On being a modern woman...

I won't lie, the fact that my nuptials are approaching has been making a lot of stuff come up for me- some of it good, some bad, some ugly. I hope it's not a bad, but rather a natural thing. Joel has been good enough to put up with my incessant desire to talk about things and to share things with me when I need him to.

Last night, we were chatting about some stuff, and some thoughts came up for me about why I might be facing some of the difficulties I have been. (I feel like I've blogged about this before at some point, but I couldn't find where, so, I'll write it down again...)

Anyway.... growing up, possibly because I did start dating rather young (I went out with the same boy for a whole year when I was in 8th grade/13 years old), I was always told, that you shouldn't focus all your energy "on a man". Of course, it makes sense that when you're 13, or 16 or even 19- you should be doing lots of other things in your life, and just worrying about being involved or trying to stay involved would not be a good thing.

As a young woman, I received a constant message of, "be independent", "chase your own dreams", "don't rely on a man", even, "don't let a man be the most important thing".

But here is the thing- here I am at age 28, heading towards my wedding, and suddenly, inexplicably, the rules seemed to have changed- now it's, "your husband should be your best friend".

How do you go from never putting a man in first place, never relying on a man, to having him be your best friend?

I cried to Joel last night that sometimes I just worry about leaning on him too much, about needing him too much- of course he giggled at me, and said he'd always be there, and that I shouldn't worry, that I *can* lean on him.

When I look back, I think I might have worried about boys too much in general when I was young, lost sleep over them, cried about them, just thought about them too much! But then, it didn't stop me from getting great grades, playing volleyball, being in musicals, being in the National Honor Society (even being the secretary one year), I earned money babysitting (no I didn't have a real job til I went to college)- I got the full ride academic scholarship for university. But then, even in uni- I worked, I still got great grades (there might have only been one semester I wasn't on the Dean's list), I pursued my dreams in general-- and yeah, I dated, I fell in love, I had my heart broken a few times, I even slipped into mild depression now and then (my poor roommates...), but through it all, I don't think I ever really gave up on myself or my dreams.

And then of course, after university, I think I made a pretty bold choice about going to China. It was a big move to make- and this one thing, I have to admit was partially man-motivated. I desperately needed to get away from an ex and a whole life that I had that involved him in so many ways- I saw him everywhere I went in that town, I couldn't stop thinking about him, and I needed to get away from it. I needed to get away from him. And I did. And I couldn't have picked a better place to NOT find a man. Well, ok, I found men, but in two years in China, I certainly didn't find anyone worth the time I spent on them. Which is unfortunate, because I did spend quite a bit of time on one of them.

Anyway, the point is, it seems that actually, I have done pretty well to follow those rules of not putting a man in the first place- although probably, I just spent way too much energy and emotion on men- which is maybe why I was always getting the "talks" from all the important women in my life about it all. I guess in an odd way, my actions never really matched up to my words, in that although emotionally I might have been consumed by men, I didn't let it stop me from DOING things- which maybe is the important thing? I don't know.

But anyway, at this point, I am simply finding it difficult to transition from one set of rules to the next! And it just feels like the trap that one modern woman might find herself falling into.

I was thinking the other day that had I met my first really serious boyfriend in 1794, or 1894 instead of 1994, I probably would have married him, by now I would have a herd of children, and well, life would be very, very different. Maybe it wouldn't have happened that way, because back in those days, I wouldn't have been able to choose a mate-- but, the point is, it seems like life has to some extent just become that much more complicated. Sometimes rules seem to make life easier- and now that we have no rules- well, there are still rules, but maybe they are more subtle, which just makes everything very complicated, no?

I don't know- but I wonder, am I the only "modern woman" finding it difficult to transition emotionally from single-dom to couple-dom? Because you know, the physical part of this transition has been easy as pie- nothing ever felt so natural as to share a space with Joel (yes, the first and only guy I have ever lived with)- which is funny, because I'm pretty sure, joining our lives up physically was indeed quite difficult for him. Getting used to having someone around all the time wasn't easy for him. But for me, it was easy, it felt natural, and I loved it.

That's my story for today- I'm working on the balance of being me, while being a part of a couple- the balance of being strong on my own, while being able to lean on Joel- the balance of continuing to pursue my dreams, while also being Joel's #1 cheerleader, and of course working on building and pursuing our common dreams as well. On being a modern woman, choosing to be in the ancient institution of marriage.

I have a person

Alright, this gets right down to the nitty-gritty, so if you're not into hearing my nitty-gritty, then go ahead and stop reading. It's a been a while since I wrote a post like this one, so, here goes...

I've recently started seeing a therapist- ok, well, I don't so much see her as talk to her via my computer once a week. I've had 4-5 sessions now, and I'm really enjoying the work we do together. Where with my last therapist, I mostly just talked, with this lady, I'm actually actively working on healing old hurts, and moving past them. Turns out, looking for "my person" started when I was about 5.

As you all know, my parents divorced about this same time. I'm interested to talk to my mom and dad and find out some more details as to how it all actually went down, how much they told us kids, how much they worried about supporting us, etc. The thing is, I can only imagine, my mom was only about 8-9 years older than I am now (dad only 6-7) when she went through it, so, I can't blame them for not being able to support us they way they maybe should have.

What I uncovered tonight through my work with my therapist, is that when it all went down, I felt very alone- I didn't feel like anyone was supporting me, letting me know what was going on, etc. I had the impression (as a 6 year old might), not that it was my fault, but that, I was supposed to know how to deal with what was going on. From what I could tell, my brothers didn't seem to be having any problems (I'm sure that is SO not true!), so why was I? It seemed that I was stupid or slow or something for not being able to deal with this situation. All I wanted at that time, was someone who would spend some time with me, hear me, love me, be with me, and acknowledge what was going on. If only boys dealt with emotions the same way girls did, I might have had that in my brothers- but, alas, I decided then and there, that I didn't have a person- that nobody knew how I felt, maybe no one cared. For those of you who knew me when, you know that I pretty much locked myself away in my room from about age 8-12 reading books. It was better to be on my own, safe lost in the world of the Babysitters Club or Sweet Valley High than out there is this big unsafe world where the bottom can just fall out at any moment.

The saddest thing was, that because we moved from Indianapolis to Kalamazoo at this time of my life, I actually physically lost my person. My person until the age of 6 when we moved away to Kalamazoo, was my great-aunt Alisite. From years of my childhood that I spent in Indy (birth to age 6), I have far more memories at her house than anywhere else in Indy. I dare say I even have more memories with her, than with anyone else from those years. We spent a lot of time together; she was my babysitter quite often, but I think I spent time with her because I wanted to as well. Maybe I'm making that up (maybe I've blocked out other memories), but in any case, you can be sure that I was happy to be there when I was there.

She was a person who loved me unconditionally, and she let me know that, in the way that possibly only a grandparent-type figure can. The best memories with her are from our mornings. I would come padding down the plastic runner that bisected her dining room to the sun room- where she would always pretend that I had snuck up on her, that she hadn't heard me coming. When I got there she would take me in her lap, often letting me crawl into the warm folds of her dressing gown, wrapped in layers of flannel. We would sit, very still, watching the birds come to the feeder just outside the window. We would talk about my dreams from the night before, about plans for the day, about my thoughts, feelings- well anything! They were quiet moments, when it seemed it was just the two of us in the world. Never have I felt so safe, so loved, so known.

When we moved away from Indianapolis, I didn't just lose my sense of safety, I lost my person- the person who would have taken the time to be with me, to let me know that what was going on wasn't my fault, or that I didn't have to like it, or know how to deal with it (all of which I didn't, but thought I should).

It makes sense that for years after that I often declared quite assuredly, nonchalantly, that I believed divorce was a good thing- because living with parents who don't get along is worse than the alternative. I believed that I was better off, because this was a belief that I had established and talked myself into way back when.

It also makes more sense than anything that throughout my whole life, whenever I have approached a milestone (an important birthday, a graduation) or even thought about important milestones (a wedding, my first child being born) there is only one person who ABSOLUTELY MUST BE THERE. And you guessed it, that would be my Alisite. I actually remember when I was young having nightmares that she had died- one could easily interpret that to mean that my whole sense of love and safety was at stake.

Today, she is 90 years old- approaching her 91st in just over a couple of months. She still lives on her own, and is mentally as there as she ever was. Of course, her body is no longer carrying her the way it used to, and if I were to sit in her lap today, I would crush her- but none the less, when I do get to see her, I love spending hours talking to her, hearing what she has to say, listening to her remember times when I was little, and times before my time. I enjoy sharing with her about my life, and hope that she is proud. I wish more than anything, that I could afford to see her more often. Everyone knows that any time I get to the States, there is one trip that I must make, that is not negotiable, which is the 3 hour drive from Kazoo down to Indy to spend the day with my great-aunt.

I know she won't make it to Mexico, and I have only a tiny sliver of hope that she might choose to be packed into a car with my aunt and uncle to drive up for the party we are having in Kazoo before the wedding. If she is not up to it, there is no question, that while Joel and I are in the States over the summer, before or after the wedding, we, certainly I, will take a trip down to see her.

So, I have a person. But when I lost her when I was little, I also tucked away pieces of myself that didn't seem safe any more- being spontaneous and outgoing, the ability to have carefree fun, to trust that I am known and understood. All of that was way too dangerous when at any moment, the very foundation of life as I knew it could fall away.

So tonight, I worked, through regression therapy to be exact, on reclaiming the parts of myself that I locked away. I spoke to the scared little girl that I once was, and let her know that well, I am here, and I am willing to be there for her- to heal the pain that was never dealt with more than 20 years ago. I visualized the joyful, carefree child I was, and welcomed this part of me to be expressed once again.

It's been an emotional night to say the least. A lot of tears were shed, a lot of feelings relived. But at the end, I see that, if I can reclaim all the pieces of me that I have shut down at one time or another, I don't actually need a person, because I have myself. And of course, it goes without saying, that while I still have the time, and the opportunities, I will be with the person who was my original person.

Alisite and I, March 2008

(See how my eyes shine when I'm with her? It's what your person does to you.)

Do you have "a person"?

On one of my favorite TV shows, Meredith calls Christina "her person". She is the person that she goes to when she has problems; the person she knows will be there for her to talk, to laugh, to cry, to dance it out, if need be. I imagine that if Mere and Christina needed to travel, it would be assumed that they would share a hotel room. On a Friday night, neither worries, because they both know that if nothing else, they can hang out together. They are each other's person. (Just to be clear, your person isn't your significant other, maybe even shouldn't be- it is that other person, besides your partner, that is your person.)

I think the last time I had a person, was, no shit, in like grade 7 and 8 when I was joined at the hip with my old friend T. T and I reunited earlier this year when I was in Michigan, and it turns out that we no longer have as much in common as we did back then- but I tell you what, in grade 7 and 8, we were each other's person. We did everything together. In fact, once our friendship solidified (which took only a short time I'm sure) we spent basically every day together. In those two years of school, we actually even spent the night at each other's houses almost every day of the school year. We were good kids, we did our homework together, we mostly went to bed on time- and if we were together in the morning, only one of our parents had to worry about getting us to school, so it worked out for everyone. T and I shared everything- from our joys to our fears, our trials with boys- from heartbreak to first kiss, to first REAL kiss (I suppose those were in reverse order). We shared issues about our parents, our siblings, other friends. T started learning Latvian from just being around it. We celebrated together when she finally got her period. You can have a person when you're in middle school- and I did. T was my person.

But T and I drifted apart, and for various reasons, by the time high school was in full swing, we were still friends, but definitely no longer each other's person. I was person-less.

When I fell in love with A, D & T (not *that* kind of love- girlfriend love!), I had 3 persons- sort of. Although my friendships with A, D and T were all different, and close in different ways, at different times- throughout high school I had them, even though they were not a part of my every day life. It was ok, because we all lived in 4 separate towns, and we all had our lives outside us 4, but we had each other in all the same way. Through letters (yes, real letters), care packages, emails, and occasional visits, we remained each other's sort-of persons. But this was a strange situation, because while it was an understanding on a deep level- not seeing each other for months, sometimes years at a time, and then picking right back up like we were together yesterday- it did not serve the every day purpose of your personness.

And anyway something changed again. We all grew up. Men became a bigger (too big?) part of our lives. We made other friends. We were separated by not just distance, but new responsibilities, other interests. I dare say, that it changed already then. Even now, all three girls retain a special, special place in my heart, but they were no longer my person, sort-of or otherwise.

There are other women who have come through my life- two As, one K- women that I have leaned on, shared with, lived with- who were (are) a seriously special part of my life- and I hope they feel the same way about me. Everyone is elsewhere though. Everyone has their own thing going on.

I know that having a person requires two way effort. I know that I have chosen to live quite far away from my friends. I think this has been the greatest challenge of living abroad for me. Your family will always be there when you go home- there is no question of that. But friendships change, and people grow apart, and you cannot just assume they will be there when you've been gone for 6 years. Of course I am lucky that until now, my friends are still there when I go home. But it is really hard to keep up with people. Every day life gets the best of you- you can't share all the little details. Time differences wreak havoc on communication. The cost of travel leaves two year spaces between visits. Pregnancies, husbands, children come into pictures and even years after the fact, some of these things are not mutually witnessed.

I can't wallow in self-pity, (that is not what I meant this post to be) because I know I have chosen this life. And I know that I do what I can to stay in touch with my friends. I do miss them all terribly, and I try to let them know that. I do the best I can with Joel- but he's my partner, my significant other, maybe my best friend, and just not my person. I mean, he's serving as my person now, but, sometimes, he just doesn't do that good a job. Just last night I tried to talk to him about something, and he said right away, "I'm not good at these kinds of talks. I give bad advice." He knows he can't be my person. I don't think it's healthy to have one human be your everything- we need different people for different purposes. Joel is a wonderful partner, he'll be a wonderful father, and that is enough- he doesn't have to be my person too.

The thing is, having lived abroad for as long as I have, and in as many different cities, I have seen lots of people come and go from schools (let's face it, they have been my community base), and lots of them have found a person. Maybe they still have a person back home as well- but they have a person for daily life too.

I guess what I'm wondering is, why haven't I been able to find a person since 8th grade? If I came close in the years before I left the US, I certainly haven't since. Please don't leave my comments box full of reasons why people wouldn't like me- this is sort of a rhetorical question.

It's a reason to navel gaze though- a reason to look inwards and ponder choices and actions. Maybe it's just chance- two such compatible souls coming together in a world so big and all that. Or maybe I only imagine that others don't feel the way I do. Maybe I only imagine that other people have a person- maybe other people feel alone too. Maybe it is going to take something bigger, more, well, something, I don't know.

Can I take out a want ad? Not-single White Female looking for her person. Do you have a person? Maybe I don't want to know.

Proud to be American

I don't think I've ever uttered these words before.

This morning, when my alarm rang, I'll admit, it was a little tough to pull myself out of bed. But, when I finally did, I remembered there was a good reason for me to get out in the living room, and turn the tv on. I was very excited to check the election results. My heart started pounding as I reached for the remote, pressed the button, and started flipping from the sports channel the tv was left on last night by Joel, to a news station. Any station. I think I arrived at BBC News first- who were running banners and announcing, "Obama has done it!"

I had taped all the election coverage on CNN, and before I went to work, I watched Obama's acceptance speech. I got chills, I was moved near to tears, I couldn't stop smiling. What a victory for our nation.

Did you read what I just wrote? Gosh! When was the last time that you heard me refer to the US as "our nation?" Now, I know this might make me a fair-weather American. But here's the thing...

Growing up in rather international circles- what with having lots of friends in Canada, studying abroad in France, and then, needless to say, working abroad for the last 5+ years (this is my sixth!)...I have as an American passport holder gotten endless flack for being American. And this is long before I got intimate with all the Australians, who make fun (of anything and anyone) for fun. And the thing is, when people laughed at Americans through me for over-reacting about Monica, or hated on Americans through me for re-electing Bush, I couldn't fight back. All I could say was, "I'm not one of THOSE Americans."

For a long, long time, I associated more with being Latvian than American. Then I moved to Latvia, and realized, "Hey, I'm not *REALLY* one of these people either." Yeah, it was around then that I started to have major, "Who am I?" issues. It coincided perfectly with my mid-twenties.

But today, this morning, I said to Joel, "I have the weirdest feeling Joel! Today, for the first time in my life, I'm proud to be an American!" I desperately wished that I had a patriotic shirt or pin to wear- alas, I've never once bought a piece of clothing that has an American flag on it, or "USA". Ah well. My extra bright smile today might be enough to show how I feel- but it is amazing- really, and truly, proud to be American.

And for the record- it's not just because Obama won- it's because I have never, never seen so many people out there, fighting for what they believe in. Never has our country seen such high voter registration and turn out. It's inspiring. It's wonderful that apparently all those people that thought to themselves, "My vote won't make a difference" in the last election, finally got it, and finally decided to make a difference.

I am truly, truly inspired. And on this day, I have to say, I am going to share my joy with anyone who asks- and I'll do it in front of anyone. I don't care. Today, I won't be silenced.


Now- we have to keep supporting Obama. He is going to need all the good energy and support he can get to tackle some of the issues he's going to be faced with. He can count on me. Even if I'm not there, on US soil, I'll be supporting him from wherever I am! :)

***Later that day....

It's always something though isn't it? I'm so excited about Obama's win. But then, I have to hear the news about proposition 8. The proposition set forth by people so afraid, that they think that letting other people be happy will take away from their own (probably meager) happiness. Prop 8 was about adding an amendment to the State constitution making same-sex marriages illegal, and specifically putting in the words along the lines of, "only a marriage between a man and a woman will be legal and recognized in (insert state name)." So sad. Alas, we have had a shining moment, but America still has so far to go, so, so far.

On working out...

I've been working out... what feels like a lot. To the left you can see my sticker chart (yes, I *am* an EC teacher!). As you can see, for every time I work out, I get a sticker. Once I get 10 stickers, I get a reward, which I choose before I start earning stickers.

So, as you can see, since I started (about a month ago?) I've worked out 20 times. The first 5 or 6 stickers took me almost two weeks to earn, but the second 10 only took a week and a half, as I adjusted to working out so much, that I started going almost every day. My first prize was a pan, and my second (yet to be redeemed) is a manicure. I'm considering making the third prize a pedicure, and going for two prizes at once.

So I feel good that I am working out. When I go, I do at least 40 minutes of working out. I do 4 different machines for 10 minutes each- stair master, rowing machine, elliptical and treadmill. I always do the treadmill last because I do my ten minutes at a high pace carrying hand weights, and then I cool down on there for 5 minutes or so at a slower pace. I also stop at some point and do a headstand. I hate doing sit ups or crunches or any other direct ab exercises. Standing on your head might not seem like a direct route to strong abs, but, if you do it right, it takes A LOT of power in your core- so I do it. For some reason (there probably is one) I really like being upside down. Headstands are my favorite.

I chose to do 4 machines for 10 minutes each because a super-fit and into learning and reading about being fit colleague of mine told me that your body burns the most calories in the first 5 minutes of a particular exercise. Since my aim is definitely to burn calories and take off the pounds, I was happy to do this "keeping my body on it's toes" kind of exercise. (I think that is the idea behind the switching it up thing... your body doesn't know what is happening, and keeps having to adjust for a new exercise, therefore exerting big effort.) But I also choose to do weight bearing cardio (like the rowing machine, and carrying weights while walking) to add in some extra muscle work.

So, it's been a month or so- twenty good workouts at least. I have noticed progress. When I first started working out, I was running at a pace of 15.something on the elliptical. These days, I average a 16.5-17.something. On the rowing machine, I was rowing at a pace of 550 calories/min, and now, I row at a pace of 650-700+ calories/min (ha ha ha! Did you notice my typo? calories/MIN! I WISH I could burn 600 calories in a minute! That was supposed to say calories/hour- but I'm just going to leave the typo in, cause I think it's funny!). On the stair master, I have tried harder programs at higher levels and done well, where before, I about died on the random at level 2. So yeah, I see the progress. I LOVE glancing at my arms while I do the rowing machine. I love seeing the muscle definition as I pull back. And the way I feel all the muscles along my sides in that same motion is so cool. I picture slim, spare-tire free curves somewhere in the future.

But then, here is the thing, even though I have seen all this progress- the two times I have stepped on a scale, there has been absolutely no difference. My pants, shirts, swim suits, etc, fit no differently than they did a month ago. Naked, I don't see any difference.

I have calculated that I am burning at least 300 (but possibly as much as 400) calories per workout. 300 calories per workout- 5 workouts per week- that's 1500 calories. Surely, in a months time, I would have seen a pound come off at least, no?

So, here's the thing with working out and me... I don't really enjoy it. I don't despise it, but, yeah, it's not like I sit around during school hours daydreaming of being able to get into the gym. Once I get there, I generally get into it, and before I know it, I've been in the gym an hour (between changing machines, stretching and that head standing...). And I do it because I know that it is good for me. Because I know that when I am exercising regularly, I sleep better, feel better, even poop better (it's true!).

But why is it that the ONE result I would like to see, just doesn't come up? I suppose it really, really is true that weight loss has to include a change to your exercise and eating habits? I don't know... I keep trying not to be disheartened. It's fun earning rewards for working out. Sometimes when I come home from the gym and catch a glimpse of my same-looking-self in the mirror I say to Joel, "Tell me what I'm doing is making a difference. Tell me it's worth something." And he does. And he gives me a kiss, and as usual, he tells me to chill out. He tells me to stop thinking about it. Ahh... if only it were that easy. (He'll look good in his board shorts pool side for our wedding week regardless...)

So, in my last post, I ended with the question, "Why did you have em?" And now I end with, "What's it going to take?"

The reasons....

My cousin Liene asked for her readers to post questions for her to answer on her blog. I posted her the question, "What are the (10) things that make your life so good, that you could die tomorrow, and it would have all been enough?" I realize this is a big question, and therefore decided to not only pose the question, but to take it on myself. It's never a bad time to look on the bright side.

So, these are the reasons I could die tomorrow, and it would all have been enough- not the reasons I'll be content when I die an old woman, because I'm sure they will change. I asked Liene for 10 reasons- I'm not necessarily shooting for 10 myself (it was an arbitrary number) but I'll be very happy to hit 10! Also, these are listed in no particular order.

• I've loved. Deeply, honestly, truly. I know I said these were in no particular order, but actually, I think this reason is in its rightful place. Having loved (everyone I ever have loved) has surely been my greatest achievement and contribution to the world.
  
• I have touched the lives of at least 100 children that I have taught in my teaching career (that counts only the years I have been a paid teacher). There are so, so, so many tiny, virtually inconsequential ways that teachers affect their students every day- except when that tiny thing actually makes a big difference in one child's life on one day. As someone eloquent once said, "I do it because of one child."
• I have traveled and seen the world. Scenarios/people/places/events that I at one point could not have imagined, I have seen with my own eyes, experienced with my own body and soul.
  
• A program I once participated in encouraged its participants to push themselves through the "eye of the needle" and come out the other side a changed person. I have done this- when I left home, relatively young, and certainly naive in some respects, to live in PR China I took on a journey that I could not even fathom. But here I am- out the other side- better, worse? Different, changed. But still me. :)
  
• I have, and continue to, explore, question, and experience my spirituality. I have traveled deeply into this through yoga, which has transformed my life.
  
• Because I value education, I am extremely proud of myself for earning a Masters degree. I surprise myself in realizing that there is some desire somewhere inside of me to earn a Doctorate degree.
  
• I have dreams. I have not achieved all that I want in life. I have LOTS to live for, to strive for. That means I have passion for life.
  
• I strive to live authentically, making choices that align with my values and ethics. I am not perfect, and I am willing to admit that, but I can say that I am comfortable with the choices I make on a daily basis.

It's getting late, and I'm up to 8 reasons... I'll sleep on two more and be back with you if I come up with em.

This is me... today.

It seemed:

But it turns out:

Heartburn...

I've been dealing with really horrible heartburn since I got to Angola. I've never in my life been a heart burn sufferer until now, except a short spell in Riga when school life was so stressful and honestly, scary, that it brought on heartburn.

When you look in the "little blue book" that some of us are known to carry where ever we go, heartburn is associated with one thing and one thing only- fear.

I've looked into foods and stuff that cause heartburn- tomatoes, alcohol, citrus, dairy, caffeine, some spices. I've thought about eliminating them, or about using other natural remedies to cure heartburn (drinking vinegar, eating apples or celery, drinking a baking soda/water mix)- but, of course I find it just as important (if not more) to look at the deeper causes. So the question begs:

What am I afraid of?

What is it, that is literally eating me up from the inside out?

Am I brave enough to even explore some possibilities?

Marrying Joel is something that I wanted to do since, well, about day three of knowing him. And when he asked, there was no hesitation in my heart- I said yes. That said, when your four parents average 3 marriages a piece (2, 3, 3, and 4), it doesn't really give you much hope for yourself. Joel and I have talked about this, and he swears that he would not have asked me, that he would not enter into this commitment lightly, without knowing that it is forever. Of course, he's got some good role models for a what a lasting marriage looks like (one version anyway). There is a fear that one way or another, I'm not doing something right. I know that I am not my parents- but sometimes I think, "they're smart people, and they chose wrong (more than once!)- why am I any different?" I don't know if all people entering into a marriage face similar fears, or if it's just someone like me- but either way, there is a certain fear.

And moving on to what else there is to be afraid of. What if despite my efforts, I still look the way I do, come time for dress measurements, and come the wedding day? I only wish that this wasn't one of my greatest fears, but it is.

The thing that gets me is that if it were just about discipline, I'd be there. Look at me- I quit smoking again, a year ago. And that was it. No it wasn't pretty for a few weeks, but it was over. I was no longer a smoker, I had quit. It is/was an addiction. And there is no question in my mind that if I smoked one cigarette today, I would smoke a pack tomorrow- because, that is what addictions are like. Whether physical or emotional (and usually both) one or the other hooks you again, and you're back where you ended. You're right back in the middle of your addiction. So I don't smoke. And it isn't even an option anywhere in me to smoke. I just don't. Period.

But, unfortunately, I can't quit food. It's not an option. Because if it was, I'm sure I could do it. But when you have to have a little, it's harder to stop before you've hit too much.

And so the fear develops- will I be a fat bride? Will I feel ashamed and embarrassed during the week by the pool that will be our "wedding event" because of not even wanting to be in a bathing suit?

Worse yet will I look back on the pictures of that day, and regret that I could not have done more, been more, achieved more by the time the day rolled around?

The deeper fear unearths itself- have I forever lost "the look" that once was mine?

Lastly, there's been a whole lot of people around me having babies lately. They've either had em, are working on the finishing touches (that is, they're pregnant), trying to make em, or planning with certainty when they will start trying. I know that Joel and I have a plan of our own, so maybe we fit into that last category, but sometimes it feels like it will never happen; like the time will never actually get here. And so the fear... the fear that this thing, this desire, which feels bigger than anything I have ever felt before, will not be met, will not ever come to fruition. And sometimes, when this desire feels so, so, so big it seems silly to wait- wait for what? But then- wait to get married, wait to finish up this contract in Luanda, wait and have some more time together as a couple... but man, sometimes, it's hard all this waiting- especially when everyone else around you is no longer waiting.

So I'm trying to deal with these fears... trying to not focus on them, because I know it doesn't help anything (hurts if anything), but the question is, how does one move past such fears (especially in order to stop the heartburn) without dealing with em? I mean, you have to focus on em a bit to deal with em.

It feels like round and round in circles I go- never getting anywhere with this. Trying, trying... to avoid the heartburn, if nothing else.

Been painting...

Sometimes it's good to be kind of child-like. A looong time ago, a good friend IS from Kalamazoo suggested to me that I get a box of crayons and a pad of paper and draw to get some "stuff" out. She was helping me work on my energy/state of being through her art- and suggested that I try through my own art.

I did go out and buy some crayons. Then I moved on and also got pastels. That was all back in Kalamazoo. When I moved to China, I was working with pastels more than anything else, but not too often.

In Latvia, I used pastels and colored pencils. Thanks to DB I have a few wonderful adult coloring books (they are books of mandalas to color, not like "adult" content!). I have really enjoyed coloring the mandalas- but I find that sometimes it's too daunting to think about the stuff the book tells you to think about. Sometimes I just want to chill and color.

Since arriving in Luanda, I have colored a couple mandalas, but, I have also picked up watercolors. At first I got some from the store- just a little kiddie pack of cheap ones. They weren't bad, but, no wait, actually, they were bad. I painted three paintings with em, and just got annoyed, because they were crap. Then we got that shipment of stuff for school (the container) and it came with a certain C-name brand of water colors. I got em out for the kids, but I loved em. Oh my goodness, I loved em. The other teacher/my superior said I could borrow a pack for at home use, since I loved em so much.

So, I have been painting. Sometimes with an aim. Sometimes without.

By the way, I don't by any means proclaim to be an artist. I would not say at all that I have an artists eye or ability. I do this for fun. And for expression. For release. So whether this art is "good" or "bad" is of no bother to me. That isn't what it's about- and I am not at all proclaiming that it is good!

This picture of flowers was just for fun. Sometimes, being a regular, non-artist type person, I get a picture in my head, and I wonder if there is any chance I could recreate the picture I see in my head on paper. So this was an attempt. I actually think I did pretty well (but only I know, because only I know what was in my head, hey?).

This picture had much more behind it. Through conversations with my mom, DB and AS, I have been exploring my spirituality. Specifically with DB we discussed the need for a visual when praying. Praying has never really been a part of my life. And I will admit- the thought of doing it feels kind of weird. I don't know who I'm talking to, what I am trying to connect with. That said, I know I believe in God/Goddess/a Higher Power- but I have never expressed my faith in a way that involved direct communication between myself and any such being. Because I can't seem to get over a myriad of issues in my life, it seems its time to look for something bigger. My mom keeps telling me to talk to my angels. I got a Note from the Universe the other day that said I wasn't using all of my angels. I like the idea that I have angels. So, I decided to try to give one a face, one that I might then be more comfortable communicating with. So here's what I got:

This one I did at school while the kids were painting too. They all liked it. :) It's amazing how good a 4-year-olds compliment can make you feel, because darnit, they're just so genuine!

The struggle, the struggle... love. At least I'm still thinking about it. Again, it isn't about romantic love- it's about love for myself. It's about knowing that I have this huge, powerful beating heart inside of me (I'm not talking about the literal one) and that it can provide me with all the strength I need. But I need to remember it, and to be in touch with it. And to accept what it offers- because the self love thing- it's still a bit hard.

Finally, this one is a work in progress (on paper only). I know exactly what it is, and I think it will be obvious to a lot of other people, because I think it is pretty obvious- but, some of you might have to have a think I guess.

Lost in thoughts...

I have found myself lost in thoughts about the last few years a lot lately. I've been randomly spending way too much time looking through my photo archives on my computer (when I should be writing a paper or something...). Maybe it's because so much is changing now- leaving another "home", earning my masters, moving to a new country and a new job, planning a wedding... there is a lot in my future (yay!), but for some reason right now, it's making me appreciate the past. So, I thought I would just put up a bunch of random pictures from times in the last few years (in somewhat reverse order) that were really, really good. :) Enjoy.

Celebrating my birthday with Joel. This was when I got the present of going to Venice. Best birthday present I've ever gotten.

Bumbi the baby. Look how tiny he was!

Ha! My first trip with Joel (to London), and my first Cats/AFL game- and my first streaker!

The Robbie Williams concert. The only substantial amount of time I've ever spent in Sweden.

Meeting my goddaughter. How little was she?!?

The end of the first summer in Madrid. Good times.

Jumping way back- Halloween in Shanghai- myself and the other Kindergarten teacher dressed up together. Pretty good costumes eh?

At AW's (she was AV then!) rehearsal dinner. I was her maid of honor the next day!

It was a summer of weddings... three generations of women on my mom's side of the family, at my mom's wedding.

Riding an elephant in Thailand. Awesome.

Getting massages on the beach in Thailand. Double Awesome. Still being able to wear a bikini, endless awesome.

Another Halloween in Shanghai (or the same one?)- our version of Charlie's Angels. Pretty good no? Man, that was a crazy night.

Freezing every part of ourselves in Harbin, PR China.

Warm weather, beaches, snorkeling, friends, and more in Malaysia.

The Red and Black Gala at SCIS. What fun it was to dress up!

Hosting Thanksgiving in Shanghai- I think we had around 50 people show up. A totally random and awesome group.

Wasn't that a fun trip through the last few years? Of course, there are lots of events missing from these pictures...which doesn't make em any less special...just means I might not have a good pic to share. :)

Leaving behind Bumbi

I finally got official word yesterday from the school in Angola that, for several valid reasons I won't go into, Bumbi can't come with us. I read the email, and then read it again. It took me about 10 minutes until I just started crying. Poor Joel was in the middle of eating his dinner and didn't really know what to do with me. What can you do? I'm sad. It's a sad thing to have to do- and only time will heal the break in my heart that will come with leaving him.

For those of you who might know me a little better, that last paragraph might have come as a bit of a surprise. Sure, I've always had my cats and I have taken care of them pretty well- but pets are pets. I have always made fun of people who view their pets as kids- especially couples who take on a parent role- gack! No worries, I don't feel that I have done that with Bumbi- but what is very clear to me, is that we have established a very strong bond. Not like mother and child- but like pet and owner- two beings that in their own unique way depend on each other for certain things. Bumbi needs me for food and water and a warm place to stay, and, the petting and cuddles are obviously appreciated as well.

This brings the question though- if Bumbi needs me, do I need him? It turns out, that I do. (Or I did.)

Last week I had a very interesting conversation with my therapist. We had missed a few weeks of appointments, because she had been off furthering her own education, among other things. At one point, she had the privilege of having a one on one session with a respected German psychotherapist. She chose to use that time to talk to him about me, and how she helps me through our work together.

What the man ended up telling her was about a now documented syndrome (if you will) that shows up in the third generation of immigrant families-rootlessness. Now, I'm not going to be able to explain it here as well as she explained it to me- but basically, it has been found that the emotional effects of immigrating are greatest on the third generation- it goes something like- the people that are adults when they leave tend to just shut down about where they are leaving. They block it out, and make life happen in the new place (these would have been my grandparents). I don't remember exactly what she explained about the second generation (my parents)- either way, it was not as bad. But the third generation (me, my brothers and all my Latvian American friends!) are the ones that are hit the hardest by the feeling of rootlessness. It's just a feeling of not having roots- not here, not there- not anywhere.

She said that the third generation tends to deal with it in one of three ways- by rooting deeply (please Aussies- I'm speaking American here- think rooting like sending down roots, not, well, you know!) in the new culture/country, by returning to the original culture/country and desperately seeking/forcing roots, or, the third variation- by being wanderers. Clearly, I have fallen into the second and third categories of dealing. But, it seems the second option didn't work out for me- I didn't find and couldn't force my roots here. So I am left as a wanderer; searching for the place where I will someday feel is the right place to send down my own roots.

The added "bonus" I had in exacerbating this "syndrome" is that I come from a core family that is not all that close. I don't mean we don't love each other, or care about each other deeply, but lets face it- we are a divorced family, expanded and changed greatly by remarriages. Because divorced/expanded families are now more normal than ever, a lot of people admire how my family has handled these changes- after the initial ugliness my parents have done a great job of getting along, and all four of them can not only be around each other, but can even enjoy each other's company. That is all fine and good- and I am very glad that at my wedding I won't have to worry about my parents duking it out or anything- but, when it comes down to it- for a child, the family is the family- my core family will never change- my parents and my two brothers. And the truth is that this core family was torn apart, and unfortunately, it wasn't dealt with enough at the time, and at least in my experience, it has had lasting effects. It seems I ended up feeling more rootless than ever because even though we all lived in Kzoo, my brothers ended up leaving for the west, searching out their own fortunes- my parents both remarried and gained new families- and there I was, wondering, where the heck do I belong? Obviously, I didn't feel it was there- and I left for China.

My rootlessness has already been altered by finding Joel, and even more so, now that we have made the choice to form our own family. I think that the future is bright for me concerning finding my roots- or I guess, finding a place that I will choose to send down my roots.

But, coming back to the subject at hand- I wonder if Bumbi wasn't my first roots- and if this isn't the reason that I can't think about leaving him without bawling (a reaction that I will say, I never had when leaving my family to move abroad). When Bumbulis came into my life I would say that it was at a time that I was feeling as rootless as ever, and incredibly alone. He came into my life and became a partner in being. For as silly as it sounds, he was there when I didn't feel like I had anyone to turn to. It was a feeling of "somebody, or something, needs me". It was just the smallest sense of roots.

Having uncovered all of this, I am not surprised in the least that I am such a mess about leaving him behind. I have asked basically everyone I know to take him- but alas, a pet is a pet is a big responsibility. I desperately wanted to keep him in the family- meaning, living with someone, anyone, that I might someday visit again, and therefore have a chance to see him. But nothing has come up.

What sucks is that all of this is made even worse by the fact that he is just plain the coolest cat EVER. He is big and beautiful, and greets me at the door when I come home and follows me around the house, and sleeps by my feet, or nestled against my back at night. Sometimes, he even perches right on my chest if I'm sleeping on my back. Yeah, he weighs a lot, and it makes it just the slightest bit hard to breathe, but, the weight is almost a comfort- if he's happy, I'm happy. When I cook dinner he comes in the kitchen and sits on the chair and watches what I'm doing. When I'm working at the computer he curls up on my computer bag right at my feet- just to stay close. When Joel and I leave for work in the morning, he is always there at the door, watching us leave. As, I said, when I come home, he is also always there- he greets me at the door, I say,"Hi Bumbi!" and he answers. Sure like any cat he can be mischievous- he jumps up on things he's not meant to, he drank out of the fish bowl when Oscar Goldman was still with us, he eats our (GG's) plants (but not the grass I grow for him)- and when he gets crazy, then he runs around the house like his bum is on fire, crashing into things, knocking things over, etc. But even after that, when he's done, he comes and flops down next to you, and turns his belly up for a rub. Ah, he is just the coolest cat EVER.

My plan to deal with leaving him is to make sure that I get lots of photos of him in the next month- to keep taking photos until I even find one that I want to frame. (God, I'm listening to myself and wondering where thoughts like these come from concerning a pet- but alas, it turns out he's been much more than just a pet). And yeah, when I end up dropping him off where ever his new home will be, I will look him in the eye, thank him for what he has been to me, and let him know that if there was any other way, I would take him with me. And one day, I expect to be able to stop crying about it.

A trip down memory lane...

So, of course, with this whole thing happening yesterday, it brought up a lot of conversation about our relationship so far, and who knew what when- as in, which of us knew "this was it" first. I told everyone yesterday that I knew right from the start (like within the first week of casual dating) that he was the guy for me. Of course, no one believes it when you say this. So, I went into my sent emails box, and luckily, my emails go back all the way to 2006- when we met.

In an email dated August 30, 2006 I wrote to AW:

"Marriage... we haven't actually talked about it. I don't get the impression that he is against it. Who knows. I seriously, cannot stop thinking that this is REALLY the guy I am going to marry. WHAT THE FUCK? :)"

There you go! And, anyone (around) can ask DS- I was living with her at the time that I met Joel, and if anyone heard it, it was her. And I remember that time oh so well- I was trying so hard NOT to get attached quickly, but no matter what I did, there was this little voice that would come out of nowhere, whispering, "This is the man you're going to marry..." It freaked me out, and I tried to make it stop because I didn't want to repeat the past- I didn't want to get attached again so quickly only to have it end. No matter what I did, it didn't stop.

I do think it's funny that on August 30 (Joel and I had met at school on August 2,3,4, for a math workshop- and then back to school for teachers was August 14), only two weeks after we started to get to know each other, my friends were already asking if we had talked marriage. Either way, there were ups and downs, but it all led to this, and for that I am grateful.

Actually, yesterday when I was called my friend Kat to tell her the news, I got this overwhelming feeling about the past having led to this. When I think about all of the relationships that are behind me- ones that I fought for (harder than I should have), ones that I struggled in, ones that were just for passing the time, others that were totally fun, others that were huge growing experiences. The thing is there have been a lot of them- and the ones that occurred in the last 5 or 6 years were mostly pretty serious- in more ways than one. They were emotional, they were committed, they were....well, I don't know...they were big. I have always been the one to say that it's better to have loved and lost than never loved at all- and I still believe that. At this point I am very grateful for all the experiences that I had, because I know that each one contributed in some way to me finding my way here- to these moments.

I'm still pinching myself to see if this is real- I can't really take my eyes off the ring, I can't stop thinking about what it actually means- because for a long time, especially after all those failed relationships, I honestly didn't think this was ever going to happen for me.

But here I am. And I am happy. I love this man, and he loves me. I feel it in my heart, and I see it when I look in his eyes.

It doesn't change anything that I knew I was going to marry him within two weeks of meeting him- it didn't make me have any less totally-insecure-girl freak-outs in the last year and a half. But it is kind of cool. And now, I'll be able to tell my children,"I knew I was going to marry your father from the very beginning." :)

A dream

The other night I had a dream. It was rather long and involved (I dream often and vividly, so this is nothing new), but the part of the dream that stayed with me was the end.

I sat at a long table, next to me my younger brother, and next to him, my uncle Val. We were eating. I turned to my uncle Val and I said, "I'm so glad you got through that illness, I'm so glad you're still with us." Then I woke.

My uncle Val passed on of a debilitating illness more than 5 years ago.

When talking to my therapist she asked what my uncle Val represented to me. For me, a quick answer- Val was the uncle we rarely saw because he lived out in California- but he (in my child's eyes) was like a superhero. He was tall, and tanned and muscular. He was funny, and caring and loving. He was a good father and a good husband- fun but willing to maintain boundaries. I remember finding a small frame containing a quote in his house, at his funeral no less, but it read, "The greatest gift a man can ever give his children is to love their mother unconditionally." I don't know if he really did or not- but as far as I know, he did. That is the impression I am left with not having really ever been able to evaluate my uncle Val's and his wife's relationship through adult eyes. They were better off than my parents, weren't they?

It was an odd dream to have- a perplexing one. Why would my subconscious so obviously taunt my conscious mind- having Val be alive and well (he really looked healthy in my dream) when in reality, he is long gone from this physical world.

My therapist suggested that something that he represents to me is alive and well- something that I might consciously doubt surviving, is actually going to make it. What that is, I have no idea. But, if it is so, then let it be so. I'm sure my uncle Val was less saint than I ever held him in my child's memories of him, but all the same- he represented only good in my world.

I look forward to discovering what message this dream may have held.