The Road Ahead

I felt really depressed yesterday thinking about my future. Not that my future is really bleak or anything, it's just that I feel like I'm in a never-ending phase of my life in which I'm trying to figure out what I'm doing and where I'm going. For some reason, I just felt a wave of depression and hopelessness wash over me. I wondered if I would always feel this way: lost.

I always tell myself that this is part of being in your twenties. Whenever I talk to people my same age, they tell me they are struggling with the same things. I think the most frustrating part of all is that I know what I want to do, I just don't know exactly how to get to a place where I can do it. And when I say that to people, they usually rush to ask me all these questions and give all these suggestions about how I can get there and what I should do to get there. I understand they are trying to be helpful, but I want to say to them: "Don't you think I've already thought of all those things?"

I think the real issue is the fact that, sometimes in life, you have to take a leap of faith and do something crazy. It's hard. It's hard because "leap of faith" indicates you don't exactly know what is going to happen when you leap. You have to have faith that, if you leap, you'll land on the other side, and if you fall off a cliff, God will be there to either catch you, or meet you at the bottom to sweep of the pieces and superglue them back together. It's the leaping that has me stuck right now.

I want to leap so badly. I see others leap, and I'm so jealous of their faith. I see people post pictures on Facebook of themselves standing in front of the pyramids in Egypt, hiking the highlands of Scotland, making lewd gestures at the guards outside of Buckingham palace, and I want so desperately for that to be me. So why isn't it? Why can't that be me?

For the moment, I feel like I might be inside a cocoon, waiting to come out and fly away to wherever I wish. I read somewhere that if you were to cut open a cocoon before whatever inside emerges on it's own, you will kill whatever is inside. I'm trusting right now that God has me still wrapped up in my cocoon because there are things that must be completed in me before I emerge. I just hope I emerge sooner rather than later.

Little Me

I was pondering the other day what I was like as a child, and I suddenly had the thought, "I wish I could travel back in time and give that little girl a big hug, and tell her that everything was going to be ok."

At the moment I was having these thoughts, I was remembering a time during my parents' divorce when I was hugging my dad as he was dropping me off at my mom's house. He was going away on business, and I told him I wanted to stay with him and that I didn't want him to go. I could see that he was torn, even at such a young age, but he told me I needed to be with my mom, and that he'd see me again soon. I remember he picked me up off the ground and hugged me very tight. With my head rested on his shoulder, I saw my mother watching us from the window at the front door, and I immediately felt guilty. I tried to wriggle out of my dad's grasp because I didn't want my mom to see that I missed my dad. I didn't want her to get angry and yell. I remember going inside and crying because I also felt guilty for hurting my dad. I had seen the hurt in his eyes as he left. And that's when I had this thought; this strong desire to reach back into that memory and hug that little girl as she cried, and tell her that she is loved and that it's not her fault. I would explain that mommy might try to say that daddy is a bad person, but not to believe it, and to always believe that her daddy does love her. I would wipe the tears from her little face and fix her mussed hair and explain that she will go through some hard times, but to always remember that she has great worth and value, and that one day she will grow up to be a really cool person.

There was another time I thought of that still makes me angry to this very day. When I was in first grade, a girl in my class named Nicole told the teacher that I had spit on her. This hit me out of the blue when they confronted me about it, as I didn't do it and had no idea what they were talking about. I don't even know why this girl said it. I barely knew her. I recall being so angry that they just believed her and convicted me of the offense without any real evidence at all. I can see myself now, sitting in an empty classroom, sobbing my eyes out while everyone else was out at recess. Even my mom didn't believe me, and eventually I had to write an apology letter to this girl for something I didn't even do. At the age of six, I couldn't understand how the world could be so unfair. I laid my head on my desk, and I cried and cried until I pretty much passed out. If I could, I would travel back to that empty classroom, wrap that little girl in my arms, and tell her that I believed she didn't do it. I would give her a tissue, and as she blew her nose and wiped her tears, I would explain that sometimes people say things that aren't true for no reason at all. Sometimes people are bored, or jealous, or just plain mean, and they hurt people that have done nothing to them for their own entertainment or satisfaction. I would have told her to stand up for herself, maintain her innocence, and refuse to write an apology letter, consequences be damned.

The last memory that flashed through my mind was from a time when I was about seven and my grandparents were visiting for Christmas. We had a nice dinner, and I remember my grandpa was stealing food off my plate, which he and I found hilarious, and my grandma found irritating. My mom had left the house to run an errand and my grandmother started to clean up the dishes. I don't remember her and grandpa arguing, but I do remember that, all of the sudden, my grandpa cornered grandma at the sink, grabbed her around the waist, pinning her against the counter and said, "I'll give you something to really yell about Margaret, when I break this plate over your damn head!" I can still see that gray dinner plate with dandelions on it hovering in the air above the sink, poised over grandma. My sister and I were frozen on the other side of the kitchen, just watching it all unfold, dumbfounded. Grandma was screaming, and she yelled at my sister and I to call 911. We remained frozen, just watching, not knowing what to do. I think my sister did grab the phone, but as soon as she did, grandpa released grandma and mumbled something like, "Oh for Christ sake, I wasn't really going to hit her," and he stomped off down the stairs. If it were possible, I would appear there in that kitchen, kneel down in front of that frozen, silently sobbing little girl, and taking her hands in mine I would explain to her that grandma and grandpa had some problems in their marriage that had nothing to do with her. Grandpa simply lost his temper, as we all do sometimes, but he expressed it in a bad way. I would tell her it's not her fault, and that grandma and grandpa love her very much.

I think there are memories like these for all of us. Memories that are so strong and still so painful. It makes me so angry sometimes that no one told me the things I needed to hear at those times. No one explained anything, and I was just left to wonder what I'd done wrong. I grieve for children that are going through exactly the same things. It literally makes me sick to know that there are children out there that are feeling what I felt: children who witness abuse, verbal and physical, children who go through messy, spiteful divorces, children who are subject to bullying. I see them being screamed at in malls, walking by themselves to school, or being eulogized on the news. It makes you wonder how their lives would have been different if someone had cared enough to love them, and explain this sometimes terrible, unfair, and confusing world we live in.

It's odd to think about the fact that the little girl in those memories, and the person I am now are indeed the same person. God is good, and he continues to heal me and help me understand everyday.

The year that wasn't

It’s that time of year when I begin to think about the New Year’s resolutions I made in January. I was reading over a blog I wrote on New Year’s Day 2011, and I had some pretty lofty aspirations. Sadly, I realized this week that I hadn’t attained any of them. I started to think that 2011 has been a big “FAIL” for me so far.

I used to think New Year’s resolutions were stupid, and I pretty much refused to make any. I figured most people never follow through with their resolutions, and if they do it’s only for a few weeks. By February 1st, most people’s resolutions are forgotten and tucked away in their minds to make again next January 1. However, for New Year 2010, I decided to make a resolution to learn how to knit. I’m not sure why I picked knitting, but I think I felt like it was something I needed to learn how to do. Just so I could say I could do it. To confess, I’m one of those people that likes to impress people with all the neat stuff I know how to do. I love the “ooos” and “ahhhhs” people make when I fold a tiny origami star for them or speak some fluent Spanish in front of them. I’m not proud of it, but that’s the way I am. I think that’s the reason I decided to make a resolution. I thought it would be neat to learn how to do something new each year.

It took me about two months and two different teachers, but I did learn how to knit. On Father’s Day I presented my dad with my first completed knitting project, a brown, wool/alpaca scarf. It was beautiful and I couldn’t believe that I had knitted it! I also vowed to learn how to make something that took less time than a scarf, and eventually my mom showed me how to make washcloths. They are way cute and super impressive, and fortunately quick and easy to make. I also got my first taste of how it felt to actually keep a New Year’s resolution, and I wanted more of it.

So come December 2010, it was time to decide what my new resolution would be. But why be limited to just one resolution? Why not make several? I thought maybe I would learn how to crochet, but decided against it since I’m still learning the finer points of knitting. Then I thought it would be fun to learn something about every country and nation in the world, but that seemed a little overambitious. After much thought, I settled on the following three resolutions: Go to Ireland, learn how to drive a stick shift, and improve my Italian to be as good as my Spanish. I was very determined to do all three. But here it is, September 16, and I have completed none of them. I began to feel like a failure.

It was at this point I began to really think about 2011 and the things that I’d done. The first three things that came to mind were mistakes that I’d made, errors in judgment. These three things (mere coincidence that I thought of three?) seemed to overshadow all the good things I’d done this year. Then I forced myself to really think about what I had accomplished this year, and the good things that had happened.

There were a lot of resolution type things that I’d accomplished this year that I didn’t exactly put on my list. I decided to get fit and start eating right. I started taking a bootcamp cardio class at my local community center in January, but by March I had quit going. Resolution shame came over me. I’d failed already! But I persevered, and I joined the gym at the end of May, and I’ve been working out with a personal trainer there for almost four months. I’m eating right, exercising 6-7 times a week for an hour a day, and I look and feel awesome. And while it’s cost me an arm and a leg, it’s totally worth it because I’m investing in my future health and well-being. As far as I can count, I’ve lost 10 net pounds since January 1, gained a lot of muscle, and dramatically reduced my body fat percentage. That’s definitely something to feel good about.

Now, while I haven’t travelled to Ireland this year, and probably won’t due to financial difficulty, I have taken four trips this year. In February, my mom, dad, brother, and I all travelled to South Carolina to see my sister graduate from Army bootcamp. I don’t remember the last time I was so proud of anyone. And while I wanted to strangle my family several times on the trip, there were many great, touching moments, and I have never felt closer to them than I am now. I also traveled to New York for my uncle’s wedding in August. It was his fourth, but his first since getting sober 23 years ago. He’s a changed man, and I admire him. My new aunt is amazing, and so are all of her family members we met. It’s a great feeling to become connected to so many great people with a simple “I do.” And finally, in August and September, I made two trips to San Antonio for my best friend from high school’s bachelorette party and wedding. I’ve known her since fifth grade, and it was really special to see her tie the knot and move onto a different stage in her life.

After much reflection, I have decided my year wasn’t such a waste. And it’s really only September. Three months is plenty of time to learn to drive a stick shift and brush up on my Italian. I’ll also need to start thinking about resolutions for next year. I think maybe I’ll make just one instead of three. Any more accomplishments after my one resolution can just be bonus resolutions. I don’t want to stress myself out too much.

The book that changed my life and also made it more complicated

I read a book a few years ago that changed my life. No, it's not The Bible, although that changed my life too. It's called, He's Just Not That Into You.

The basic premise of the book (and movie by the same name) is that if a guy isn't calling you, taking you to the movies, asking you to be his girlfriend, marrying you, then he's just not that into you. He might be into you to some degree, but not enough to take any of the aforementioned actions you're upset that he's not taking. Now, the author does posit that there are always exceptions to the rule. This is what has made things so complicated. Every girl hopes her man or perspective man is the exception, not the rule. Yeah, I think you can see my dilemma.

The book has helped me a lot, because it has cut down on the amount of time I spend wondering why a super cute guy I met who was really flirting with me didn't ask me out, ask for my number, etc. If he'd been that into me, he would have asked. If there wasn't enough time or opportunity to ask (he met me in the middle of a hurricane) he would have tracked me down somehow. Greg, the author, says that you should take the amount of time it takes you to notice a cute guy and cut it in half, and that's the amount of time it take a cute guy to notice you. So the possibility that he might not have had enough time to realize how cute and fabulous you are is highly unlikely.

This was quite sobering, as I realized how much time I spent wondering why all these cute boys I ran into weren't asking me out. Women spend a lot of time analyzing things like, "Well, he said that he really liked my dress. So obviously he thinks I'm way cute! I wonder why he hasn't asked me out yet?", or "He said he was glad he ran into me today, why didn't he ask for my number? He obviously likes me!" It may seem silly, but women have great memories (maybe you already know this if you've ever forgotten a birthday or anniversary) and we analyze everything the cute guy ever did, said, or wore, and plug it into a formula that obviously says to us, "He's into you!" But then they never call, or ask for your number, and you are left totally confused as to what happened.

It's so simple: He's just not that into you. It seemed so obvious when I read the book that I felt like an idiot. How could I not have seen this sooner?

Greg is also a non-believer in girls asking out guys. According to his research (asking a few of his guy friends) most successful relationships come from guys asking out girls, not the other way around. I'm not sure Greg's research is legit, but I am pretty traditional in my belief that the guy should ask the girl out. And if the girl is making it pretty obvious that she's into him, it shouldn't be that hard for the guy, right? At this point I'd like to go into a tangent about another book I read called For Women Only that talks about the inner lives of men and their insecurities, one of the main ones being rejection. However, that would make this post much longer than it really needs to be. But for those reading this post who are thinking just that, that men fear rejection and it's not so easy for a guy to ask out a girl he likes, Greg also makes the point that, if a guy is really into you, he will overcome any obstacles in his way to get to you, whether those obstacles are a hurricane, shyness, an ocean, etc. This is why women love men so much. They are conquerors and overcomers. They strive to succeed at all costs.

This all makes lots of sense, but there are still times, like right now, when I meet a guy who seems so perfect. He's ridiculously good-looking, he makes me laugh, is very intelligent, is a Godly man, and we have so much in common. We always have a good time when I see him, and I look forward to seeing him. He even said once that he thought we'd have a really good time if we hung out. And it's been two and a half months and he hasn't asked me out, even just to coffee. I've dropped so many hints, like telling him to come see me at my other job where I work as a server, hinting we should hit the pool together, and inferring we should go to a movie. And nothing. He doesn't bite. And he's never mentioned a girlfriend or a wife the entire time I've known him. I don't get it. I'm awesome. He's awesome. He seems like the perfect guy for me. I told God the other day that if he had some other guy out there for me who was way better than this guy, than my mind would be truly blown, because this guy seems pretty awesome. He's just not that into me is really hard to accept right now, because it really seems like he is into me.

So back to the book, let's start the exception possibilities:

He recently got out of a really bad break-up and isn't ready to date yet.
He's afraid to ruin our professional relationship and maybe jeopardize his job.

That's all I can come up with. Other than maybe he's gay.

The hardest part is, I know that I'm awesome. I just don't understand why he doesn't think I am, and why he's not into me. Or why if he does think I’m awesome and he is into me, why he isn’t asking me out. That's the trouble with women. We always want to know why.

I think the one thing I remember Greg saying in the book is that while there may be some explanation or exception, a rockin’ girl like me can’t wait around forever. And if I really am a catch, someone else will catch me.

What Do I Do?

I’m sitting here at my desk with my headphones in, and the whole world is muted. I can hear sounds, but they are all muffled. I feel like this is the way a lot of people live their lives. Muted. Not really hearing, seeing, feeling, and living the way they were meant to. I feel like this is how I’m living my life.

What do I do? How do I break out of this muted life?

I feel like the answer is that I have to fight. I have to fight for what I want, for what I crave, for what I feel like I am meant to be doing.

I also feel like I’m on the brink of something. I feel like I’m chipping away at a wall of concrete and I’m about to break through to the other side. And once a hole appears in the wall, a little light will shine through, and I’ll be able to peek through to the other side. And when I get a glimpse of what is to come, it will give me the will and the power to take down what is left of the wall. In the future, when I look back at the crumbling remains of the wall that didn’t just fall down, but was made to fall down, I will remember how much I had to fight for what I have.

Now I just need to find a pick axe. Or a jackhammer. Or some dynamite.

(Listening to: What Do I Do? - Sam Phillips - Album: The Indescribable Wow)

Do you use supplements?

Over the weekend my roommate and I decided it would be a good idea to join 24 Hour Fitness, which is like the Mecca of workout facilities. It’s not like joining a community center, which I did at the beginning of the year. Oh, no. It's very different.

You see, the community center is a very non-threatening kind of environment. Community centers are mostly frequented by old people, families, and middle-aged men and women. That’s not to say a few young people won’t sneak in here and there, but for the most part, you aren’t surrounded by a bunch of protein shake guzzling meat-heads who think they are the next Mr. Universe or Vin Diesel. The people who check you in and hand you your towel look like your grandparents or the school librarian. Most of the folks working out there are fully clothed in t-shirts and sweat pants and aren’t wearing a speck of make-up or bronzer. It’s about getting in, working up a bit of a sweat, and getting out.

I walked into my new gym today after work and sheepishly approached the front desk. The lady standing behind the counter did not look like either of my grandparents, but looked more like Christy Brinkley. The young beefcake standing next to the Christy clone was pretty confused by the information I gave him. Although I understand that the statement, “I just got a membership on your website yesterday and this is my first time in,” is a very confusing sentence. Especially when the only thing feeding your brain is Muscle Milk.

Luckily, Christy Brinkley’s long lost twin stepped in and got me checked in. She then explained that I get a free training session to get me started, and she summoned one of the resident beefcakes to get me penciled in for my first session. As I waited for my beefcake trainer to arrive, a group of other beefcakes milled around a few feet behind the front desk. I thought for a moment that maybe their job was to just stand at the front of the facility and look buff and hot. They were all, as Zoolander would say, ridiculously good-looking. I started to feel frumpy standing there and began to question my choice of jeans and a t-shirt.

Luckily, my trainer arrived within moments. He was also ridiculously good-looking. I wondered to myself if they have any ugly people working there. I think my trainer’s name was Richard, or maybe it was Derrick. Any way, what’s-his-name was buff, brown, and beautiful, and was walking with a limp. He informed me that he hurt his knee in a game of basketball. I made a quip that maybe I didn’t want him as my trainer if he’s all gimpy. He then threw in a comment that his wife wasn’t too happy with him that he threw his knee out. I really hate it when men do that. Within thirty seconds to a minute of meeting you, they throw a “my wife” or “my girlfriend” into the conversation just to let you know that they aren’t available. They do this because they assume everyone wants to date them. Get over yourself Richard/Derrick. He scheduled our session for Thursday and we shook on it. He bid me goodbye, and I realized he must have forgotten that Christy told him to show me around the facility. I didn’t feel like wandering around like a lost idiot, so I just left.

Halfway down the front steps some guy in a polo shirt and slacks comes trotting out the front door after me. I think I met him earlier, before my beefcake trainer showed up. “Did you want to work out today?” he asked. “Uh, I guess,” I murmured. “Well let’s get you back in here,” he beamed, “and I can show you around and get you started on some cardio!” Great. He shook my hand for like the third time and introduced himself as the district manager. He's not much taller than me, but I'm sure you can guess that he was . . . buff and beautiful! That's right! I always imagine district managers to be old and usually a bit paunchy. Well, they usually are. But not a fitness center district manager! I realized at that point that Richard/Derrick would probably get chewed out later for letting me leave the facility without getting my workout on because that's what district managers do. They chew people out.

District manager guy, whom I lovingly named, Mr. Shaky, showed me to the women’s locker room and then showed me around the gym. We pass a few girls in the weight room who are completely done up with hair, make-up, and super cute workout outfits. I figured that if you sewed together all the material from their workout clothes you'd probably have enough material for a hand-towel. I started to wonder if this was a workout facility for supermodels and also wonder who let that old guy and that fat chick in over there. Mr. Shaky yammered on about all the machines, blah, blah, blah. He shook my hand about two more times before he let me be at some cardio machine. At that point, I'd been sucking in my stomach since I left the locker room and my abs were starting to burn. I did't want anyone there to know I was a little out of shape, God forbid.

After about 40ish minutes of cardio I called it a day. All the other people on their machines were probably thinking I was a big wussy since I could only do 40 minutes of cardio. I didn’t even lift any heavy weights or grunt while pulling and tugging on one of those crazy contraptions downstairs. I figured 40 minutes was enough time that Mr. Shaky wouldn't chase me out the front door again.

After grabbing my bag from the locker room, I headed for the front door. I tried to sprint out before Mr. Shaky saw me, but he spotted me and hollered a goodbye. Luckily he was too far away for another handshake, but he did remember my name as he hollered at me to have a good evening. I’ll give him five bonus points for that. Which brings him up to -7.

Sitting in my car all sweaty, I decided I need to get some looser workout shirts. If I keep having to suck my stomach in like this for 40 minutes at a time while working out, I might give myself a hernia. I also wondered if quitting the community center was such a great idea. Oh, well. Too late now!

I hate that this song reminds me of you.

I still think about you. I wish that I didn’t. It only makes me sad and angry. No one I’ve ever met has treated me worse than you did. And I still struggle to understand why. I struggle to understand what it was I did, other than love you in spite of yourself and your circumstances, to merit the pain you inflicted on me.

I still remember the first time I saw you when I was 16 years old, almost eleven years ago. If I’d only known then how much pain you would cause me, how many tears I would shed over you, and for how long our doomed relationship would rule my thoughts, dreams, and nightmares, I might have run the other direction.

It’s not like you hurt me physically, although I think sometimes it would be easier to forgive you for such behavior, as most of the time it’s easier to explain. What you did to me runs much deeper. You hurt me in areas that I didn’t know could hurt. You broke parts of my heart that I didn’t know could be broken. You can credit yourself with bringing me to the lowest point I have ever been at in my entire life. The point at which I felt utterly hopeless, completely worthless, and like I’d never be happy again. There were parts of me that I thought could never be healed. Parts that would always be broken. I remember thinking that I would never find a man who would love me more than he loved himself.

A little over a year ago, I lay in your arms crying. You were passed out from drinking too much. I placed my hand over your rapidly beating heart and, sobbing quietly to myself, begged God in prayer to save your tortured, dysfunctional soul. I asked for a miracle in your life and in mine. I cried out for help. Thank God for delivering me from you a few months later.

I am lucky to serve a God that never gave up on me. He never left me. And he is restoring and healing me in ways that no one else in heaven or on earth can. When all else fails and everyone else fails me, he does not. He is faithful.

I know that’s something you can’t understand. Being faithful.

I can only thank your brother for revealing to me what I had suspected all along; that you were a liar. You’d lied about almost everything. You were dating and/or sleeping with at least two other women, your home was nearing foreclosure, you had no job, and no real plan to find one, you were relying on your friends to pay your bills, and no, you didn’t really have brain cancer. That was the lie that made me feel most foolish. Who lies about having a terminal disease? And why?

I can’t tell you how many tears I’ve shed for you. Tears of anger, longing, sadness, and self-loathing. Tears of frustration, helplessness, loneliness and pity. Tears of grief, mourning, and rejection. I’ll bet you never knew there were so many different kinds of tears. It’s unfortunate that I can’t remember any tears of happiness shed for you.

Sometimes I think you might suffer from multiple personality disorder. I do remember a kind, funny, gentle man that surfaced on a few occasions. Maybe that man is the man you wish you could be all the time. Or maybe he was a lie too.

I don’t know why you felt like you had to lie to me. I accepted you as you were, and I told you that. I didn’t care that you’d been divorced twice and had a two-year-old son. I just wanted to be with you. One of the last times I saw you, I told you I wanted to move to Oklahoma to be with you; that I was tired of waiting to be with you. You told me you had to get yourself straightened out and work on some things, and until you did, you wouldn’t be any good to anyone. You said you wanted to be with me, and I told you I would wait. I’m glad I didn’t.

I’ve decided that if I can survive you, I can survive anything. I just pray that you survive yourself. I pray that you won’t be able to hurt anyone else like you hurt me. I pray that you won’t call or text me ever again. And I pray that you will fade into the back of my memory, with only the scars you left on my heart to remind me of how far God has brought me and how I never want to go back there again.