make sure to try some.  It was great!"  What if it had been revolting?  Then everyone would have known who made the nasty zucchini quiche.

Sometimes I do quiet, weird little things for my own entertainment.  I'm reading for comps and one of the things I was reading I know is related to what a colleague is interested in as well.  So, I made another copy of a related article I found and just put it in his box with no note or explanation.  An anonymous benefactor.  I wasn't going to give myself away, either.  No coyly asking, "Hey, did you get something in your box?"  I wanted him to wonder.  I mean, I knew he would probably suspect me, but the fact is, he didn't know for sure.  And for some reason, that idea was so amusing to me.  I ran into him yesterday and he finally brought it up.  When I finally admitted it was me, and he was like, "Of course it was you!  Who else?"  it made me smile even more because it was obvious to me that he really wasn't sure.  I'd like to think that maybe he thought it was me, or maybe even wanted it to be me, but was afraid to be wrong.

So, I've found myself as a part of a group christened Saturday Ladies.  I don't know why or how, exactly, but sometimes personalities sort of seek each other out and something clicks.  Our inaugural meeting was at a new French bakery in town.  I actually don't have a whole lot in common with the other Saturday Ladies, but I guess we jibe as a group because we're accepting and are interested by the fact that each of us are interested in specific, interesting things.  Our second unofficial meeting is today at a popular vegetarian spot.

I'm following God down this path that can be pretty lonely, but it doesn't have to be.  He's always there, and He's leading me somewhere.

Three-Year Wanderer

I realized something about my life recently: Ever since I graduated from undergrad, I have not been in the same place doing the same thing for longer than 3 years.

1. I worked at my first job for three years.  The third year, I started a Master's program part-time while I still worked.

2. I resigned and moved to another city for a year to finish my Master's full-time.

3. I graduated and moved back home for six months while I worked as an instructor at the same institution I had just graduated from.

4. I moved to France for six months.

5. I moved back home and worked for a year.  I started at a public high school and ended up at a learning center.

6. I moved to where I am now to pursue a PhD.

So, three years doing the same thing in the same place has been the closest thing to stability I've had since 2005.  Wow.

I have just entered the third year of my most recent sojourn.  And I'm starting to get antsy.  Don't get me wrong, not finishing is not an option.  I've never considered quitting this program.  But I am starting to crave a change of scene.

Whether I'll be able to consider that possibility is entirely predicated on whether I do everything I'm supposed to do this year, which is 1. Successfully taking and defending comps. 2. Submitting my prospectus and getting it approved.

If I can do those two things by May, I'll be right on track, an official PhD candidate by the end of my 3rd year.  ABD.  All But Dissertation, baby.  All I'll have left to do is write that monster.  Something that facilitates writing the monster is being awarded a dissertation fellowship.  What that means is that I'll get money to support myself for a year so that I can totally focus on writing and not have to worry about teaching.  The department here offers one, but I'm also going to apply for a couple of  other dissertation fellowship programs whose host institutions are in the Northeast.

They're super competitive, so it may be a long shot.  But I'm kind of feeling the idea of moving to get a change of scene to wrap this puppy up.

I won't be in a position to consider something like that for next year if I don't do what I need to do this year, though.  I must get myself together.

Interlibrary Loan or Whose Type Am I?

Interlibrary Loan is a wonderful thing for grad students.  Does your university library not have some obscure book that you need to read for your comprehensive exams?  Never fear.  Some other university library will send it to you.  For free.  As long as you give it back by the due date.  Oh, and by the way, there are no renewals.  So let's say you're halfway done with an Interlibrary Loan book.  Let's say today is September 10.  Let's say the due date is September 11.  Better read like the dickens!  Fie! The conundrums I createth for mineself.

Anyway, I've been musing over the fact that I've been surprised a couple of times about the idea of who's my "type," or rather, whose "type" I would be.  I'm coming to realize that maybe the whole idea of "type" is made up.

I believe that my type is someone tall (need this be elaborated upon?), someone with dark features (not necessarily black, but at least some kind of ethnic flavor in the mix), bespectacled (because I think it makes guys look mild-mannered and smart, which, to me, strikes just the right balance between adorable and hot), a Colgate smile (messed up grills need not apply), and you know the rest: funny, godly, intelligent, linguistically and/or artistically talented, etc. 

However, I have nevertheless found myself attracted to a fair share of short and/or pasty and/or otherwise-not-who-I-imagined-myself-being-attracted-to guys. 

Interestingly, the very few who have made an appearance who actually fit the contours of the physical bill (but not the spiritual) have weighed in on a scale of slightly inappropriate to potentially disastrous.  So, tall exotic men with perfect teeth need to stay home if they don't have the Holy Ghost for real.  Actually, any man who doesn't have the Holy Ghost for real needs to stay home, honestly.  But especially the tall exotic ones with perfect teeth.  Ahem.

Anyway, what I'm puzzled by is the opposite.  Like, the kind of guy I think would be attracted to me.  Not that I think only tall, ethnic guys with nice smiles should notice me. (I mean, not that I would terribly mind.) But I'm saying, people I didn't think would think I was attractive have come out of the blue.  Like, really?  Why would he be interested in me?

I guess that goes to show me that as much as I despise people trying to put me in a box or what have you, I do the same thing to other people.  And maybe it's also a nice reminder that perhaps people you don't know are thinking about you actually are.

Patience

Cast not away therefore your confidence, which hath great recompence of reward. For ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise. For yet a little while, and he that shall come will come, and will not tarry. (Hebrews 10:35-37, KJV)

So do not throw away this confident trust in the Lord. Remember the great reward it brings you! Patient endurance is what you need now, so that you will continue to do God’s will. Then you will receive all that he has promised. “For in just a little while, the Coming One will come and not delay." (Hebrews 10:35-37, NLT)

My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience. But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing. (James 1:2-4, KJV)

Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing. (James 1:2-4, NLT)

On the Bus

Me: (Sitting with two empty seats between me and some other guy, wondering whether I should bring anything to dinner at a friend's house tonight even though she said not to worry about it.)

Guy gets on. He has large, light brown eyes.  Equal parts Nutella and honey. Framed with smoky lashes.

Me: Wow, that guy has beautiful eyes.

Guy decides to sit by me.  I feign uninterest.

Guy: (After a few moments of silence) Hey, how's it going today?

Me: (Looking into those gorgeous eyes) I'm fine, and you?

Guy: Doing all right.  Look, I know you're probably thinking, Oh, my God, this guy doesn't smell too good. I know I don't smell great right now, I was--

Me: (Not noticing any smelliness) No, actually, I was thinking you had beautiful eyes.

Guy: (Obviously not expecting that response.  He smiles.) Oh, thank you very much.  I appreciate that.  And you have a beautiful smile.  You get that a lot, don't you?

Me: (Smiling even more, nervously laughing)

Guy: Oh, I know, you don't want to be conceited about it, but I know you get that a lot.  So, is this your first year in Athens?

Me: No, it's my third.

Guy: (Proceeds to tell me how he just moved here, he's started a Master's program in Counseling, hoping to eventually get into a PhD program) What about you?

Me: I'm in a PhD program in Hispanic Studies.

Guy: Oh, that's what's up.  Definitely out of my league, but that's great.

Me: No . . . it can be done.  (Nearing my stop)  What's your name?

Guy: I'm (same name as particular guy who's been the cause of emotional stress lately).

Me: (Shakes his hand) I'm Chantell.

Guy: Ooh, and you've got soft hands, too?

Me: (Laughs)

Bus pulls up to my stop. I get up to go.

Guy: Yeah, you've got to get away from me.

Me: (Laughs)

Guy: Okay, have a good one.

Me: You, too.

The Me I (Don't) Want to Be

Sometimes I'm the me I want to be, and sometimes I'm just not.

Ugh.  I am so not right now.  Right now I am sluggish.  I want to cry.  I want to sleep.  I do not want to do my hair.  I want to watch back-to-back episodes of Chopped online and I don't want to do anything else.  I want to eat more and more Haagen-Dazs pineapple coconut ice cream.  I want to sit on my couch, wrapped up in my fluffy pink robe and eat spoonful after spoonful of straight up Nutella.

I just want to go to bed and hope that I'll feel better when I wake up.

I do not like myself right now.  I feel silly and powerless and hurt and afraid.  I do not want to admit these things because admitting that I'm not in a good spot makes me feel vulnerable, but there it is, being typed from the fingers of the me I don't want to be but am right now.

On the other hand, note that I am tagging my negative feelings with the phrase "right now."  Because it's just right now.  I am quite open to the possibility of things changing for the better.  They often do.

But things are just sucky sometimes, and sometimes you want to cry and go live in a hole for a little while.  Sometimes you just have to feel the pain and the icky yucky feelings, and just slog through it for a little while.

I feel inadequate and like I'm not going to be ready to take my comps in November and heartbroken and like I'm not doing enough.  Yes, this is how I feel right now.

It's just right now, though.

Time and Tide Wait for No Woman

Back home is always bittersweet.

I went home to spend the long Labor Day weekend with the fam.  Being back home, or the closest thing to it, simultaneously reminds me of how things never change and how they never stay the same.

My mom and I were having breakfast at that same Chick-fil-a on the Boulevard when in walks a gaggle of girls in volleyball uniforms emblazoned with the logo of the school where I used to teach.  My first job.  Undoubtedly, those girls were my former students.

"Weren't you our Spanish teacher?"

"We still sing the song you taught us!"

When I first started teaching, those girls were in 3rd grade.  Now, they're in 10th.  You never forget a face.  And you never forget songs taught to you in Spanish in 3rd grade, apparently.

A parent chaperoning the girls' volleyball team who remembered me came up as well.  She said her daughter has continued with Spanish and is doing very well in it.  "And it's all because of you.  You're the reason she fell in love with Spanish.  I can't wait to tell everyone I saw you!"

It made me cry.  For several reasons.  That I made an impact on someone's life.  That they still sing that silly Spanish song.  That I'm old enough to have taught kids who used to be in 3rd grade but are now in 10th.  That I'm still in school myself.

Then, church.  The very same.  A child whose ultrasound video I bawled my eyes out to is now taller than me.  As in, I saw her when she was a fetus and I was old enough to have birthed her myself, I remember when she couldn't walk or talk and then when she was able to do those things, I remember when she would throw herself face down on the floor during her temper tantrums.  This same child is taller than me.  And not only that, she now attends the same middle school I attended.  "Who gave you permission to grow up?" I always jokingly ask her.  But part of me isn't joking.  It's such a sobering, bittersweet thing to consider.

My parents might be moving into a new house soon.  We took a little tour this weekend.  Of course, they deserve it.  They've worked hard and they're now in a position to have a nicer place.  I'm happy for them.  But there's a part of me that fears what that's going to mean.  The house I spent my adolescence in will no longer be "home."  It will no longer be my "permanent address."  And the panic:  Why don't I have my own "permanent address" yet?  I imagine the halls of my parents' future new home haunted by the souls of unconceived grandchildren.

I'm one of the lucky ones whose parents are not so old-fashioned that they would dare let any semblance of pressure to get married pass their lips.  Not once.  Not a single solitary time have they let such a thing slip. (I don't believe my father would terribly mind if I never found anyone "good enough.")  But I can see it in my mother's eyes every time she sees or holds a baby.  I want one.

There's something about going home that makes me see my relationship failures (okay, let's put a positive spin on it and say "lessons learned" instead) stacked up like a tower of multicolored Legos.  I dunno, it just didn't work out. Block.  Yeah, you should have known that wasn't going to work out. Block on top of block.  I thought this one might have worked out, but . . . Block on top of block on top of block.

What's maddening is that though being home gives me this feeling of nostalgic ambivalence, the prospect of returning to my present life is no comfort, either.  Once I get back into the swing, I'm okay, but it's the psyching myself up for the return trip, knowing that reminders of more recent "failures" linger that pulls at me.  Knowing that deadlines and responsibilities await and must be reckoned with.  Time and tide wait for no woman.

What if there were no hypothetical situations?

This is a question mi mejor amiga would pose back in the day and we'd both crack up laughing.  Partly because it's just funny, and partly because the question itself is a hypothetical situation.  I'm a sucker for meta humor.

My brain needs a reading break, so I need to stretch it by sussing out some things that may have been originally based on a hypothetical conversation, but now may be based on the aftermath of an actual one.

1. We're moving on, right?  That's what we agreed.  So, why does it seem to bother you that I'm doing what I need to do to carry that out?

2. I opened myself up to you.  That's not something I do often or easily.  Now that I've been put into the position of having to do a bit of scaling back, as it were, you're essentially asking me to open myself up to you again.  And I'm not eager to do that.

3. Why are you so concerned with "how I'm doing"?  I'm doing what I need to do to get my work done and to also stay connected to people during a more "isolating" part of the program.  I'm auditing a class (seeing/interacting with people, gaining useful knowledge of theory), I'm teaching (seeing/interacting with people), I go to the Spanish and French table (seeing/interacting with people, keeping my language skills sharp).  Don't worry about me.  I can and will take care of myself.

4. So, if you recently "met someone" (thanks for telling me), I'm even more perplexed as to why you're so worried about my not wanting to spend one-on-one time with you.

5. Before you told me about "meeting someone" because you wanted me to "hear it from you," you said you were "still trying to get past the situation" as well.  So . . . let's just say I wouldn't want to be her right now.

6. You're not a "stranger" to me.  We were, are, and to some extent probably always will be friends.  But there's no reset button, so stop expecting things to go back to the way they were.  It's not going to happen.

7. You feel like you've "lost something"?  Well, in a way, you have.

My Texting Thumbs

My texting thumbs are like little eager, panting puppies.

They get all excited and worked up.  They want to text because they have to know.  They want the gratification of an immediate response.

But I have to say, "No, no, no!  Down, girls!"  because what the texting thumbs don't always consider is that sending out that text does not guarantee an immediate response.  In fact, it can inaugurate an awkward, soul-crushing wait.  Or worse yet, no response at all!  Or, on the same level of unpleasantness, initiate something I really didn't intend to start.  Or imply something that I wasn't trying to insinuate.

See, my texting thumbs don't think about all of that.  Because they don't have to deal with the fallout.  They just impulsively text and then go on about their business and then leave me holding the bag.

So, I decided to train them.  I was tired of empty feelings, tired of wishing I had more will power to just keep my texting thumb-puppies at bay.  I just had to will them to stay.  Rather, sit.

I'm happy to report I've met with some success in my texting thumb training.  Positive reinforcement comes in the form of unsolicited received texts.  They're the doggie treat of texting thumbs.

Nursing Home Rock Star

I wanna be a rock star 
But, I ain't got what it takes 
The drive and the determination
And the lucky breaks 
I wanna be a rock star 
But, I ain't got the face 
I wanna be a rock star 
But, I ain't got what it takes 

 —Third Day

Nursing home residents are the most grateful audience members there are.  They don't care what you look like, they don't care what you sound like, they don't care that you're nervous, they don't care that your guitar strumming could use a little work, they don't care if your voice wavers or is maybe a tad off pitch.  All they know and care about is that you're there for them.

I may never be that awesome, finger picking, barre chord shredding guitar maestro.  Maybe I was simply meant to strum out a few humble chords for a few eager, grateful old ears (that may or may not even be able to hear very well).  And that's all right with me.

Can We Just Be Friends?

Things have been well.  Teaching, reading for comps.  I'm feeling like I'm supposed to be a teacher again, which is nice.  In addition to teaching my own classes yesterday, I was frantically conscripted to be a sub for a level higher than I'm teaching right now. I was a little nervous about it at first, but I walked in and was totally fine.  It's a nice feeling to know there is a possibility for me to have a career where I can walk in and be myself.

I've found my cure for the common blues: Baking zucchini bread.  If I ever get into a bad spot, all I need to do is start baking up a storm and then proceed to give away loaves of homey, warm, sweet goodness.  There's something about making and giving away something that can be consumed and enjoyed by many that gives a little lift to the spirits.

Now, to the matter at hand.  It's an age-old conundrum.  Is there truly such thing as just friends between two heterosexual members of the opposite sex?  But more importantly, especially after a bit of line blurring (NOT of the Robin Thicke variety) is it ever possible to hit the reset button and go back to the way things were?

I say nay.

Is that to say things can't remain on friendly terms?  Is that to say you can't ever spend time together?  Is that to say you can't remain a part of each other's lives in some way?

Again, I say nay.  But things take time.  Lots of time.  Would I consider it a little presumptuous for someone to think that "hanging out as friends" could be interspersed with "moving forward" at this juncture?

Ben, oui.

A friend deciding to pursue a more-than-friend state of affairs with another friend should have known the risks, yea, knew the risks that could possibly incur.  And one of the risks is permanently altering the friendship that was.  Voilà.

There are risks involved in opening yourself up to another person.  Tell me about it.  But under any circumstances and in any fashion, opening myself up to anyone, be it for the first time or the fifth, is going to be on my terms.  When and if I'm ready.  C'est comme ça.

At this point in time, I am doing what's best for me.  What's best for me is guarding my heart and maintaining my sanity and getting my work done.

The way things were is exactly that.  The way things were.  If anything is to be maintained, it's going to involve figuring out the terms of the way things are now.  And it very well may not include "hanging out."  At least, not in the way that is being requested.  Hypothetically.

This is something I realized about myself and my life the other day: The times I have been the most miserable is when I've been the least consistent.  When I've gone back and forth.  Regarding my career, past relationships (if you can call them that), spirituality . . . when I failed to make a decision and stick with it, I've literally made myself sick.  My past inconsistency placed me into some pretty wretched spots.  I can't afford to go back there.  I just can't.

Being in a certain situation has been tiring and emotionally draining, and I'm done.  It's 100% out of my hands, and I'm not going to construct mental narratives around it any longer.

God is good.  He never fails to give me reminders that He knows where I am and that He has it under control.  I have to keep trusting in that.

A Prayer

God, help me to stop trying to control things that are completely beyond my human ability to control.

God, help my unbelief and lack of faith, even in the face of evidence of Your hand at work in my life.

God, help me to be patient.

God, help me to receive advice and instruction that don't fall into the category of what I want to hear.

God, help me exercise self-control.

God, help me to stay focused.

God, help me to continually reject the idea that I am alone and misunderstood.

God, help me to own who I am and who You've made me to be without fear or regard to the opinions of others.

God help me to be consistent, not just in productive habits and actions, but in productive thoughts.

Little Things and Bigger Things

About a week or so ago, my coffee maker stopped working.

I got up early, put ground coffee in the filter, filled the coffee maker with water, flipped the on switch, went back into my room to finish getting ready.  When I emerged, no coffee!  The little red light of the switch was on, but absolutely nothing happened.  Bummer.

I went shopping this past weekend to get stocked up for the beginning of the semester.  I considered getting a new coffee maker.  Mind you, I do have a Keurig coffee maker.  I got it for Christmas last year, and I love it.  The only thing is that buying the Keurig cups can get a little pricey.  So, I still used my regular old trusty coffee maker.  But, nah.  I didn't need a new one.  It could wait.  I needed to save my money.  I decided to just get a new box of Keurig cups, a little pricey, yet cheaper than buying a brand new coffee maker, and use them sparingly.

Today, a lady at church who I always sit with called to make sure I would be at Bible study tonight.  She had something for me, she said.  When I got to church, she slipped me a pretty little card and a bag of freshly ground Dutch coffee she brought back from a recent trip to Aruba.  Too bad I won't be able to make it anytime soon, I thought.  She's a coffee aficionado.  I made sure to bring her back some Cuban coffee.  "I have something else for you in my car.  We'll get it after church," she said.

After church, she opened her trunk and gave me a beautiful gift bag with a scripture on it: Love bears all things, believes all things, endures all things.  Love never ends. She said it made her think of me. I took the tissue paper out.  This can't be what I think it is.  It was a cute little personal coffee maker. She even said, "I knew you already had a coffee maker, so I don't know why I felt to get you this!  But this is what God laid on my heart to get for you."  And I just started tearing up.  She had no idea my "regular" coffee maker had stopped working.  And it's not like I even needed another one.  I simply wanted one.  But God saw fit to prompt someone else to gift me with something that I wanted.

It made me feel like God really and truly does know and care.  About the little things.  About not just my needs, but my desires, too.  I felt overwhelmed and grateful.  If he knows and cares about coffee makers, He's got to know and care about bigger things, too.

The ever cautious, stubborn skeptic that I am softened up a little today.  I cannot let fear stop me from believing that God will make good on His promise to give me the desires of my heart if I delight myself in Him.  I cannot let fear prevent me from hoping that somehow, He's working things out for my good.

Sweetness

So, my candy bags were a hit. More than one person said they were so relieved to get it because they hadn't had anything to eat that day.  lol.  And I made sure to get good candy, too.  You know what I'm talking about. If you're going to get candy, nobody wants tiny little Tootsie Rolls and nondescript suckers.  Nawl, we talking about fun-sized Snickers and Twix and Skittles and Starburst and M&Ms and Hershey's Kisses.   Someone even posted the "Here's hoping your semester gets off to a 'sweet' start" note on the door of the grad student computer lab.  It brightened my day to know I brightened someone else's day.

I taught my first two classes yesterday, well, not really taught, but more like went over the syllabus, introduced myself, let them introduce themselves, etc. I seem to have a motivated group of kids with the exception of two guys in my 9:05 that I can already tell are going to be annoying slackers.  Anyway, they're all freshmen, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, even at 8:00 a.m.  I think it'll be fun.

There is also a new super cutie I'm sharing an office with.  He's another one of these people overly gifted with language-learning ability that the Romance Languages department has a tendency to attract.  He speaks Spanish, French and Italian and is learning Portuguese.  I hate these people, but am drawn to them like a magnet because I want to feel as comfortable speaking a language not my own as they do.  I still get nervous about my Spanish even though I've been studying it all these years, and my French could definitely use some work.  Nevertheless, we had a nice little convo which flowed in alternating bits of Spanish, French, and English.  "If you ever want to practice, I'm right over here," he said.  Okay.  With your caramel latte skin, dark hair and Colgate smile.  He said he liked my name.  I like his too.  It's so Latin lover-y.  Like, if Eat Pray Love had taken place in South America, Julia Roberts' paramour would've had this guy's name. I didn't say that, though.  C'mon.

I always get excited for the chance to make stuff for people.  I have two loaves of zucchini bread on back order.  I guess I got a little zealous this summer making it for people when I still had zucchini growing in my garden and other people got wind of it and asked if they could also partake.  I'm also going to make some homemade vanilla ice cream and super easy cobbler for a little dinner party coming up.

And I just remembered I filled up my Jittery Joe's card with stamps, so I can get a free coffee.  I might save it for a special day.

Tomorrow is the day (Part II)

So, last Thursday I wore my new white peasant dress. It was the first day of orientation for the teaching assistants, the official "first day back" for most people in the program.

Tomorrow, I'm wearing my red dress with my red wedge sandals because tomorrow is the first day of class.  I'm done with coursework, but starting this year, I'll be on the teaching end of things.  Two sections of Spanish 1001.  In other words, Spanish For Dummies. lol.

Really, I think I prefer teaching the lowest level for now.  Preparation won't be too involved.  At this level, the syllabus and all assignments are already set by the higher ups in the program who organize the courses.  My students will be a bunch of scared freshmen who will be dying for a smiley instructor who loves to get interactive.  I'll be able to devote more time to preparing for comps.

I'm wearing my red dress because I want the first day of the semester to know I'm fierce.  I want it to know that I'm on fiya.  Plus, teaching gives me an excuse to dress up and wear cute shoes.  I don't want anyone thinking I'm one of the freshmen, now do I?

I had an idea to do something cute for everyone to get the semester started off right.  And once a cute idea gets into my head, I must carry it out to fruition.  I thought, What if I bought a bunch of candy and made up some goody bags to put in people's boxes?  I did just that and attached a note that said, "Here's hoping your semester gets off to a 'sweet' start! - Love, Chantell."

But here's the thing with me.  When I think of an idea to give someone a little present, I also envision how they will receive the present.  Like, I want people to walk into the department tomorrow, and get excited with they see a pretty little bag with a pretty little ribbon tied around it in their boxes.  I want them to see this colorful, festive thing in their boxes (the attached note was printed out on pink paper) and I want them to be delighted.

The thing is, sometimes I wish some particular thing would happen to me.  Like, that one day I would find a pleasant surprise in my box (and I have before).  But instead of waiting for it to happen to me, why not make it happen for someone else?

I think I'm going to start doing that.  Make it a thing, like wearing flowers in my hair.  Like, if something pops into my head that I wish someone would do for me, I will (within reason and the bounds of appropriateness, lol) try to do it for someone else.  Sort of an inverted "pay it forward."

Here's hoping tomorrow is the beginning of an awesome semester!

Tomorrow is the day

that I'm wearing my new dress.  It will be a new day, the beginning of a new phase for me in the PhD program, and I'll probably be meeting some new people.  All compelling reasons for wearing a new dress.

I will wear my yellow wedge sandals, I will wear my hair sunflower, and I will carry my new bag with Vincent Van Gogh violets on it.  It will be a new, bright, flowery day.

I can do it. I can't do it.

My mindset swings back and forth between between believing either one of those two sentences.

Of course, when I believe I can do it, I feel buoyant, like the sun is shining and I can feel the wind in my hair, and I'm power walking to some important place.  Every remembrance brings a smile to my face and my present reality feels like a calm, steady launch pad, ready to shoot me into a brilliant new reality that's closer than I think it is.

Naturally, when I believe that I can't do it, I feel like I've just been attacked by the gray.  Hopelessness lingers in every exhalation of air, and every tomorrow seems doomed to be a stagnant repetition of what I've always known.  The emotional mathematics of cost-benefit analysis seem stacked impossibly against me.  Every increasing investment feels like it's destined for an ever decreasing return.

Today, I believe I can do it.  I am halfway done with my last comps list.  I got my teaching schedule for the upcoming semester, and I'm beginning to remember the things that I enjoyed about teaching.  I'm starting to envision what my upcoming semester is going to look like.  It's going to be activity packed; I will have to manage my time well.  I will have to hunker down, and I will have to rely on myself to get done what I need to get done.  But I can taste the satisfaction I'll have when I stick to my guns and I complete things the way I've planned.  It's going to be a time of learning and discovery in preparing for comps, and it will be a time of re-familiarizing myself with the classroom in being a teaching assistant again.

I've had a chance to process a lot of things, and I feel like my best course of action is to continue to believe I did the right thing by moving to start this program two years ago, that I've made right decisions since, and that I will continue on this track until I reach the other side.

I can do it.  I know that I can.  I believe that I can.

(Sunflower) Surprises

I went home to spend time with my family before the onslaught of the upcoming semester next week.  Classes don't start until the 12th, but orientation for me starts Thursday. Not even a week of freedom (which hasn't exactly been freedom) left.  I'm beyond needing to get on the ball.

I was treated to a few "surprises" while I was home.  It's just nice when you're reminded that people are thinking about you.  It forces me to stop and be thankful.  Just to stop and be thankful for the people in my life who love me and care about me.  It truly is a blessing.

Let's see, I got a triple succession of gifts from mi mejor amiga who happened to be in town. A set of sunflower coasters.  An umbrella with Vincent Van Gogh violets and a matching bag.  She's the same friend of my sunflower umbrella. A friend moved by my floral obsession.  A lady at my parents' church who specializes in making pretty little wreaths made me a giant sunflower out of the material she normally uses.  My mom gifted me with a couple of sunflower accent pillows (to accompany my sunflower bedspread), and lastly, I was gifted with a pretty little frock. It's a cute little white peasant dress that makes me feel soft and feminine and sprightly.  It's a dress I've been looking for for a long time and I want to wear it right away (as I do all new items of clothing I acquire), but this one, for some reason, has to wait.  I feel like I have to wait for the right time to wear it.  And somehow, I think I'll know when that right time is.

There were other things this weekend that were for me.  Things that reminded me that God hasn't forgotten about me.  Things that let me know that I am loved.  Little things that make a big difference.

A Few Moments That Keep Coming Back to Me

1. I was in 1st grade and I didn't want to get on the bus to go to school.  I was crying.  I was waiting at the bus stop with my mom.  When the bus pulled up, my mom opened my lunch box to show me the treats she packed inside.  I remember seeing M&Ms and Cheetos and I smiled and got on the bus.

2. A girl used to bully me in P.E. in 7th grade.  She was a mean and ugly girl with thin lips and braces.  Years later I just happened to be in Montgomery and went to WalMart.  I saw her.  She had on a hairnet and worked behind the deli counter.

3. In France, I met up with friends at an all night-music festival in the streets.  Techno music was blasting from a nearby cafe.  I stayed on the sidelines and contented myself with laughing at everyone's antics.  Suddenly, a tall, thin man with blonde dreadlocks approached me.  For a second, I was afraid because I didn't know him and didn't know what he wanted or what he was going to say.  He leaned in and said, "I just wanted to tell you how pretty you are," then turned around and walked away.  I just stood there, stunned.  He didn't look back.

4. I was in class, making a comment.  I glanced over at a classmate sitting next to me while speaking and saw that he was staring at me intensely.  It caught me off guard, and I quickly looked away and began to stumble over my words, briefly losing my train of thought.

5. I was a child, walking the streets of Philadelphia with my mom.  I saw a homeless person for the first time, sleeping at the steps of a building.  I remember asking my mom, "Why is that man sleeping outside?" but I don't remember her answer.

6. A teacher was reading us the book Love You Forever.  It's about a boy who grows up whose mother always says "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be."  At the end of the story, the boy is a man and says the same thing to his own child.  My teacher got choked up at the end and could barely finish.  I remember being alarmed.  I was so young, I remember not being able to understand why that would make my teacher cry.

Sunrise

I walked down the beach to watch the sunrise in solitude.

People or A Part of My Life

Friend, 27
From Turkey, we had our last Starbucks coffee together at the Georgia Center.  Met through "Global Friends."  I learned a few words in Turkish.  She improved her English.  I learned about her culture.  She learned about mine.  She met my brothers and parents.  I met her mom and fiance.  For two years we stayed in touch, and I remember our first meeting at Jittery Joe's.  Leaving now, back to Turkey for an engagement ceremony and then on to the UK for a doctoral program.  She is a part of my life.

Professor, 34
Dominican, a high-school graduate at 14.  Learned English on the fly.  Genius.  Harvard-bound.  Tried to take me with her.  I fell in love with her son.  Four-year-old, honey-skinned, long-lashed, hazel-eyed, curly-haired, dimpled beauty.  Hair after his mother's curls, a mane of auburn spirals.  A tasteful, simple nose ring to set it all off.  "No tears," she said, the last day.  She meant it.  It would just make her son upset.  This is not goodbye.  She is a part of my life.

Couple, 46
They got married when they were 31.  They know what it's like.  "Almost 15 years, now."  I saw wedding pictures, 90s incarnations of familiar faces.  A spacious house out in the country, cornfields in the backyard.  No children.  She wanted to adopt, but he never seemed sure.  She didn't press him.  When they said it was worth it, I knew they meant it.  A new recipe: crushed pineapple, cherry pie filling, topped off with yellow cake mix and pats of butter in the oven at 350 for an hour.  Easy, decadent cobbler.  They are a part of my life.

Friend, 31
We're friends, but more importantly, so are our brains.  We need to know about our lives, and our brains need to know what the other is thinking.  We apologize for apologizing.  God-ordained friends.  Literally.  She prayed, walked into the Ferg, and there was her teary-eyed answer standing there, all because of a mom with a poofy Pentecostal bow and a skirt.  When we make history, it goes down in the annals.  A baby on each hip.  She does it.  She is a part of my life.

Pseu-tor, (almost) 31
He wasn't always bespectacled.  He was always a friend.  Since post-undergrad (same job), grad (same Master's), and now, now.  But going back and forth over that thin platonic line is draining.  I'm done.  But still, there are birthdays, comprehensive exams, the Globe, tiny desks in shared offices, a picturesque field lined with benches with a fountain where people exit the departmental building and go to regain their sanity.  Where the social, academic, emotional, spiritual, and historical collide.  He is a part of my life.

Mother, 53
Lady is what I call her.  One of a kind.  She usually knows everything, even if I don't tell her.  And even though I roll my eyes when she dares to compare our times ("Mom, you met my father when you were 19!  It's not the same!"), she has a wisdom called experience PhDs can't give.  Smiling, voice goes up two octaves answering the phone, makes things the right way, good, the best.  Cries when she laughs.  Prays.  Praise.  She is a part of my life.

Hope

So, Friday I had one of those days that I dread having.  Where I'm utterly unproductive, where I'm snuggled into a fetal position in a fluffy pink robe, my eyes swollen from tears of frustration and I can't motivate myself to eat anything other than a couple of packages of brownie bites.  I couldn't even wait to get home from the library to get started.  On the bus, even (which somehow makes things seem even more sad to me . . . what is it about bus rides that paints everything with a melancholy tone?), tears still managed to spill their way out.  I can never hide it because even if tears don't fall, my nose and eyes immediately redden up.  It wasn't until a gentlemanly young man sitting a seat away from me asked, "Excuse me, are you okay?" that I realized I was as noticeable as I'd feared being.

I do allow myself the pathetic luxury of wallowing in self-pity from time to time, but I'm getting better at not giving myself over to it completely and at least trying to snap myself out of it.  I called and talked to a few people to give me an encouraging word.  One of the questions I kept asking myself is, "Should I give up hope?  Is it fruitful to still hope for something when the limitations and barriers have been clearly and repeatedly spelled out for me?"  I mean, not give up hope in God, but give up hope in this particular situation.  To me, to give up hope = to stop setting myself up for disappointment unnecessarily.

One person said, "you should never give up hope," and then quoted Romans 5:5.  Hope maketh not ashamed. I started looking up all the scriptures having to do with hope.  I guess I still wasn't convinced.  What I mean is, I wasn't convinced that the best thing for me to do wasn't just to allow my hope to die.  To lay down my expectation that some magical day, things are going to change.

Today was my day to teach the little ones.  Love those guys.  Today we learned about loving your neighbor.  (To the tune of "Are You Sleeping?"): Love your neighbor, love your neighbor, Jesus said, Jesus said, I can love my neighbor, I can love my neighbor, you can too, you can too.  I wasn't in the sanctuary for the message.  This morning before even heading to church, there was a part of me that told myself, If he preaches on something about hope today, then I'll know.  But how would I know if I wasn't even going to be in there during service?

Near the end of service, of course, parents come by to pick up their kids.  Usually, by the time all the kids are gone and I finish making sure toys are put away and wiping down tables with Clorox wipes, service is completely over and I just pop my head back into the sanctuary to chat for a minute before heading home.  But today, after all the kids were picked up and all put back in place, when I walked into the sanctuary, altar service was still going on.  And the title of the message just preached was flashed up on the screen:  "When All Seems Hopeless."  I gasped.

There's a doggedly stubborn, skeptical part of me afraid to believe it more than coincidence.  But there's another part of me who teared up (surprise, surprise) at the knowledge that God really does know where I am.  Maybe He's trying to tell me that moving on and thinking about the situation a different way doesn't have to mean giving up hope.

I'm supposed to be finishing my poetry comps list.

I'm also supposed to be moving on.

God, I hate talking about depressing things, but I can't just act like they aren't happening and that I'm not feeling the weight of them and that they aren't negatively affecting me.  Because they are.  Because I'm letting them.

Sometimes I feel like every time I get to a spot where I'm back on track, some little fox comes along to spoil my vine.  It's quite frustrating.

I honestly feel like I'm trying to do the right thing.  So, then, why do I end up feeling like I must be doing something wrong?

If anything, I am learning that I must completely give up my desire to control things that are beyond my human ability to control.  I am learning how futile it is.  I'm learning that it also isn't really a matter of "letting God have control" than it is realizing I was never in control in the first place.

I must also remind myself that "moving on" isn't really moving on if I'm still hoping for things to work out the way I wanted them to.  That would actually be the opposite of moving on, come to think of it.

There are some sobering things I'm having to come to terms with this summer.  It's the realization that I'm going to have to handle some things alone.  Things that no one will be able to help me decide, that no one will be able to help me implement, that no one will be able to help me see through to the end.

That is not to say that they cannot be done or that I won't have any guidance.  I choose to believe that God is guiding me. But at the same time, the idea that I'm going to have to rely on myself is scary.  That point in my life is here and will swing into full force once the school year begins.  What I've been experiencing this summer is, in a weird way, trying to prepare me for it.

Yes, I'm Going There

I normally stay away from the fray.  You know, the morass.

But suffice it to say that last night's verdict in the Zimmerman trial was a gross miscarriage of justice.  There's no other way to say it.

An unarmed teenager gets pursued by an armed man (even after the armed man was explicitly told NOT to pursue the teenager), and is shot and killed by the armed man.  If Zimmerman had stayed in the car, Martin would still be alive.  There's no way around it.  Armed man pursues and ultimately kills unarmed teenager.  How is there not anything wrong with that? Yet, he walks free.

If people wonder why there is such apathy towards our government and voting, such distrust in our justice system, especially among minorities, look no further than what happened last night.

As an older sister to two young black men, it scares me.  It really scares and sickens me that this is America.

And we dare to say "with liberty and justice for all."

Good, Productive Me

Yes.  This is the me I want to be.

I only wish I had been this me as soon as I returned from Cuba.  Ah, well.  We can't be the me's we wish we had been back then.  We can only be the me's we are now.

Interestingly, the more I have to do, the easier it is for me to get myself together.  Or rather, the more I have to do and the closer the deadlines are to approaching, the more apt I am to get myself together.  Let's be honest.

Anyway, I wish I could remember this feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment that I feel when I know I've put in a decent amount of work for a day on the days that I'm feeling like a pudgy slug who hasn't been to the rec all summer and who doesn't want to get out of bed and who shamelessly procrastinates like a mug and who looks out of the dreary window and mopes around in the melancholy morning nibbling on stale donuts and drinking half cups of day old coffee.  Eww.  It has been raining inordinately lately, though, for real.  Like, isn't it July?  Aren't we supposed to be complaining about the scorching Georgian sun?  At least I haven't had to water my veggie babies in like a month.

I've just been having a bit of a tough time this summer, truth be told.  I mean, not just with getting it together, but with being emotionally preoccupied.  I'm just now getting to the point where I'm able to truly chill out about it.

Maybe I'm just saying this, but maybe it's true . . . anytime there are, er, possibilities in my life, I get mad distracted and go into my little mind wandering world.  Particularly at times when I can least afford to.  Perhaps the good Lord knows that I can't handle a PhD program and the dynamics of a relationship at the same time.  Maybe I technically could, but wouldn't do well at either.

Everything is going to be SO different this coming fall.  First of all, the professor I adore is moving on to bigger and better things.  She's not my major professor, so it's not like my committee is jacked up or anything (and my major professor is amazing, by the way), but she's the awesome, genius lady who stands up for the students like no one else does in the department.  I'm going to miss her and her little boy who is my amorcito.  I know we'll stay in touch, and if I play my cards right, I might get a little taste of the bigger and better stuff she's doing, but still.  It's just not going to be the same.  Secondly, I'll be teaching for the first time here.  Not like I haven't taught before.  Not like I haven't taught at the university level before.  Nothing new.  But I'm nervous because I don't have a feel for what teaching looks like here, and, well, we all know how my last teaching experience went.  (If you don't, suffice it to say that it involves the adverb badly.) I know, what I'll be doing a month from now is universes away from what my last teaching gig was all about.  But still.  Thirdly, I won't be taking classes anymore and am afraid I will feel disconnected and isolated while I hole myself up studying for comps.  No more being "that girl."  You know, that girl who won't shut up in class?  (Or, as I've been told, the girl who people rely on to talk during seminar because they didn't read.)  I'm afraid it's going to suck.  But I guess I'll just have to make more of an effort to get out and stay connected with my colleagues.  And I guess I will see folks around since I'll be teaching and so will they, (not to mention the craploads of meetings and "teaching circles," etc. that I was blissfully able to skip my first two years) so . . . maybe it won't be too bad.

Here's to the continuation of my productive streak!

Ecclesiastes 3:11

Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end. (New Living Translation)

He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end. (King James Version)

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He also has planted eternity in men’s hearts and minds [a divinely implanted sense of a purpose working through the ages which nothing under the sun but God alone can satisfy], yet so that men cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. (Amplified Bible)

He makes everything beautiful.  Everything has a time.  I can't see the entirety of His plan.

Is Love Enough?

I knew it was going to happen. We all know, don't we?  The downswing.

My last post was so bursting with positive energy, part of me didn't want to follow it up with anything else that wasn't equal in its I-am-confident-superwoman, it's-all-gonna-be-all-right brilliance.  But life is life.  I'm no less confident, no less sure that it is going to be all right per se, but I am sort of pensive today and maybe sort of questioning my present emotional state of being.

First of all, what I'm sort of wondering is if I've ever been in love.  I mean, I think I know what it is, and what I think it is, or rather, what I feel I know about it, is that it is not a "feeling."  It is not some magical movie moment where a bunch of tingly feelings and rainbows and unicorns all converge in some warm and fuzzy fireworks display.  Rather, I'd like to think of it as a knowing.  A confidence.  I believe that saying "I love you" is less how you feel about someone and more what you know about someone.  I know who you are.  And I love who I know you are.  It's something akin to a fact rather than a declaration.

I see it as appearing plain as day.  Like frustratedly looking for your keys (I do this quite often) only to find them in the most obvious place that you somehow overlooked.  There they are, plain as day.  They were there all along, waiting.

Have I experienced this?  I'm afraid to believe that I have.  Because if I have, then . . . it puts me in a tough spot at present.

I'm too old for absolutes.  When it comes to these matters, that is.  Nothing is set in stone.  All I'm saying is that right now, it's a little difficult for me to keep calm and carry on, as it were.

Aside from the am I/aren't I conundrum, second of all, is the question of whether it's enough.  What I mean is, even if you know for sure that you love someone, that you love each other, is it enough for a relationship to work?  Is knowledge of each other and each simply loving who the other person is enough?  As unromantic as it sounds, I don't believe so.

If a partnership is going to work, then each person also has to be able to meet the other person's needs.  Let me qualify that and say that no human being can meet all of another human being's needs.  I don't think one person is meant to meet all of another person's needs.  But the most important ones have to be met if it's going to work for the long haul.  Spiritual, emotional, financial, intellectual, sexual . . . these are just a few examples of the types of needs, that, if not met by both parties, could possibly make a partnership a total no go.

Some things can't be fully understood until after you're married, I suppose (if you're living a Christian life, which I am striving to do), but for the most part, you know good and well what you're signing up for.  Some people just ignore the signs that important needs won't be able to be met.  Some people go into things believing that love is enough.

Regardless of how I'm feeling right now, I know that, in the end, it isn't enough for me.

Your Life Is Now

I'm on a positive kick after talking to mi mejor amiga earlier today, so I'm going to go ahead and write this now so that when I get into my little dramatic bouts of melancholy, I can look back on this and get my head right.

Part of what we were talking about is the fact that we are living our lives now.  So many times we envision ourselves at some point in some indeterminate future, believing that our lives won't truly begin until we get to that point.  We worship this idea, we build a shrine to it.  We hold on to it for dear life, and then become extremely discontent with our lives when things don't exactly happen the way we had envisioned.  We still cling to it.  We mourn it.  That life that could have been.  That life that should have been.  The life that isn't.

What I have come to believe from experience is that we have to let go of what could have been/should have been, but isn't.  Completely let it go.  Because this is the thing: How can we expect God to give us the desires of our heart when we're still clinging to what we thought should have been? It's only when we let go of that idea, let go of the way we thought it should have worked out, let go of our preconceived notions of the life we thought we wanted at this point in time, let go of it completely, that God has the chance to give us something we never expected. It's only when we let go of it completely that we open ourselves up to receive those things God has for us that go beyond what we ever conceived for ourselves.

There are things beyond our control, but there are a whole lot of things within our control, that are within the scope of our ability to achieve. I say whatever it is that you want to happen in your life that you can control, go for it. Do whatever you need to do to make it happen. Don't live your life thinking that it will only truly begin in some indefinite future.

I'm not saying I'm 100% happy all day, every day, 24/7, with where I am in my life.  I still have a lot of work to do.  I don't even know what "100% happy all day, every day, 24/7" even means or if it's even part of the reality of being a human being in this fallen world.  But what I can say is that the past few years, I've taken steps toward living the life I want to live.  I'd always wanted to learn a third language after doing the Spanish thing.  I applied to a study abroad program and won a scholarship to spend 6 months in France.  Je l'ai appris.  I had a horrible, soul-draining job.  I quit it and applied to a PhD program so that I could put myself in a position that would open more doors for me and perhaps put me on the path towards a career that I enjoy. I'd always wanted to learn how to play the guitar.  I borrowed one from a friend, found an instructor I could afford, and went for it (getting a brand-new guitar from my generous brother in the process).  I'd always wanted to learn how to garden.  I staked my claim in a community garden plot, not knowing what the heck I was doing, but did what I could and now I'm obsessed with my "veggie babies" and learning all kinds of vegetable recipes.  While I can't make the "perfect man" (whatever that means) fall in love with me, I have been very honest and forthright with men who are interested in me about what I want, how I feel, where I stand and what I expect.  I've found that people admire my candor, that I've saved myself a bit of time and maybe a bit of heartache, and perhaps that I've inspired people who are serious to step up to the plate.  Why complain about how men treat you and how "there aren't any good guys out there" if you don't believe you should be treated a certain way and if you don't set expectations for the type of relationship you want?

Your life is happening right now, and whatever it is that you've "always wanted to do," put yourself in the position to do it right now. Write your own story now. When you're in His hands, you can't go wrong.