Day by Day: The Quantified Self: Morning Pages

I recently started doing the Artist's Way study. Described as "A spiritual path to higher creativity," it's basically rehab and recovery for your creative, artistic, imaginative self.

One of the core components of the book is something called morning pages: everyday, you wake up early and write three pages, stream-of-consciousness--no stopping, no editing (free-writing).

I've kept a journal since I was 11 and I've always been partial to writing longhand. But at the suggestion of someone else in my study group, I started using an online app called 750 Words.

The premise is simple: Write at least 750 words every day. That's it.

So far it's been extremely helpful. Something about going to the same place online everyday and seeing virtual confirmation of my consistency and word count makes a big difference. Plus, 750 Words will give you a breakdown of not only your words per minute, but also things like what you are feeling and thinking (I know, it's weird).

Accurate.

Hmm. Not accurate. Though I do love bacon.

Granted, some of the conclusions feel either far-fetched or a bit obvious (it regularly records that my mindset is "introverted" when I write--no kidding). 

Sounds about right.

Hug me. Now.

There is also the opportunity to include metadata in your daily entires. I haven't tried this feature yet, but it would be interesting to graph everyday data as a quantified self.

I just discovered this feature: If you click back on your daily entires, there's an option to view your words with the analytics applied, explaining how they come up with their results.

Choose the second option.

750 words is free for the first month. After that it is $5/month.

There is also a free French site that operates on the same concept. I haven't used it yet, but I may be giving it go when my free trial runs out at 750 Words.

So far I've been writing (almost) everyday, sometimes longhand, sometimes in the app. I highly recommend trying morning pages no matter what the medium. They provide a blank space in which to reflect, rant, process, emote, feel good, feel bad, feel into.

Morning pages are awesome.

Day by Day: The Quantified Self: Sketching

“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives."

-Annie Dillard

"Live all you can; It's a mistake not to."
-Henry James

At my last job, we had these awesome whiteboard walls--four blank canvases for thoughts, ideas, sketches, possibilities.

I adored those walls.

They opened up a new way of thinking for me--visually, rather than analytically--by nature, I am less likely to draw something and much more likely to write it out. Like in a blog, for example.

I can't draw. Okay, I can barely draw. Stick figures are a challenge.

But since then, I've been looking for a way to add some kind of data visualization to my life.

I am also what you might call "between jobs" (unemployed), and so with large blocks of unscheduled time (*gulp*), I want to quantify in some way how I am spending my life.

I use the term "quantify" loosely--I might eventually get to actual numbers and graphs. We'll see.

"I spent my life marathoning 'Breaking Bad.'"

"I spent my life making sure that people in Germany would be able to watch CSI, season 13."

"I spent my life eating ice cream to battle the heat, while refusing to turn on the AC."

"I spent my life talking to people and asking questions."

"I spent my life doing fun things with friends."

Each of these is true, in their own way--

I started reading about the quantified self via Sacha Chua and her index card sketches. I also downloaded the Cardflow app on my iPad (I'm loving it so far!)

By sketching out what I do on any particular day on a virtual index card, I can record and visualize both how I am spending my life and whether I am living all that I can, à la Henry James.

My attempt

Inspiration. Photo by Sacha Chua

Hopefully, this will be the first in a series about using different apps to record life on a day-by-day basis in different mediums: words, pictures, video, etc. 

Going to Therapy Changed My Life

Not my notes, but a pretty cool idea. Photo by Sacha Chua 

I first sought help for my brain because my body was killing me.

I had been experiencing severe pain and discomfort that seemed to have no tangible physical explanation. A few WebMD searches later, and I was either headed to an early grave or doomed to spend the rest of my life with a debilitating, painful disease.

The fear was overwhelming.

I signed up for therapy, online (Thank you, technology).

I had been thinking about going for years, but it was pain and fear that pushed me over the edge.

Going to therapy changed my life, and all I could think was, "Why didn't I do this sooner?"

Therapy is not a panacea: a cure for every kind of physical, emotional, spiritual or mental pain. But it has been a powerful, healing force.

So in case you've been thinking about going, or you went once and never went back, or you used to go, but stopped--

My intent is to address some of the barriers that kept me from taking the first step. Maybe you can relate.

I didn't go to therapy because...

1. No one in my family ever went to therapy, talked about going, or mentioned it as an option.

There are certain kinds of pain that are not okay to talk about. It could be physical pain--to be transparent, part of what propelled me into therapy was the way in which my family both did and did not respond to my physical (and by extension, emotional) pain.

It might be helpful to ask:

What kinds of pain are okay? Not okay?
How am I allowed to talk about pain?
What does empathy look like in my family?
Is there a distrust around being vulnerable? Is there an escape from it, such as humor, sarcasm, distraction, ridicule, ignoring, anger, silence?
How does my family treat vulnerability in general?

2. I had never experienced a major, identifiable trauma that would justify going.

There's a social stigma to seeking therapy: that something deep and terrible must be wrong with you. Well, I definitely felt like there was something wrong with me, but I had nothing to point to, to say, "This! This is why I feel broken."

There's a false sense of shame that tends to go with trauma, even vague, unidentifiable trauma. There's a false sense of shame around needing help. But shame doesn't mean there is something wrong with you--and neither does going to therapy.

If your buddy sprained his ankle, would you ridicule him for going to the doctor instead of playing full court basketball?

"C'mon! What's wrong with you! Why can't you keep up?"

Just like you wouldn't feel shame over going to the hospital for an infected wound or broken bone, seeking therapy merely means that you are human, and that it's possible that things could get better, could be better.

3. I had a traumatic experience with pastoral counseling.

Just as there is a social stigma to therapy, there can also be a spiritual stigma--the belief that God, the church, your pastor, small group, the Bible, and ten hours of prayer per day should be able to cure all that ails you emotionally and psychologically.

There's the belief that simply grasping the truth of "God loves you" and maybe a few cathartic crying sessions at the altar will bring healing to even the deepest, most ingrained sense of shame.

I really wish that were true.

I'm not completely discounting pastoral counseling or any of the spiritual practices listed above. But I have also experienced firsthand how damaging it can be to receive non-professional counseling that both goes too far and doesn't go far enough.

I believe the intent of my pastor was not to harm me, but to help me. However, emotionally it was akin to performing surgery without proper training, exposing a deep wound to the air and the elements, and then expecting my heart to heal itself.

It didn't.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with seeking professional help outside of the church. There is nothing wrong with going to a non-Christian therapist, even if you are a Christian.

There is nothing wrong with being hurt because someone dug around in your emotional guts with a penknife and had absolutely no clue what they were doing.

I wish at the time that instead of shutting down because I was "broken" (and if not even God or my pastor or my spiritual community could help me, who could?), that I had sought out a professional therapist.

4. I thought I couldn't afford to pay for therapy.

This was a huge barrier for me.

Therapy is expensive. I had no health insurance. However, I was also unaware that there are many low-cost and affordable options for seeing a therapist.

I eventually found a non-profit organization in Los Angeles that provides sliding scale membership and counseling services. If it weren't for the availability of low-cost counseling, I don't think I would have ever gone.

Again, therapy is not a panacea. Not all therapists are created equal. It really helps to find the right fit.

If you are thinking about going to therapy, I hope that you take the leap. The barriers are real, but you are definitely, definitely worth it.



[If you would like information on low cost therapy options in the Los Angeles area, please contact me.]

Millenials, Entitlement, and Happiness

So, this article came out and people are linking to it and responding to it and I thought I would throw some of my thoughts out there into the mix as an early (late?) millennial who has thoughts, dammit, and wants those thoughts to be heard [I do have a blog, after all. I am Generation Y. Hear me make tentative suggestions via an impersonal platform]. 

Thirst for Adventure

I am a millennial. Sometimes, I confuse adventure with happiness. Whether it's studying abroad, backpacking through Asia, snowboarding the alps, going to Burning Man, eating an endangered species of fire ant, being homeless for a month, or hitchhiking through the Sahara desert, I want to do it all--right now. (Maybe I can raise the funds for my backpacking trip through Kickstarter? Hmm.)

There's this restlessness inside me that refuses to be quenched unless I'm saving orphans in Papua New Guinea while simultaneously inventing a new system of water filtration and launching the latest and greatest app for the iphone. 

I just feel like I'm in stasis, you know. 

I've got it! I'm going to move to LA and pursue a career in filmmaking.

Unnecessary Suffering

Okay. I have a college degree and a background best described as "middle class." I have a few resources (see also "Mommy & Daddy" below).

But, since I'm following my dreams and chasing adventure, I'm living well below the poverty line, subsisting on food stamps (but still eating organic!), sharing an apartment with at least 5 other dudes, and missing one or two student loan payments. 

I work in food service, which I hate, but hey, at least the hours are flexible so I can intern at the record label two days a week. Half the people there don't even refer to me by name (I'm "that weird intern"), but at least I'm pursuing what I love. 

I don't have a car and that sucks, but I think riding the bus is giving me some really good ideas for this screenplay I'm writing about a young person who moves to the big city and meets this homeless man who gives him tons of great advice about how life is about more than just material possessions.

Underemployed and Loving It

Heck, I have so much free time between jobs, I'm writing at least two pilots right now, which I hope to pitch at the monthly networking event I go to (free drinks!). 

I'm thinking about taking an acting class so I can become a better director. I know it's pricey, but if I up my hours at the Cheesecake Factory I should be able to afford it. 

You know who I saw at a party the other day? Ryan Gosling's younger brother, Joe. I wonder if he would be interested in my script about flesh eating slugs who turn out to be harmless, peace-loving aliens with a mission to turn the whole universe vegan.

Mommy & Daddy

I'm not proud about it, but every so often my parents put money in my bank account when I'm not looking. 

I just know that they believe in me and they believe in my dreams as much as I believe in me and my dreams. 

Thanks, Mom & Dad. 

Don't Quit Your Day Job

I work in a book warehouse packing books. Boxes upon boxes of used books arrive at the warehouse every day and are sorted into two piles: keep and throw away. 

One co-worker refers to them as "boxes of broken dreams":

Becoming a Successful, Working, 'Yes, This is What I Do to Pay My Bills' Actor.

Move Out of Your Parent's Basement: A Spiritual Guide

You Too Can Get That Impossibly Beautiful Woman Who is Way Out of Your League to Have Sex With You

Sell Your Screenplay in Five Easy Steps

Every self-help book starts sounding like it's directly judging my life choices: 

If You Have a College Degree And Are As Smart as Your Kindergarten Teacher Said You Were, Why are You Working for Minimum Wage In A Warehouse With No AC During the Summer?

And

What Are You Doing With Your Life? What Would Your College Alumni Magazine Think of You Now?

And 

You Are a Failure

Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Do not have health insurance. Do not have a good answer when people ask, "What do you do?"

Keep or throw away. Keep or throw away.

Follow Your Dreams

I am a millennial 20 years later. No one writes articles about me anymore. Now, there is a new generation to pick on (I hope they give them a stupid name too. Like "perennials.")

My life has exceeded my expectations, but not in the ways I thought it would. 

I'm still pursuing my dreams--but those dreams have changed or morphed into something new. I know how lucky I am to have these dreams and to have the freedom to pursue them. 

I am happy.

Career Myths, or Do What You Like

I recently ran across an essay by Paul Graham entitled How to Do What You Love. It's a good essay; I would recommend it.

Anyway, it got me thinking (imagine that) about certain fallacies--namely, how incorrect beliefs about work keep people from choosing the right career.

It seems like stupidly simple advice, but if anything I would tell a hypothetical someone--me, in my near past perhaps--to "Find something you like." There's an even stupider reason for this advice. Namely I find it extremely difficult, nay, damn near impossible to do things I don't want to do. Even if I need to do them. Even if I should do them. Even if for the love of all things bright, shiny, and wonderful I should want to do them.

Let me introduce you to my good friend, self-deception.

Maybe you can avoid my fate--by challenging these three myths:

The Myth of Pain

In college, I lived implicitly by the tenets of academic masochism: taking 24 units a semester, signing up for that 8:00 AM Trig class, pulling all-nighters every time I had a paper due, you name it. I took a class on non-Shakespearean Renaissance literature my senior year because I wanted to, not because I had to (yeah, I was one of THOSE people).

Somewhere along the way, I got the idea that pain = me becoming a better person. I think in my head I had this (false) image of perfect me. Perfect Me was not only smart, but disciplined. She studied diligently for each class. She never procrastinated. She got straight As.

In reality, I was a terrible procrastinator, never studied as much as I should have, and never got perfect grades.

Perfect Me? Yeah, she never existed. And she never will.

But strangely, it's hard to let that image die. More specifically, it's hard to let go of the belief that if I just do these (good) things, if I just go through this pain, I'll become who I want to be.

The myth of pain taught me that if I wasn't having fun, I just needed to knuckle down and try harder.

Yes, suffering can be good for you, but suffering can also be unnecessary. Do what you like. How do you know if you like it? You don't put off doing it. You look forward to it. No one's holding a gun (or paycheck) to your head.

The Myth of Talent

There's the line of thinking that goes, figure out what you're good at, and go do that.

This is terrible advice.

First of all, there's no future in updating your facebook status every hour and second of all, you could be good at doing something you hate.

Being good at something can create a false sense of responsibility: "I'm a good basket-weaver, so if I don't pursue basket-weaving I'm depriving the world of my talent."

Poppycock. Chances are you are good at more than one thing.

But, you major in engineering because you're good at math and science. Or you get a job at Starbucks because you pull a mean expresso. Or your mom always told you you were good with words so you go to law school.

And now, you hate your job.

There's another way this plays out: you're good at X. People notice you're good at X. You get a promotion/raise/contract to do X. You get all the perks that go with doing X well: approval/recognition/appreciation. People start asking you to do X in your free time. You say yes, because oh my gosh, someone needs me! Over time, you start to become resentful of X. You feel used. Dissatisfied. Drained.

Talent does not equal calling.

Do what you like. How do you know if you like it? You're willing to make an ass out of yourself doing it. You're willing to go through that awkward stage where you have no idea what you're doing. You're willing to suck.

The Myth of Altruism

So you wanna change the world? You want to be a social worker, a missionary, a caretaker.

These are all wonderful jobs. However, they may not be the right jobs for you.

Dr. A.J. Drenth has a take on this as it relates to the INTP personality type (that would be me):

"This desire for affirmation and validation may cause INTPs to overlook good career options because, on the surface, such careers seem too far removed from the source of their desired validation: people. So rather than choosing a career in science, for instance, INTPs may opt for what amounts to a “quick fix” for their inferior and select a people-oriented career, such as healthcare or human services. While at first blush, such people-oriented careers may “feel right” to INTPs (or more specifically, to their inferior function), it is rarely long before they realize that this is not the case. INTPs are better off with a career that allows them to use their top two functions (Ti and Ne) to help others (Fe) in a less direct fashion."

To put it briefly, INTPs don't do well in high-contact careers.

The myth of altruism says, I want to help people, therefore I need to help them in the most direct way possible--otherwise, it doesn't count. 

Have you ever felt secretly guilty that you don't want to be a missionary? Or live in the inner-city? Or scrub floors at a health clinic? 

It's okay. You would be terrible at it anyway. 

Do what you like. How do you know you like it? You're not operating out of a sense of guilt or obligation. Your sense of empathy is not exhausted. You still like people.

Tune in next time for a quiz!

Shame, Expectations and Unnecessary Suffering

I was on the verge of tears--not at sad news though. At happy news, good news, welcome news. These, however, were not happy tears, I'm dismayed to report. These were more like tears of frustration--frustration over unnecessary suffering.

I'm sure none of you were ever like this, but as a child, I was fully capable of making myself unhappy--of denying myself good things like forgiveness, hugs, even pastry, because I was determined to be miserable, no matter what. There's a pride of grief, of unhappiness, of cutting off your nose to spite your face, because it's MY nose dammit, and I'll do what I please with it. Let the noseless rejoice in their sweet, if unsavory, suffering. 

Of course as an adult, my suffering is much more refined now, if still as unnecessary as ever. For one, there's procrastination, which many agree is a fine, even dignified form of suffering. You suffer, you suffer, you get the work done--and then the suffering ends, and you're left with nothing but emptiness where the suffering once was. 

Then there's the suffering of extremes, the rushing from one pole to the other in a frenzy of self-abnegation. Pick a personal fault, any fault. Perhaps you are prideful, insensitive, egotistical--sometimes. Generalize this fault into an all-encompassing final word on the nature of your basic character. You are arrogance itself. Criminally insensitive to other people. You are flawed to the core, and somehow, it feels so right to be so wrong. Tears. Abasement before God and perhaps other people. It all makes sense now. And this suffering will save you from yourself. 

And let's not forget the suffering of standards and expectations, your own and others', that you will never be able to live up to. Ever. The kind of things where you fail before you even start. Where you can never make him or her happy, no matter how hard you try. And even if you make that grade, get into that school, land that job, they will never be proud of you. And even if they were, it still wouldn't be enough. The kind of standards where you're tempted to say, screw it. Forget it. I won't even try. But even then, the bitterness rises up inside of you. And you suffer. 

And what about the suffering of miscommunication. Missed communication. Message not received. This one, perhaps, eats me up most of all. You spoke, but I was not listening. But I heard you say--But you never said--And I never bothered to ask--Because to ask, for clarification, for reassurance, for love, is to admit vulnerability. To admit that I need you. That I need. All that I wanted was there for the taking. I had only to ask. But I did not ask because I did not want you to know how much I wanted to ask. I would not risk even that one moment of vulnerability, because I would rather you see me as self-contained and complete, needing nothing, no one. 

Which brings me to the suffering of self-sufficiency. Some people, and I don't admit to knowing anyone like this, would much rather suffer than ask for help. Would much rather risk isolation than rejection. Let's be real here. There are certain types of martyrdom that are very highly regarded in our society, the most socially accepted of them all probably being martyrdom for your job, your career, your art. My art is my life, you say. Nonsense. You are not a paintbrush. Your life is your life. No one, not even God, is asking you to suffer for art. 

That's the problem with suffering though. It can feel so good. So noble. Soul-cleansing even. It's like eating vegetables--this tastes so bad it must be good for me. 

But is it necessary?




Sources of inspiration:

http://peterrollins.net/?p=3739
The story of Hannah as heard at http://www.churchinhollywood.com/#/sundays/podcasts

Facebook and Telling Our Own Stories

"Is that your girlfriend?"
"What?"
"In your facebook profile picture. The one you're dancing with. Are you a lesbian?"
"No. That's MY TWIN SISTER."
-Not a real life conversation. Oh wait, this actually happened. *facepalm*

I've been thinking recently (and not so recently) about the relationship between my real life and my social media life. I've been thinking about how we "write" our lives--both online and off.

When it comes to social media, it seems that not only do we need to lead a happy, fulfilling, sparkly life, we have to prove that we are living a happy, fulfilling, sparkly life. Having lemonade on the porch with a good friend and a weighty philosophical tome? Instagram it. Convinced you have the best boyfriend everrrr? Tag him in a post on facebook. Losing weight on an awesome new diet/exercise plan? Tweet daily updates of your progress.

Of course these things aren't wrong or bad. It just sometimes feels like the equivalent of grabbing the world by the shoulders and screaming, "Look at me. I'M HAVING FUN AND LIVING LIFE!! DO YOU BELIEVE I'M HAVING FUN YET??!!"

There's something about expectations and being in your 20s. Or expectations and being in your 30s. Or expectations and being in college. Or expectations period. These are the best years of your life, after all. Shouldn't you be out there enjoying them?

And so we post pictures. And we tell a story. A story about our lives and how much fun we're having. Whether we mean to or not, we tell a story of one kind or another.

Facebook, of all things, understands this. I remember joking about the ads I would get when my relationship status was listed as "single."

"__ years old and still single?" (obviously, you're a freak). "Lose weight with this awesome new diet!" (and then you will feel lovely and desirable). "Revolutionary treatment for herpes!" (no wonder I'm single: I weigh 250 pounds and my body is ridden with STDs).

And what could concern me about these ads is their emphasis on controlling women's bodies. My body. My other body. (You're female. Clearly you're unhappy with your body and you want to lose weight.)

But facebook is not the only one telling me stories about myself, repeating back to me the stories I have consciously or unconsciously told.

And it's not all negative, either. I enjoy the stories that my friends tell. I realize that they're not the whole picture, however--not even close.

Have you ever tried talking to someone whose entire picture of your life is based on social media? It's very confusing.

Recently, a (former) facebook friend summed up my life in one damning question: "Still having trouble finding a man?" (Yes. Haven't you been paying attention? Lesbian. 250 pounds. Herpes. 'Nuff said.)

I found this confusing for several reasons. For example, if I'm looking for "a man," will any man do? Why am I trying to find him? Is he lost? I did not remember having a face-to-face, heart-to-heart with this person about my attempts at finding this poor man. And yet, to him, this was my story.

I can't find a man. Done. Finished. Written in bold.

Nevermind that the phrasing is insulting. Nevermind the "still," implying a lengthy search over an extended period of time (It's all I ever do, actually. Really. I'm exhausted.) Nevermind the implication that not having found a man, I am incomplete. Nevermind that this narrative has little to do with what I want and everything to do with being wanted. Nevermind how much it pisses me off that a woman can be belittled so easily with so little.

Most of all, that this was the story I'm telling, via facebook, via blogging. We tell stories. Other people tell them back to us, adding their own spin. I write about dating. I must be beyond desperate to find a man (any man) who will date me.

Bullsh**.

This is my story. I get to write it. Better yet, I get to live it. Granted, I can't completely control the hermeneutic by which other people choose to interpret my story, and that's frustrating. I can't even, on my own, eradicate the harmful stories that advertisers continue to tell women about their bodies, their lives, their worth.

But I will continue to write. And, reader, what you choose to believe is up to you.

Sincerely,
A 250 Pound Lesbian with Herpes

Life. And stuff.

I want to write about how much I like my new job, but I'm not sure if I can. So instead, a story:

When I was 16, I went to visit my dad in Beijing. A visit meant to last one month somehow stretched into six. For reasons I don't fully remember, comprehend, or wish to think about, I didn't want to go back to North Carolina.

I applied for an internship with a humanitarian organization in Beijing. As part of my application, I sent in an essay I had written for school entitled "Sexism in Paradise Lost" (It started early, folks). Somehow, I got the internship and started translating articles from English to Chinese.

This humanitarian organization also happened to have a media department. Cue life-changing event: I learned how to edit video using Final Cut Pro.

I started editing a camp video. I had dreams about cuts. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I was hooked. For the first time in my life, I was truly passionate about something.

I remember editing late, late at night in the empty office. I remember how I felt going in after a weekend away, the mixture of trepidation and elation as I pushed in the door--would they be happy to see me? Would I still feel at home? Did they think I was a nuisance? I remember the huge crush I had on a guy who worked there. He was at least 14 years older than me, and I tried really hard not to have a crush on him, so of course I did anyway. But most especially, I remember Ivy, the director of the media department, and how her enthusiasm, kindness, and dedication to teaching made me feel.

Interning there changed my life. And ever since then, I've wanted to be that same kind of person for someone else.

Because I know that if it weren't for the people who have mentored me and encouraged me, I wouldn't be pursuing filmmaking. I would have given up before even starting.

Maybe this helps explain how strongly I feel about church, production, and mentorship.

I feel very, very grateful, because I know the real world so very rarely bears any resemblance to the experience I had when I was 16.

I've mentioned this to some of my friends, but there have been times and places and people that have made me feel like some of my strongest character traits are a liability. I'm independent to a fault. I'm passionate and a bit obsessive when I really care about something. I'm extremely focused and driven. And sometimes that hasn't gone over well, and I've paid the price for falling outside of the gender norm or otherwise stepping on people's toes (egos).

None of this is true in my current job. I can be independent, driven, and a little bit obsessive, and it's not only okay, it's encouraged (not that I have nothing to learn about being more interdependent and sensitive to other people).

I can breathe. And for that, I am extremely grateful.

How to Make Me Happy

In Anna Karenina, Tolstoy famously wrote that "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."

My happiness depends more than I would like to admit on external factors that I usually have very little control over. Which is to say, all the environments I've been happy in tend to share certain characteristics.

The title actually doesn't make sense, of course, as no one can actually make me happy. But, you know what I mean. If someone needed a user's guide to me, it might include some of the following points. 99% of the time, I am super easy to please. Really. And now for a few items:

1. Food.

This one should go without saying. Food is important. I like it. I may not be particularly great at feeding myself, but I am really great at exploiting--I mean, finding--events with free food. I am all over that.

My sister is really good at feeding people. Seriously. She owns her own dumpling truck, and you should check it out. I always eat well when she's around.

2. Junk food.

Junk food goes into its own special category. I like it. Particularly if it's free. I'm the only one in my family who still thinks junk food is cool. The rest of the lot have all embraced something scary called "healthy eating"--and yet my brother still steals my skittles. Who's the hypocrite here, hmm?

3. Freedom to work independently.

I'm crazy independent. I like figuring things out on my own, but I also want to be able to ask questions. Sometimes, I just do stuff. I can't help it! It's the way I am.

4. People.

People make me happy. I like being around them and bugging them. You know how you just like people sometimes for no reason? You see them and you just want to smile.

5. Writing (and the freedom to write whatever I want to write).

If I'm not writing, something is wrong. Or I'm just being lazy. Or I'm afraid that people are actually reading what I write. It's complicated--but the freedom to write the truth the best that I know how feels a bit like God's intention for my life.

6. Talking through ideas.

If I couldn't do this, I think I would die.

7. People making fun of me (teasing me?).

I'm not sure why I love this, but I do. I myself can't pull it off without sounding like a jerk.

8. Learning new things.

9. Good writing.

10. Sleep deprivation. Stress. Challenging circumstances. Being on set. Filmmaking.

11. Teaching/training

I used to work as a master control operator at a small TV station and I was so excited to get to train new employees (three people, singly, to be exact) to do the job. My favorite part had been the training, and so I was looking forward to training other people. There's something about seeing someone put into practice something you've taught them. There's definitely a sense of pride.

Lose Yourself: Submission, Emotional Abuse and the Dorothea Effect

[I'm having a hard time writing this. I'm not sure if it's because my ideas haven't coalesced or because I keep seeing connections everywhere--in a way, I think in writing I figure out what I want to say--I start in in one place with one end in mind and then end up somewhere completely different.]

Holy Not Happy - An Unnecessary and Misleading Dichotomy

"What if God designed marriage to make us holy more than to make us happy?" asks the subtitle of Gary Thomas's book Sacred Marriage. 

It's a sobering thought. I suspect it's written as an anecdote to those Christians who divorce because "God wants me to be happy." 

However, both these conceptions of happiness seem suspiciously shallow. Surely there is more to happiness than the mere absence of physical, emotional or psychological pain. 

If God doesn't just want me to be happy, does that mean he wants me to suffer? So I can be more holy? If that's the case, the more marriage makes you suffer, the better. 

I'm taking it a little far, but I think the subtitle in question sets up an unnecessary opposition of holy versus happy, or being a person of character versus being happy (in a deeper sense) with your life.  

I also think that this opposition can be twisted into a justification for either perpetrating or enduring emotional abuse.  


The Problem with "Twilight" or  The Lure of False Submission

I was in an emotionally abusive relationship once, in a professional, not a romantic, context. And there's one thing that the other person would say to me that sticks out in memory: "I believe in you."

He meant to imply that as much as I failed to live up to my potential, if only I would give in to him and do what he said, I could be better. I could be more holy: "Let me control you and everything will work out."

As much as it stings my pride to admit it, there was something undeniably attractive about this offer. I knew I was flawed. That I screwed up. And here was someone honest enough to call me on my crap.

If only I could be better. If only I could stop failing. Maybe if I submitted my will to his, I would stop hurting people and actually become a better person.

It's the "this is for your own good" line of abuse--and there is something subtly alluring about letting go of responsibility for and control of your own life, your own dreams, your own being. I don't know how else to explain the success of "Twilight," which trumpets the kind of all-consuming love that demands the loss of self in the Other. I know only that self-immolation and self-abnegation are a temptation--particularly to those who feel less than whole to begin with.

The Dorothea Effect - It's About to Get Literary Y'all

Dorothea Brooke is a character in the novel "Middlemarch" by George Eliot. At base, she is a crusader without a crusade, a missionary without a mission field, a saint deprived of martyrdom. Being so, she makes her own martyrdom, choosing to marry a dourly pedantic and humorless man (Edward Casaubon) over twice her age, so that she might help him in his great, world-changing work, "The Key to All Mythologies" (as bad as it sounds--worse, actually).

Of course, if she were a man in nineteenth century England, her ambitions and ideals would find an easier outlet. As it is, she makes a disastrous marriage to the wrong man--dare I say because she desires holiness (to serve God by serving Casaubon) over happiness (in the sun is shining, birds are singing, isn't it a lovely day to be married to a hot young artist sense. *Spoiler alert* this happens later in the book).

Jane Eyre faces a similar temptation in the form of the handsome and deeply religious St. John Rivers. He asks Jane to marry him and follow him to the mission field as his help-meet. He does not love her, nor does he find her attractive. He simply sees that she is constitutionally and temperamentally suited for the rigors and challenges of missionary life. How romantic.

Adrienne Rich calls this the temptation of self-immolation--literally burning oneself alive.

Jane is tempted to a living death--sacrificing her life to St. John's missionary calling; denying her need to love and be loved by marrying a man for holiness and not happiness.

Dorothea falls into this temptation. Jane does not.

I would define "the Dorothea effect" as denying your own dreams/art/work/calling to serve the dreams/art/work/calling of another person.

In other words, find your own damn "Key to All Mythologies."

More to come on this later.





Inspirations:

1. This article about the end of a Christian marriage.
2. A talk at church (for women) about submitting to God's will.
3. Sacred Marriage by Gary Thomas (which I haven't read in full). 
4. Middlemarch by George Eliot
5. "The Temptations of a Motherless Woman" by Adrienne Rich.

Nostalgia and the Unreflective, Active Present

"Live all you can; it's a mistake not to. It doesn't so much matter what you do in particular so long as you have your life. If you haven't had that what have you had?" 

This is perhaps the most famous quote from Henry James' The Ambassadors. And that's certainly understandable.

I recently listened to Juliet Naked, another book by Nick Hornby, and I groped my way back to this quote.

The heroine of the book, Annie (age 39), has lived very little. Stuck in a dead-end relationship with Duncan (40ish, a drip), Annie feels she has wasted the last 15 years of her life. This is a shock.

She wants to live. She very much wants to have a baby. By random chance, she begins an email correspondence with a cult rock musician. Then she actually gets to meet him in person and he comes to stay with her in her small, depressing seaside town in England.

You may see where this is going. When confronted with the choice of whether to sleep with him or not, a minor character delivers a speech similar to the one in James' novel.

But sex aside, what does it mean to live? Unless it means wearing really short shorts and sitting in a book warehouse, I'm not sure that I'm truly living at this moment. And what about the moment after that? What about now?

I'm afraid it's quote time again, straight from Annie's brain, courtesy of Hornby's narrator:

"The cliche had it that kids were the future, but that wasn't it. They were the unreflective, active present. They were not themselves nostalgic because they couldn't be. And they retarded nostalgia in their parents. Even as they were getting sick and being bullied and becoming addicted to heroin and getting pregnant, they were in the moment. And she wanted to be in the moment with them. She wanted to worry herself sick about school and bullying and drugs."

That phrase, "the unreflective, active present" is striking. I feel most alive in my unreflective, active moments. Anything that takes me out of myself--like writing or filmmaking.

I leave you with another part of that famous quote in The Ambassadors:

"The right time is any time that one is still so lucky as to have [...] Live!"