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.