Making Conversation, Making Friends

I think that I am socially awkward. Most of the time, I have to really make an effort to get conversations going; sometimes I am more successful than others. But most of the time I get more and more anxious in the silence.

It’s sometimes difficult because I don’t have a lot of friends, and I want to have more friends, yet I’m not sure how to go about making friends.

However, I’ve picked up a few techniques to use when making a new friend or even just having a conversation with someone that I don’t really know very well. Now remember: everyone is different, and a lot of the conversation is all about the energy you and the other person are putting out into the universe. You know, it’s like The Secret.
1. Every time you break the silence, start the sentence/question with “so”. As in, “So, do you go to school?” or “So, did you hear about the mom drowned her babies in the bathtub?”

2. Ask questions about the other person. Everyone likes to talk about themselves, and they will like you for being interested in them too. “Where do you work?”, “What are you studying?”, “Where is, in your opinion, the best place to get Chinese?”
This last question actually has two sides to it- 1. You are getting a conversation going, and 2. Now you know of a good Chinese restaurant.

2b. Note: In asking the other person questions about themselves, it’s important to not make it seem like an interview. You actually want to listen to what the person’s saying because, after all, you are trying to make a friend. And even if you aren’t trying to make a friend, and you’re merely just trying to avoid awkward silence, it’s more awkward when you’re just firing questions at them like they’re bullet points.

3. Temporarily put your obscure interests aside. The newest Criterion Collection release or the newest issue of The Believer may be what interests me, but they’re not good conversation starters. It’s best to stick with the newest episode of How I Met Your Mother or “Can you believe Kanye West at the VMAs?”

4. This is a continuation of #3: Stay up to speed, at least to an extent, on current events. These are things which are accessible to everyone. (However, try and avoid politics, for obvious reasons- no one agrees with your opinion on a balance between socialism and capitalism which is your idea of complex equality which is real equality.)

5. Be funny. Even if things are really awkward, play off the awkwardness and hopefully you’ll get a laugh. Say you’re on a first date with someone, and an hour into the date they notice that your shirt is inside out. All you have to say is, “I’m trying to bring criss-cross back.”

And finally, this is not officially a rule, but rather, an overarching technique to all of these techniques: Get drunk. Whether you get drunk before going to Thanksgiving with the in-laws or you start drinking once you get to your husband’s show, just know that no one will like you sober. Remember though, don’t get so drunk to where you throw up on the person which you are trying to get to ask you for your number, but if you do throw up on them, go to trick #5 and say something like, “So, do you want my number now or not?”

Now I’m not guaranteeing that all or any of these are effective, and I won’t guarantee that you won’t regret using any of these techniques, but I will guarantee that if you try any of these techniques, then you have tried any of these techniques.

Anxiety, School, Perfection, One’s Purpose

I am finally finished with the semester. For the last 2-3 weeks of the semester, I felt as if I were in a constant daze. The anxiety and pressure were overwhelming.

Incidentally, no one was putting pressure on me, except myself.

In moments of such great confusion- where one is racing around trying to meet self-imposed goals- one neglects certain other needs and appetites. Anxiety coupled with feeling as if one is not fulfilling one’s purpose lead to assumable, inevitable acting out. I’m sure you catch my drift.

The hardest part is finding how to control the anxiety. The solution is to do the things that one knew one was meant to do: read, write, learn, etc. Since that is what makes one (me) happy since that is what one (me) is good at: learning.

When the semester had unwound and began to wind back up- I started to feel pressure to maintain my 4.0. As the pressure built up, it was becoming more difficult for me to enjoy learning, and it was nearly impossible to feel anything- this partly to do  with an old friend, unhealthy coping mechanism.

One of the last days of the semester, I felt worse than I had in a long time. One feels out of control because one is so crippled by anxiety that one refuses to recognize that one has the ability to study in order to make good grades. But when the pressure to maintain exceptional results of learning outweigh one’s actual love for learning, then learning itself feels like a chore: and anxiety grows.

When one finds oneself as this point in the game- a possible stalemate, it becomes a waiting game. In these times, I wait for one glimmer of inspiration or strength within myself in order to pull myself up. The difficulty is that one is so paralyzed by anxiety, the darkness overshadows almost everything- one begins to question what one thought one was suppose to be doing with ones life altogether. It is not truth, and the truth cannot be found there. But the truth will inevitably come back around.

The possibility of getting anything less than an “A” made me feel like a failure. The possibility in and of itself. What if I can’t get into Rice when the time comes? What if I can’t get my PhD? What if I have to work at an oil and gas company as an administrative assistant because I got my degree at UH?

So I waited- in complete paralyzation. Monday passed. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday, and I was finished. I felt relief because it was finished, but I was still feeling anxious because I didn’t know what the outcome of this semester would be. I began trying to make peace with the possibility of making a “B”.

Then Thursday afternoon/evening I got two e-mails from two different professors saying that appreciated me as a student. They both said (essentially- in so many words) that I was a great writer with a keen sense of developing ideas. I’ll spare you anymore- I’d hate to brag. Nonetheless, those e-mails reminded me that I was doing what I was suppose to be doing.

I might make a B, and I might not get into Rice, but I know that I am fulfilling my purpose nonetheless. I think it’s natural to question what one is doing with oneself/one’s life, but I think that the truth will always come back around. We will be reminded and reassured when we are doing what we are suppose to be doing- because even a glimmer of light and truth in the darkness penetrates it, and one’s purpose is undeniable.

Ethics and Mathematics

This morning I had a math test that I was fairly confident about; I knew that I could get by. What’s kind of funny about my math teacher though is that during tests, he will leave the room- intentionally giving us the ability to cheat. Now, I’m not a big cheater, but that’s mostly because I just keep to myself and I don’t want to get caught. Furthermore, if I’m caught in the act of cheating, it’s me who’s giving the other person answers, not the other way around- so I could be punished for trying to “help” (not in the long run, of course) someone else. But if someone wants to compare answers, I’m not a stickler.

Today as soon as our professor left the room, most people started comparing answers and working through the problems together. I don’t think of this as cheating, because I’m not taking someone else’s hard work and they’re not taking mine.

During the middle of the test, the woman sitting behind me tapped on my shoulder. I turned around and she had a problem written on her paper. She said, “How do I do this?”

I was taken off guard by her requests. She was asking me to take time from taking my test to actually teach her how to work the problem. So I said, “Sorry, I’m not very good at explaining it.” Which is true; I am not good at explaining how I got my answer; I just know how to do it. Plus, it would be much different if she said, “I got 5 for the answer, what did you get?” You understand my point, I’m sure.

I went back to taking my test. A few minutes later, I heard the woman talking to the girl beside her, “Some of these people are so selfish. They won’t even help you when you actually need help.” (Let me backtrack: she had gotten an attitude with me earlier in the test and told me to “ssshh” when I was working through a problem with the girl beside me. She said under her breath, “If you’re going to cheat, you don’t gotta be loud.” So I was already taken aback and a little miffed at her)

When I heard her blatenly say that I was selfish and didn’t want to help her, I turned around and said, “It’s not that we don’t want to help you; we just don’t have the time to actually teach it to you- during the test.”

She said, “Turn around; I wasn’t talkin’ to you. If I was talkin’ to you, I woulda said yo name.”

I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Alright then.”

I had mixed feelings of anger and guilt. I was angry that she didn’t understand what I was saying. It’s not as if I was unwilling to help her in general- if she wanted a study partner or tutor, I would be more than happy to help. I also felt a little guilt like I was being hypocritical.

I felt like such a republican in that moment. You see, I think that those who have should share with those who have not (when it is no fault of their own.) Whether your resources are money or knowledge, I think that it is good to share those good things with those who don’t have the opportunity to acquire those resources. For a moment, I felt selfish- maybe I should have sat there and tried to help her through it. After all, I knew the material.

However, I did not allow myself to feel guilty for long. In this class, she and I were given equal opportunity- to show up for class, ask questions, go to tutoring, do the homework, etc. It is no fault of mine if she did not prepare for the test. And although I have the knowledge/resources to pass the test,  it is not because those resources were distributed unevenly between her and me.

I still feel a little upset because I don’t want her to take it personally- which I’m pretty sure she did. I don’t want her to think that I don’t like her, or that I am altogether unwilling to help. I want to make the effort and clarify this, but since it’s the end of the semester, I probably won’t. Furthermore, it’s possible that she feels robbed by me to provide an opportunity for her to past the test- i.e. perhaps she feels as if it is her right to pass the test though unjust ways just so long as she passes. If this is the case, than explaining my position will not change her mind- when one’s perceived “rights” are at stake/involved, it is difficult to see the other side.

I am convinced that I did what was right, in that moment- especially considering that it took all class period for me to take this test, and that is without teaching her how to solve the problem. However, I’m not sure how unethical it is to teach someone during the test, if given the opportunity (i.e. teacher’s out of the classroom). You’re not just giving the answer away or throwing away your hard work. You are, essentially, teaching a man to fish- albeit a little late- but fish nonetheless.

Block Party, Arts, Music, Oil and Gas

This past weekend was the Westheimer Block Party. Sergio and I went on Saturday which was when Buxton played. On Sunday, Sergio was recording, so I went to the block party by myself. Part of me didn’t want to go because most people don’t recognize me without my rock star husband by my side, but I fought back the fear of being thought of as a loner loser and decided to go. I tried to check out as many bands as possible (i.e. not just the ones at the KTRU/Free Press Stage), and I can say that I was satisfied with every performance that I saw. I think that my many (slightly) embarrassing phases in my life have taught me to appreciate what a good version of a certain style of music might be (i.e. a talented punk band vs a non-talented punk band; and so on).

After listening to so many talented bands, I am convinced of what I thought was true: there is something happening in the Houston music and art scene. I don’t mean with just Buxton or Robert Ellis or the Wild Moccasins or whatever other band plays at Mangos frequently. There seemed to be a sort of sense of community during the block party.

People were coming out of the woodworks, flooding Westheimer to support the growing music scene. Where 3 years ago, a local show consisted of friends and family members of the band playing, the block party this past weekend was crowded with hundreds (thousands?) of people that I’ve never seen before (not that I know a lot of people or anything- I’m just saying.)

Houston has not been notorious for music or art like say Portland or Austin- that’s where the real artists go. Rather, we are known for our oil and our gas. If you live in Houston, odds are pretty likely that you or a family member of yours work in the oil and gas industry. However, I think that there is actually a correlation between the (alleged?)corruption of the oil and gas industry and the emergence of the music/art scene of Houston.

Art and music are natural mediums to express truth. However, if we suppress the arts in order to focus on a sphere  that is honored more (i.e. money, i.e. oil, i.e. thanks for the stability and house, chemical plant job!), than we are suppressing the truth in order to meet only our physical needs. Here’s the thing though- you cannot suppress the arts forever, especially during a time that one might call an “energy crisis”. The arts will reemerge: we need our outlets, and we need our truth.

Cue: the Westheimer Block Party. Which, as I’ve heard, has seen its last days- due to the unruly mobs(I mean, lots of people). The ridiculousness of the fact that it would be shut down because there are so many people there does not need be explained. While the Houston music and arts scene is growing, an event like the Westheimer Block Party should be supported by the city. If the city is based on oil and gas, then it is only natural that the arts would go along side as a balance- the other side of the spectrum. There’s money in them there chemical plants, so it’s only fair that a byproduct(so to speak) of the oil and gas industry(i.e. the aforementioned growing music and arts scene) should receive support from the industry itself through the city.

Perhaps I am the only person that feels this way, but I’m pretty sure that I’m not considering how many people were at the block party. I think that now we need to get together as a growing community and support the arts- not just the bands that our friends are in. Furthermore, we need to let the city (and new mayor) know that it’s something that we care about. If we don’t fight for truth through art and music, we’ll probably regret it if/when the oil and gas industry goes to shit and we’re all left unemployed.

Marriage, Mirage, 3 Years and Happy as a Clam

Next Wednesday (Novebmer 18th) is mine and Sergio’s 3 year anniversary. It’s strange to be 22 and have been married for 3 years. Naturally (I think), I wonder what it would be like to be a normal, single 22 year old. I usually imagine going out with girlfriends and getting hit on by strangers. In my imagination, it’s usually the positive things that  are happening to me.

Last night, however, I had a dream that I actually was single again. Things did not go as planned in my dream. There were 3 different guys that I was going on dates with, and I really liked all of them (this is ironic for reason I won’t go into). However, as the dream unfolded, the guys stopped calling me. I ended up getting rejected by all of them.

This dream brought me back to reality. Sure, I am charming and drop dead gorgeous, but that doesn’t mean that I would have the guys lined down the block to date me. It sort of reminds me of Walzer’s “Spheres of Justice”, where he says that a woman can be beautiful and charming, thus worthy of love, but it doesn’t mean that she is worth to be loved by “me” (or any specific individual i.e. you specifically).

Furthermore, I have already found the individual who’s love I am specifically worthy of. And we really do have the perfect marriage (for us). I don’t know what works for other people in their marriages, but I do know specifically what has worked for us: what keeps us on an even keel and very happy.

People say that the the first 1 or 2 years at the hardest. People also say that the 7th year is the most difficult. What I think is that people are just saying what year was most difficult for them.

When I was 17, my dad offered me the only marriage advice that he would ever offer me. He said
1) really think about if you actually want to have kids and raise them in this society
2) at least once a week

This second part of advice might sound very strange for a father to say to his daughter, “Make sure to have sex with your husband at least once a week.” I’ll admit, I was really disturbed when he gave me the advice, but I was probably most disturbed by the thought of my mom and dad actually having sex. Gross. But really, who’s going to offer you that kind of advice besides your dad? How would I have otherwise known the importance of sex to my husband? It would have been creepy for any other husband of someone to give me that advice.

Now, I’m not going to lie, this has been some of the best advice EVER given to me. I think that it really does help our relationship. Sure, you don’t feel like having sex every day, but it definitely won’t hurt to make the effort regularly. Furthermore, this is actually Biblical; unfortunately I don’t remember where it says this, but I will get back to you. The idea behind it is to keep your husband (and yourself) satisfied so that neither of you will be drawn to cheat on the other person in order to “get some” (loose translation).

I am convinced that if people are having marriage problems it is because of one (or both) of two reasons 1) They are just sexually frustrated, or 2) Money problems.

Sergio and I don’t live luxuriously, and this is beneficial to our marriage. We make the effort to live modestly and within our means so as to not cause strain on the relationship. I had heard somewhere, sometime, that the cause for most divorces was because of money. So Sergio and I agreed that there was plenty of time later on to buy nice things when we actually had money.

Not that I know from experience, but sexual frustrations plus money problems are probably why a lot of people with kids are frustrated with their spouses. I don’t know everyone’s situation, but it makes sense, right? You have less money because of the kids, and you have less time to enjoy each other. Am I right? Who knows.

Something else that I hate to see with married couples is a wife who nags a lot. It’s so painful to see her getting onto her husband, and he just kind of takes it like a little puppy. I just think, “Geeze, let him have his balls for crying out loud.” To me, when the Bible says to “Honor your husband”, it’s really saying, “Let him keep his balls.” I mean, let a man be a man. You can have your opinion, but just don’t be a bitch about it.

It also helps in a marriage when you guys actually like each other. Kurt Vonnegut once said, “I wish that people who are conventionally supposed to love each other would say to each other, when they fight, ‘Please— a little less love, and a little more common decency.’” Sergio and I just get along, and we treat each other like human beings. Let’s not forget that the other person’s feelings and opinion is just as valid as our own.

Granted, we’ve only been married for 3 years, so I am far away from writing any sort of marriage advice book. And what has helped our marriage be a very successful one might not be the same for someone else’s marriage. But that being said, ours is great and so, this post is dedicated to my Boo because I like him.

Christianity, Recovery Rant

I think it’s about time to post a blog, babbling on about where my spiritual life has been and where it is today. It’s also A LOT of ranting.

I was raised in church and became a Christian when I was little. After all, this is Texas. I won’t go into detail, but I will say that I did some pretty embarrassing things in order to “evangelize” or “save” some friends or even, strangers.

However, a significant shift in my faith occurred when I was 17 and developed my eating disorder. I can honestly say that I developed my eating disorder thinking that it made closer to God. I had always been a perfectionist, and, somehow, after a fast and listening to some misinterpretations of scripture, I had unintentionally become a Calvinist.

Me: a regular ‘ole  Puritan. I thought that if I disciplined myself enough in every aspect of my life (studies, food, sexual appetites, and so on), that I would become closer to God. I became convinced that if I wasn’t uncomfortable in some aspect of my life, that I wasn’t sacrificing enough of myself to God.

The problem with that is that we have natural appetites that need to be fed in order to keep us sane. If we restrict anything essential from our lives for too long, that thing will overcome us: a starve is overcome by a binge.

After becoming so overcome with my eating disorder, I felt so ashamed that I wasn’t disciplined, that I was more than ashamed to pray a prayer to only misbehave all over again. I had such a skewed view of God, that while I was afraid of doing wrong and so ashamed of doing it, I just ignored Him altogether.

I had been told that God either wants all of us or none of us, and since I knew that I would never be able to give all of myself (i.e. be perfect), I would just run and hide in shame. I never stopped believing in God, but I was so afraid to disappoint.

The problem with this is that I somehow forgot all about why Jesus was here to begin with: forgiveness. Obviously I’m a huge disappointment, that’s why God offers grace through Jesus. Nice.

In my recovery, I tried to pull myself up by my bootstraps and read books on views of God and Christianity. But it seemed like everyone had different interpretations of how I should or should not think of God. I would read something that I agreed with, then read something that completely contradicted that and I agreed with that as well. That’s what got me into this whole mess: misinterpreting.

Then, I started thinking about Jesus. I have become so frustrated with Christians with their theologies, ideologies, politics (should I go on??), that I am ashamed and no longer call myself a Christian. Why do we even name ourselves? Christians: with our buzzwords and evangelism. If I am a “Christian”, I should be following and living by what Jesus said: not some guys interpretation of what Jesus said.

What do we say that it means to become a Christian? To say a prayer- To ask Jesus into our hearts? Can’t we just start praying to him? I mean, wouldn’t that be a sure fire way for Him to know that we believe in Him? I mean, if I’m talking to you, obviously I think that you’re there, I don’t need to say, “I believe in you, won’t you come into my heart?” What do those words mean anyway? If we want Jesus to “come into our hearts”, shouldn’t we just start obeying what he commanded us? (i.e. loving our neighbor)

What do we mean by evangelism, anyway? Jesus said to make disciples, not converts. He said to love your neighbor, not try and convince them. I love my friends, and I hang out with them because I like them and we have stuff in common, not because I want to “save” them. How condescending to call someone “lost”.

I know this is unorganized and ranty, but I am just so frustrated with Americanized Christianity.
I just believe what Jesus said, and I think he was a pretty nobel guy. Everything else related to the organization of Christianity can just go to hell, for all I care. Granted, a lot of this thinking is because of where I am in my life and coming out of recovery from my eating disorder, so if you’re offended, show some grace. However, I do think Christians need to do some serious reforming.

Rap helps you run: It’s a fact

In training for a marathon, I run “Short runs” during the week, and one day during the weekends, I have a “long run”. I used to do my long runs on Sundays, but I switched it to Saturdays. That being said, today was my long run. The goal: 14 miles.

The hardest part about running 14 miles (if you’ve been training) is not necessarily the physical aspect; it is the mental. When starting the run, the biggest obstacle is knowing, “This is going to take at least 2 hours and 20 minutes.”

Here is a breakdown of the obstacles in running 14 miles.

Miles 1-9: Thinking, “Sweet Jesus, this is going to take forever.”
Mile 9-10: One gets what is called Runner High: it is similar to feeling as if you are, in fact, The Hulk
Mile 10-11: The obstacles become more physical than mental: Chafing begins at this point.
Mile 12: One begins swearing out loud
Mile 13: Sure, you’re almost done, but then, you realize that it’s quite possible that you are actually dead
Mile 13.2: You start to cry
Mile 14: Sure, you are done, but you realize that you probably are dead
The Rest of the day: You smell like Bengay

You might be thinking, “That sounds horrible. Why would you even put yourself through that?”
To that I will say, “O, for a few reasons.”
1) The runners high: it’s actually unlike anything you’ve ever felt naturally (meaning-without substances)
2) The most amazing sense of accomplishment afterward
3) Have you seen my legs?
4) I can eat ALOT
5) It’s good to have discipline of some sort in your life
6) It’s pretty cool to say, “Ya I just ran 14 miles.”

Self-indulging, friendless… what’s not to love?

I contribute my eating disorder to many different factors, but I would say that the biggest player in the game would be not feeling good enough. Like all overachievers, growing up, I never felt good enough. I have mostly learned to do what I’m good at in order to actually feel good enough. Which is incidentally why I am writing this blog right now- because I am just feeling terribly insecure and not good enough.

Earlier today, at the HCC southwest campus there was a sort of panel/discussion of the book, Hot, Flat, and Crowded by Thomas Friedman. My humanities teacher was on the panel, and told our honor’s class that if we went and wrote a summary of the discussion that we could get extra credit. Now, all of our classes are at the Central campus, so we’d have to commute over there between classes.

Let me backpedal here for a moment- I can’t say that I have really made any good friends in the honor’s program. I like everyone and all, but I do feel terribly left out. So I decided, today, that I would try and get some friends to ride with me to the discussion, so that I could try and build some relationships. I thought that maybe the reason I wasn’t making any friends was because I needed to make more of an effort, so I decided to make the effort. In fact, this morning, I got up early to clean out my car to impress my new friends, whoever so chose to ride with me.

After our History class, we were all talking about who was going to the discussion and someone offered to give people rides, so I decided that was the perfect time to speak up as well. I said, “Ya, I can take some people too.” We were all sort of looking around, so I only let it hang in the air for a moment before moving on. Nobody accepted my offer, but I was determined to find some friends to ride with me.

As I was walking to my car, I walked slowly, hoping someone would catch up with me, and I could extend the offer. Nobody did, but I decided to swing by the Honor’s Lounge to see if anyone there was going and wanted to ride with me. There was nobody in there; I’m assuming they were already heading to the conference.

I almost didn’t want to go to the discussion, but I decided to go. More often than not, when I decide that I don’t want to do something that I know I really want to do, I regret greatly if I don’t do it. I decided to drive alone, in my clean car, if nothing but for the extra credit.

When I got to the conference, there were dozens of round tables set up, and I searched earnestly, yet quickly so as not to appear desperate. When I realized that I didn’t recognize anyone, I walked up to a table and asked the girl sitting there, “Can I sit here?” extending my arm to the chair next to her.

She looked up at me and 3 seconds went by, which is a long time to not get a response, so I said, “O sorry. I’ll just sit somewhere else.”

And she said, like you would say to a homeless person or someone else that you feel sorry for, “No, you can sit here.”

“That’s okay,” I said.

I decided to go to the restroom and hoped that when I got back, I would recognize someone.

I came back to the room, looking around for someone I recognized. Then, suddenly, one of my fellow honor’s classmates waved at me, so I went to sit at the table she was at. She was sitting with our professor and some other professors as well as the leaders of our Honor’s Society chapter. I felt sort of uncomfortable sitting there because I knew I wouldn’t have a chance to jet out early because I was sitting right up front. I didn’t mind though because she had waved me down; she pursued me. She was my confidant.

However, moments before the discussion started, she got up from the table, with no explanation and went to sit in the back. I wanted to look back at her to see where she was sitting- where I could move to that was safer. But I couldn’t look back now; I would appear even more desperate and lost than I already was: sitting at a table with everyone that was soon going to be on stage.

I pictured it: everyone at my table going up on stage; me: sitting at the table alone.

“I didn’t know the table was reserved,” I would say with my eyes as everyone wondered why I was sitting by myself.

“I was practically invited to sit here, but then my invitee left me for people who are more fun.” I explained in the hypothetical situation in my mind: trying to fight back loneliness.

I can’t remember the last time that I’ve had a best friend. “boo hoo,” I know. Poor, pitiful me. But today was the embodiment of the rejection that I have always felt by friends that I’ve had. Sure, I was their best friend for a short time, but I was always left for the more-fun, party girl. It sounds so high school- and maybe that’s because this was when it happened.

It sounds so pitiful, and I hate writing this, “Feel sorry for me” complaint, but sometimes you just feel so alone, you know? I have Sergio, and he’s my best friend. But there’s just something so terribly depressing about going out alone or even staying in alone with he’s on tour, recording, etc.

What’s worse is that I don’t know how to make friends. I have dreams about having girlfriends to go and have drinks with or go shopping with. But if I hang out with anyone when Sergio is busy, it’s my mom. Who, ironically, was my reason for feeling not good enough for the first 18 years of my life. But now, aside from Sergio, she’s the only person that I feel good enough when I’m around.

I know this pity party is so self-indulgent, but after feeling so bad all day, indulging myself in the blog is the only thing that makes me feel better.

Talent and Justice and Childhood

In both the Bible and Plato’s Republic, it is mentioned that we are all given certain gifts/skills in which we practice well. The Bible calls these spiritual gifts, Plato calls them skills, of a sort. The Bible says that practicing your spiritual gift is participating in and contributing to the body of Christ. Plato says that you are participating in the functioning of justice within the city as well as within yourself.

Both seem to suggest that we are given a certain skill from birth, and throughout our childhood and into our adulthood, we are prone to practice those things because it is good in and of itself, but also good for it’s consequence: this is what Plato calls justice. If I am a natural athlete, although practice is required, I will become more successful in that craft than someone who is maybe more inclined to arts yet wants to practice athletics.

Growing up, I remember times of trying to force myself to be something other than what I was. I tried out for cheerleading and didn’t make it. I took piano lessons and fumbled through every recital. It seems as if there are more failures than successes in my trying to find what I was most inclined to, but there are specific instances in which I remember feeling most comfortable and confident.

In the 1st grade, during Christmas time, my class was putting on a performance for our parents in which we could choose from dozens of entertaining things relating to performance. It was set up as a series of acts- or sorts of expressions: like a Christmas talent show. I chose to recite a poem from the perspective of a shepherd. It was probably 20 or so lines, and I memorized each one and practiced daily in front the mirror. My dad stole a shepherd’s costume from our church that was used during pageant season. It was what you would imagine: a burlap-like smock, head dress, rope belt. He even managed to swipe shepherd’s staff. This contributed to my fully being able to get into character.

On the day of the show, I proudly wore my costume, but since it was December, my mother made me wear tennis shoes instead of the sandals which I persisted. The tennis shoes took away the illusion and reality of my character, so I took them off and went barefoot once at school. All of the other girls were dressed up in cute elf costumes or pretty holiday dresses, and I won’t say that I didn’t feel less than cute- insecure, in fact. But when the time came for me to step in front of everyone and recite my poem, I held my head high, and it felt more right than anything I could remember doing before then. I loved the character and the way the words flowed out of my mouth- the rhymes and rhythm that are a language in and of themselves that can’t only be appreciated by adults, but rather those whose souls were made for words.

There is a similar instance in 2nd grade in which our class put on a talent show. This one was not exclusive to Christmas- we could chose anything that we’d like. It seemed as if all of the girls in the class, except me, were in some sort of extracurricular cheer/dance program. I despised my mother for never even suggesting to me, or even knowing the importance of a young girl knowing how to dance and dress in skirts with lots of makeup on. When all of the girls were signing up to either dance or sing (another thing in which I have never been skilled at), I cowered in my seat thinking that I wasn’t good at anything. Someone should have given my parents the memo that real girls either dance or sing.

When my teacher pulled me aside and asked what I would like to do for my talent, I said read a book. She was crouched down to my level, she smiled and gave me a hug, and my decision was affirmed.

I decided to read a book about a girl that played softball but wasn’t really good at softball. I wore softball uniform that I had because I played softball that year. When I say that I played softball, I mean that I sat on the bench trying not to cry while my dad yelled, “Aye Coach! Why don’t ya put my kid in the game?!” My costume was practically brand new when I wore it the day of the talent show. I’m sure that it looked as if my parents had bought the outfit just for the occasion.

Once again, all of the girls were dressed as cute as can be. Their long, tan legs extending from under their short, skanky, cheerleading skirts. The other girls, the singers, wearing glittery dresses with their hair in soft curls. I was wearing a golden yellow visor and cleats.

I performed somewhere in the middle of the set, intimidated by the high kicks and vibrato. But, once again, when I sat down to read, my legs kicking back and forth, I didn’t seem to mind that I looked like, what would now appear to be the lesbian of the class. I read with passion and fluidity. Unlike my class mates who fumbled over words and sentences when they read aloud, I thought to myself something along the lines of, “5th grade reading level, bitches.”

Also: In 3rd grade, I won a writing contest out of the state of Texas.

All of this being said is to show that we should not try to practice a skill that we envy in someone else. What is honored might be singing or being business savvy or whatever, but we will never be satisfied if we try and practice those things which we wish we have rather than that which we actually have. I might not be the most beautiful or elegant or practice those things related, but I don’t mind when I am confident in what I write or when I read something beautiful, and I understand it and know that others might not ever fully understand it the way that I do.

Furthermore, I can’t see the nerdy book worm being predisposed to pole dancing. Think about that.

The Resolution Hangover

Today I feel a sense of inspiration that one can only feel related to resolution as a result of shameful behavior. I threw up yesterday. It goes to show that when one is feeling the most invincible or at least the most bored that one finds oneself in mid-bend over the toilet saying, “You know, I really don’t care to do this.” But then you do it anyway because you might as well, and tomorrow is a new day.

The addiction of resolution is part of what makes the eating disorder so appealing. One can, daily, feel resurrected. As one stands upright, we emerge from the tomb- wash our faces: wash away our sins. Imagine salvation daily. Or for those non-spiritually minded: everyday is New Years Eve- we hold to the promise of tomorrow: the dreams of a trimmer figure, more self-discipline. The manifestation of inspiration is in it’s purest form, uncorrupted by the fall of mankind: the Garden of Eden is perfectly still. Until you take the bite from the apple.

The perfection will inevitably be spoiled, and it precedes the shame. That’s the beauty of salvation: the continual begging for forgiveness- the red washed white: a warm bath after a long day, or a cold drink of water when one is most parched. It is the build up and release- the binge and the purge, the foreplay and the orgasm- the rebellion and the resolution to never do it again.

I have learned to stop saying that I will never do it again. I don’t expect a miracle. I don’t expect to pray the right prayer at the right time with the right amount of faith and expect my slavery to be abolished. If salvation were not more than a snap of the fingers, than wisdom and strength would be near impossible to obtain. I don’t use this as an excuse to practice my eating disorder when reality becomes to impossible to face, but rather they are goals and a reason to do everything within my power to resist temptation and face the anxiety.

Today, I feel inspired, not because I promised to never purge again, but because I am glad that yesterday is over. I look back to what happened yesterday, and instead of one-dimensional prayer for thinner days, I see where my first mistakes were. I see that there were events that lead directly up to my missteps, and the choices that I could have made that would have produced different results. I don’t look at yesterday with regret, but with hope that I will know how to behave differently when those situations come up again. If I do make the same mistake again in the future, then at least I can always hope for tomorrow.