What AM I waiting for?

Waking this morning to find heart-breaking tweets from my love, I can't help but be asking this question.  It isn't like it's the first time in the last week that I've asked the question.  Ever since my passport arrived last Saturday while she was still here, we've been - or I've been - asking the question.

There are three or four "hooks", I guess, that keep me from taking off immediately, and even then, their ability to hold me here keeps loosening.

The first hook we talked about when we first became romantic was the one that provided us the structure of the laughable idea of a two-year plan.  My commitment to my church.  But I have quickly grown to realize that these people truly care for me, and what they would want most for me is to be happy.  And the new guy we have in as priest is doing a good job getting himself settled in and taking ownership.  They don't need me like they might have needed me if he hadn't done this as he should.  When we were dealing with supply priests - a priest who was just filling in as a supply for our need - then we were the ones still responsible for running the church.  That just doesn't apply any more.  Thank goodness!

So while I will feel some guilt and some loss at letting go of this fine community that helped me sail through my healing and recovery process, I know, nonetheless, that when I'm ready to say "goodbye", they'll be okay.  That is a hook that I can gently release.

The second hook is actually two fold - just cleaning up and packing to go and leaving nothing behind.  I have accumulated some junk - none of which I am attached to to keep other than if I am living here.  Furniture, basically.  And I've just accumulated a lot of paperwork that is unnecessary to keep - stuff that I couldn't throw out because I *MIGHT* need it.  As well as the general paraphernalia for running a household.  Like a fridge.  Or lawnmower.  I need to clean these out of the house, apparently, before I were to move.  And to pack up what remains reasonably enough to fit in my car.  This is somewhat easy, although, I don't want to call Salvation Army to pick up my bed until the car itself is packed and ready to go...  I kinda enjoy having some place to sleep other than the floor...

The second "fold" of this is that I did manage to rescue some stuff from California when I left.  And it has all been sitting in a storage unit about 300-400 miles away near where my folks' live.  Surprisingly it is not worth continuing to pay $200+ a month to keep.  They have been kind to help me do so, as I have been unable to face the overwhelming monstrosity that is the storage unit, but it is time for it to be cleaned out and stuff to be tossed and sold and given away.  I have been ignoring it for three and a half years now, it is time to face it and deal with it - before I move on.

The last hook is an awkward one, frankly.  I finally return to work this week after having been gone for nearly three weeks, really, even though she was only here for one of them.  I had a parishioner who was dying, and I stayed with him and his family for the last two days of his life, and I had a few of my "old ladies" go in and out of the hospital, and I did have a funeral to help prepare for.  The two weeks before my love visited were full, to say the least.  So, I get a bit of understandable guff from the guy who owns the place and who was kind enough to hire me over whether I'm still working here or not.  On more than one occasion.  And so I have to pretend like it's business as usual because it isn't as if I have any clue exactly when I will get everything together to go, and money - particularly for making a move - is a good thing.  And I'm a writer for him.. I have several outstanding things I've been working on.  Some of which - yes - could be written remotely, but he'd prefer to see my face to know I'm working on it and making progress.  I can't exactly leave entirely without finishing what he's been paying me to write.  And I'm not exactly sure how and when that will happen.

But I want to pack up my car and go now.  Call a friend and ask her to deal with the Salvation Army for the furniture - tell her she has until the end of the month since the rent is paid up.  Offer the appliances to the landlord.  And go.  That's what I want to do now. 

But there's an annual meeting for church that I'm running...  and then there's those pesky projects that need to be finished and the outstanding storage unit to be dealt with... 

I have the passport burning the metaphorical hole in my pocket...

Blah! 

Love...

In my head, and in my heart, I suppose, I have certain things that I expect to be done or felt between people who love each other.  That if A loved B then X wouldn't really matter but Y would.  Now, wait, I sound like I am writing an algebra equation.

I have been quite the observer - particularly over the last three or four years - of people's relationships.  Trying to figure out what makes them successful, and where there are signs of failure.  Trying, I presume, consciously or subconsciously, to figure it out so I have a better shot the next time I jump into the relationship waters.  Trying to figure out what behavior is loving and what is not loving. 

And I think I have a pretty good idea of some of the important ingredients necessary for a successful and loving relationship.  Some things are pretty straightforward.  Things like valuing what your partner values.  Being respectful even when you disagree.  Realizing that being right doesn't always mean you need to win, and that winning often - at least with arguments - isn't really winning.  Lots of good trite guidance, but stuff that nonetheless I believe in.  And maybe one day I will write a post about these things. (Or maybe I already did?)

After my marriage came to an end, I was told by more than one person that I needed to find someone who would love me like I loved them.  Seems reasonable enough, but what does that really mean?  I think it means some of the things I discovered in my observance above.  That someone who really loves me will find the things I find important simply because I do.  And won't worry about the things I find unimportant.  Who will love me for me, and not for my things, or for what I can do or bring to the relationship.  Who will love me despite my ADD or maybe even love me for who my ADD has made me - flaws and human and all. 

If you have been reading this at all, you'll know that I have dipped my toe into the relationship waters, again.  Actually, I seem to have dove in head first.  Or more accurately heart first.  I tend to do that sometimes.  I did bring wee bit of baggage.  Criticisms from girls past.  Things that I know shouldn't matter but often do or have. 

And so, in these early stages, we have traipsed along some of these issues and as I have left myself vulnerable to her and exposed my insecurities, she reacts as I would to someone who would do the same to me.  Laugh, basically, and call me silly.  Silly to worry.  Silly to care.  Silly to think that she would care.  But not silly in an emotionally abusive intentionally hurtful way, but in a way to help me realize that these matters I take so seriously, and worry so much about, are not so serious, and do not deserve worry.  She reassures me in the moment.  And then, later, as she's had more time to think on my concern, and perhaps in an unconscious (or conscious? who knows? She's very smart - much smarter than me!) effort to make sure I didn't feel dismissed, she usually will write a follow-up e-mail saying, "Look, Borg, I've really been thinking about Y and how you feel, and I want you to know, I really do believe..." and reassure me again.  AND THEN, because that may not be enough, she'll bring it up later in a conversation, gently, and reassure me once again. And IF I am too silly to realize I don't need to be silly, still, and I tentatively express a concern or a worry, she hears my underlying insecurity and addresses it again. 

WOW!  I mean really.. WOW, right?

I'll give you an example.  My most recent insecurity has been coming to accept and acknowledge (although really I'm still in denial) that I am a slob.  I am still in denial because I will tell you I am better than many.  It is all relative, after all.  But I am not the standard that *I* would like to be at, and I do feel, often, that my environment is chaotic.  I would prefer to be neater, but there are some bonafide and perhaps less bonafide obstacles standing in my way.  (Being Human, see earlier post, is one of them.. SHOCKER!).  I do pride myself that I don't have anything growing outside the fridge, but I do also have dust bunnies copulating in the kitchen and the bedroom.  They entertain me.... (okay, not, but it sounded cute for a moment in my head). 

I worry, needlessly, that she'll step into my home for the first time, see the stacks of papers and go screaming in the other direction.  And yet, in addition to her reassurances, I know I don't have to worry.  She's the kinda gal who gets upset at people who tweet how much better they feel about themselves after watching Hoarders and pleading for them to have compassion for the mentally ill (although I think she phrases it even nicer than that..)   So, it's good to know she'll have compassion for me and my mental illness.. No.. wait.. that isn't where I meant to go.  Hmm....

She's coming to visit me soon, and I created a 72 point list of things I'd *like* to do before she gets here to get the house in order (Remember #3 in the list of So Who Am I? is that I'm a geek).  But God has a sense of humor, and life, unfortunately, has gotten in the way.  Actually, more accurately, death - a parishioner in our church passed away Saturday morning, and I sat with him and with his family the last two days of his life, and will now be with the family in preparing for the funeral arrangements, and prepare at the church for the service itself.  As much as I would like to get to those 72 items (or at least, even, 25 of them) the reality is I probably won't get to more than another two or three that are really important and the rest will go by the wayside.. Or, in a fit of idiocy, I'll take everything in the rest of the house and shove it all into one room where I will never let her see... Oh. Wait. She reads this blog... that won't work.. she'll be too curious to open the door NOW!

And she's said to me, quite often, "Look, Borg, the only place I want to be when I come is in your arms.  I don't care about the rest...."  You know something? I actually believe her. 

Now that, my friends, is love...

Sometimes you gotta be the ass...

And not just in Mexican Donkey Wedding dances - or whatever they are... (great, now I can JUST imagine the NEW searches that will now find me...)

Having fun with church politics and breaking in a new priest.  He's great.  And fortunately, because he's new and he has a collar, and all that, people will listen to him.  Me? I get to be the ass.  Which I can live with as long as we get things done.  People don't realize we're playing "Good cop, bad cop".. and it's a good thing they don't read this blog..

But sometimes it's what is needed in order to get things done.. And that's, frankly, all I want to see - stuff getting done.

Insomnia - My Old Friend

I apparently have anything BUT a regular sleep schedule lately.  Says the girl typing at 3:50 AM.

I have had days where I sleep from 1 - 5 every day, twice a day.  Days where I wake up every two hours, and fortunately drift back to sleep.  Naps so deep that when I wake I am completely disoriented as to what day it is let alone what time of day it is. 

For the most part, I don't spend my days dragging, although I have come home from lunch for an afternoon nap or two on occasion.  So I guess I have to hope that my body is getting the sleep it needs.... even if it needs it, or takes it, at some strange hours. 

I had a friend in college - who I was quite jealous of because of this fact - who literally only needed and only got four hours of sleep  day.  I mean imagine how much work you could get done (because in college I still thought it was important to get work done) if you could stay up studying until 2 AM, and be back awake again at 6 AM?? I mean wow! 

Be careful what you wish for, folks! ;)

But tonight's insomnia, I'm fairly certain, is brought to me by the letter 'H' as in Holidays.  As you may recall, some of my family is coming to visit.  Woo hoo.. Oh, wait.  No.  Fortunately, I live practically across the street from the Mall where there's a hotel where they will stay so I don't have to have them stay literally in my house.

Because, apparently, I'm angsting over that. 

I actually live in a fairly nice sized space for a single person.  I lucked out in the housing department when I finally got to have my own space again after a year of living in various other people's homes after fleeing my own home of a decade.  I live in a stand-alone house, that actually has copious amounts of space, that I have managed to expand into.  Much more than I ever needed.  It's a two-bedroom home, and the front bedroom is essentially a storage area (read junk room/pretend-office) and the back bedroom is actually 15 foot wide, so large enough to not only have a sleeping area, but also to have a sitting area, too.  The bathroom is ridiculously huge, and the kitchen is fairly large, although limited counter space, too.  And I am blessed with an extra back room - which I've thought of as a mud room / pantry until I got a washer / dryer given to me this past year, and now it's the mud room / pantry / laundry room.  No dining room in the house, but there is a living room. 

It's a lot of space for one person, which has been nice.  Some of the apartments I looked at before I found the house were a lot cozier, including one place which was essentially three rooms, no doors, in a row - the living room area, connected to the bedroom in the middle, with the kitchen on the opposite side.  So, if I had had company, they would have to traipse through my bedroom area to get to the kitchen, which I didn't like particularly much.  Plus the rooms were small, and the landlord mentioned that he thought the woman next door on the same floor might have a lot of paid evening guests. 

The next place would have been nice if I were about, oh, say, a foot taller.  There was no air conditioning, and the windows that could open were all situated quite high on the walls- difficult for me to open to get any kind of cross-breeze going.  It was two bedrooms, but that was it - two bedrooms and a kitchen.  And in the kitchen, again, apartment was designed for a giant, I seriously seriously would not have been able to reach them without a step stool.  I may have been able to access the bottom shelf of them, but I'm not sure even that. 

I have lived in a house for a good deal of my life - although I have lived in an apartment, too.  I admit, I prefer not sharing walls with others because you have the illusion, at least, that you can be louder.  One twitter friend complains regularly about the boy who lives under her and the noise he makes.  I can make considerable noise here - even vacuum in the middle of the night - and not worry about waking anyone or bothering anyone. 

The yard here leaves a LOT to be desired.  Some of that is my fault, because I never seem to have a working lawnmower.  As soon as someone gives me theirs that I have been borrowing, it no longer seems to work.  (Seriously, has happened more than once!).  But it is also quite uneven, and there are a lot of dips and holes and places waiting for me to sprain my ankle.  Always an exciting prospect when you have no health insurance. 

But here's the thing about my house.  It's furnished somewhat sparingly for one.  It is in many ways like a large master bedroom suite.  There is plenty of wonderful space for ME to be comfortable.  But not enough space to really share with anyone else or to entertain.  So I don't.  No-one even tries to come into my house, and I've grown quite comfortable with that.  Perhaps a bit too comfortable, but comfortable nonetheless. 

My house is furnished with cast-aways and give-aways from folks from my church.  The bed I sleep on was someone else's guest bedroom bed that they decided to replace right around the time I was moving in.  The frame is off because there's a metal part that sticks out that I can't figure out how to make go in.  It's pretty basic - nothing more than the metal support frame.  I have two dressers from a friend who left the country and just returned (and wants one back?), and a nice oversized chair in the bedroom from a friend whose wife didn't agree with his purchase. 

In the living room, there is a love-seat sized couch - two people can sit on it cozily - and a setee  that I was basically storing for the friend who had left the country for a year.  It smells (faintly now) of cat piss, and I don't recommend it as a place for anyone to rest upon.  But my friend has apparently grown immune to the smell, and so for her, it is a lovely piece from her house that she will want returned (I keep hoping) some day. 

So, if I invite the folks in, I have no place for them to sit comfortably to stay and hang.  There is not enough room for a tree - I have a fairly pathetic desktop tree that makes Charlie Brown's Christmas tree look lush.  No place to hang the stockings - although I do have one, and just received another last night at a party.  There is no television in my house - no TV to watch any games on or any Christmas specials or even movies on DVD.  I watch all my stuff on my computer.

Then there's the subject of Christmas dinner.  I have had several friends ask me or comment upon how I'll now be responsible for Christmas dinner.  To which I reply to them, I don't think so.  I purchased a small 2' diameter (maybe four foot, but 2' width when the "leaves" are down) table for my kitchen with two little stools from Wal*Mart after living here for six months.  There is no room for more than two to eat. 

Plus, it isn't as if I am much of a cook. 

So, I am having a little angst.  I did manage to keep from inviting them in their last visit without much trouble or awkwardness at all - and frankly, I'm hoping for a repeat of that.  Because my living space is designed for one, or perhaps one + one guest.  It works for me.  But it doesn't work in this kind of setting.

My opinion, generally, is that they invited themselves - they shouldn't expect me to do these things, and for the most part I think that's a pretty reasonable opinion, and in line with their expectations.  On Christmas day, I am planning a Jewish Christmas with a friend of mine (who is Jewish, of course) where we will have Chinese food and see a movie.  On Christmas Eve, they will be forced to go to my church. :)  That solves the Christmas dinner issue. 

But my fear - perhaps unwarranted, since last time they were so accomodating and didn't look for an invite in - is that by NOT inviting them in, they will think I am hiding something.  And maybe I am - I do feel protective over my space, even though it doesn't entirely reflect me since I've only spent money on the kitchen table, the refrigerator and a set of shelves for the pantry, and everything else was given to me and fit in where it could.  I have three desks in three different rooms!  None of which have chairs with which to sit at.  I don't want them to judge my ability to thrive based upon my living space, because it may not send the message that I have healed and recovered well enough for their standards.  They already wonder what I'm doing in this small town... and even offered unsolicited this past month to move me some place else. 

They are well meaning.

But they are giving me insomnia.   And forcing me to write long rambling posts (because usually my posts are so short and pithy.. ;) ) Bleah...

(And why am I NOT surprised that I already have a label on the side for Insomnia..? Ah, my old friend... we spend too much time together..)

Blog-Post-On-Demand

Not quite as sexy as an on-demand pay-per-view channel, but, it'll have to do.

Alt title: Oh, yeah, so that's what this feels like...

My paternal grandmother was bipolar - except then, we called it manic-depressive.  And so there's always been this underlying awareness that it can run in families, and, well... whenever I have gone into see someone who shrink-wraps, I always am sure to mention this.  I've never really thought I was, but I'm not the professional, now am I?

I never really thought I was because while I had the "mania" - attributable also to my ADD - I was never really depressed.  I can't say I was always "happy", but for the most part, I think I was relatively well balanced.  Until, oh, about, three and a half years ago. 

And even then, my depression was understandable.  I described it as situational.  A certainly understandably depressing situation had most certainly been at the root of it.  And that explained the first year.  And being alone in a new town.. Well, maybe that explained the second year.  But really, by the third year, shouldn't I be freaking done with this depression thing?  Yes, I could see subtle improvements.  I could look back at the year before and say I was better than I had been.  But damn, if this wasn't taking forever.

And I can't say I'm out of the woods yet.  I still see lots of trees blocking the sun around me.  But I can say in the last month and a half, there has been significant, noticeable, improvement.  Periods of excitement and energy and - dare I say it - happiness have been more than just fleeting.

A lot of it, I recognize, centers around the new position at the church. I forget, sometimes, how much I like people.  How much I truly enjoy them.  And as a result of this new position, I have taken it upon myself to sit down with as many of our members as I can.  And I'm loving it.  Just loving it.  Finding things that people are getting excited about.  Pulling out areas where they may thrive within the community.  Finding people to support others who took a particular ministry on their own. 

My theme, by the way, (even though I don't *need* a theme) is sharing the ministry.  And I feel strongly about this, and could get on a roll, and bore you all to death, although keep you mildly entertained by the energy and excitement *I* feel about it.  But I'm loving what I'm doing.  I'm enjoying seeing seeds I have planted begin to take root.  I am excited about the possibilities.  I feel like I have found my calling.  Maybe not my long-term calling, but a short-term one and I am enjoying it.

Which I haven't done in a long while. 

Oh.  Yeah.. So this is what happiness feels like.  So this is what it's like to enjoy my life, again.  There is a light at the end of that tunnel - there is sun beyond those trees.  I will emerge.  I am emerging.  Damn, that sunshine on my face feels good. 

P.S.  The problem with blog posts on demand is that there is the possibility that I might end up taking your request and using it to write about something only remotely related.  I can't help where the spirit takes me... ;)  So, my friend, I know I barely touched on what you wanted me to write about.  But maybe in another post... ;)

God and Gays and, well, Amish

Since I've awoken from my afternoon nap, I have had two interestingly juxtaposed inputs - blog entries from lesbians who have been told that God can't love them the way they are (or part of that theme) and watching the first episode of  Breaking Amish that was aired on TLC.

It has been so-o-o-o long since I came out, that I can't remember really what it is like to "come out" - to discover who you are and that who you are doesn't necessarily mesh with that which is around you.  Moving to a small town three years ago gave me a reminder experience, but I never hid who I was, and I am happy with who I am - so hiding was never something to be considered.

People politically try to often compare homophobia with racism.  Marriage equality, for example, is easy to compare to Loving v. Virginia and the Supreme Court case that declared that it was unconstitutional to punish people for an interracial marriage.  We share in common a history of being a minority, and being shunned, in general society, for being that minority - for being discriminated against, for having our actions considered illegal not for the actions themselves but because of who we are. 

Not a lot of fun.

But that analogy - that comparison - is rarely a satisfying one.  It leaves this huge gap in understanding the fears and the risks that LGBTQZWXY folks share in risking being shunned by their family and their friends.

I remember in high school one of my best friends - who cannot remember this to save her life, and I don't need her to - screaming at me, essentially, that if I ever brought a girlfriend over to her house she'd never talk to me again.  She came to my union ceremony, and has since gotten over that.  But telling people you care about is a risk.  I remember the short-lived friendships I made at freshman orientation in college withering away after they saw me at the Coming Out Day table on October 11th.  People who no longer looked me in the eyes and who darted off in the opposite direction.  I do have vague distant memories of these hurtful actions taken by others.  I'm old, though, and it's been awhile.

I have been fortunate, though, that my family has been fairly accepting.  Their biggest concern - which any family would have about anyone embarking on something "different" in life - was that it would be a hard life for me - that I wouldn't have a normal family life that they had.  That others would make it harder.  They just wanted my life to be easier - as most families would want for others in their family.

I never had to worry that my family would suddenly stop loving me for who I was.  I am and was very fortunate.

But it could have gone differently, and for so many coming out, it has or it will.  Even in today's more "liberal" "accepting" society (again, I'm old, it wasn't quite so acceptable back then - no Will & Grace..), children still risk alienating their parents, losing their siblings, being extricated from their families.  Not belonging anymore.

People who are a minority by race - while there may be some internal racism within the community - for the most part don't have to worry that their parents will hate them because of the color of their skin.  Mostly because they got it from them.  Or so I'd think.  For the most part, they don't have to worry about telling someone that they are "different" because what is "different" about them is evident.  Now I will not pretend to argue that I understand how hard it is to be of a different race than those around you, and how hard it is because you can't "hide" necessarily - I don't pretend to know, and I am not comparing challenges.  Both sets of minorities face challenges.  My point here is merely to point out while some of those challenges are the same, some are quite different.

By the time the producers / directors of this series Breaking Amish has reached these young adults, they have already pretty much made their decision.  Inviting camera crews into their lives in their last days, essentially, in their communities, pretty much has sealed the deal for most of them.  And it is heartbreaking to watch them realize that they have to choose not only a "lifestyle" - or being true to themselves or trying to have an opportunity to figure out who they are - but they risk being shunned and NEVER being welcomed back.  They can go back "home" but no-one will face them, include them, support them.  In reality, they can never go back. 

So episode 1 - which is all I've watched so far - is about the heartbreak of these families telling them to go back their bags and leave and, "Well, it's been nice knowing you, but you are now damned to eternal hell-fire". Much of the same garbage (in my humble opinion) that some folks in the guise of religion tell people who are LGBQTXYZ  (I'm so old, it used to just be G, it was a great stride to add the L (that's not entirely true, but adding the "B" was a true expansion of the political climate's "inclusiveness")).  These people in the show are going to New York City where they won't suddenly be welcomed with open arms into the new world they've chosen.  There, too, they will be Other.

I lost my virginity not in any sort of romantic, love struck fantasy manner - even though I did wait until I was eighteen.  I lost it because when I was on the dance floor with other lesbians - not much older than I - they would literally run away in the middle of the dance when they learned I was just coming out.  I needed to get that "out of the way" to even have a CHANCE at being accepted into this "new" world. 

I know that the bloggers I have been reading are still quite young.  And some other young lesbians I've met make me realize that with time and experience can come maturity and acceptance - that I have come a long way from where they are.  But it is painful and heart wrenching to read them struggle with their faith and their family and feeling at peace with who they are themselves.  And watching, just now, Breaking Amish, I felt like I saw another set of young people dealing with a very different circumstance who could understand how they feel, nonetheless. 

I wonder, though, sadly, if I introduced my new Amish "friends" to these new young lesbians, if the young struggling Amish folks would shun us, too. 

We are more alike, folks, than we are different.  And maybe I should re-title this post that..

Resistance is futile - you will be assimilated. 

P.S. To my new lesbian friends - if you find this post - trust yourselves.  Be true to yourselves.  As Doctor Seuss wrote:  Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.

Church Politics

Oh, how I would love to write a post about people at the church.   Oh, if you didn't have to deal with some of these personalities personally, you would find them quite amusing. 

Now I know that all of these characters are likely found at every or most churches or other religious homes.  So, the reality is that I could tell you all about them, and like everyone else in my blog, you'd think I was talking about your church down the street. 

With my recent, um, promotion, I, now, am involved in the inner workings of how the sausage is made.  I feel like I should go read Upton Sinclair, again, so that the church inner workings don't look so bad. 

Luckily, I love people and I am able to step back - mostly - and be amused by their quirks.  I am enjoying the excuse / opportunity to get to know a few more folks better and I enjoying getting folks energized and excited about the things to come...

We'll keep it on that positive note. 

Wipe off that smirk....

Hee hee...

Kicking it Around...

So, I had to make a difficult decision recently.  For the most part, I know I made the right decision, and I feel relief.  But at the same time, I am already feeling like a little puppy with my nose to the glass and wanting back inside.

Being active in my community has been one of the ways in which I have strived to increase my social opportunities in town.  I'm not sure whether either of the things I volunteer for actually do much for me socially, but at least they provide me something to do.

I have mentioned before that I'm active in my church.  I prepare the church bulletins, and have been the overall administrator of much of the day-to-day minutiae.  This past month, the members of my church (foolishly) elected me to be the lay leader of the church - the head of our governing board.  I've been hinting here and there about it, primarily on Twitter, and telling a few individuals about it, but mostly letting it sink in before sharing it.

I am honored, certainly, by the confidence they have in me to do this - although I do also respect and understand that a part of it was that no-one else was foolish enough to take it on.  But the last month or so I have gotten excited, and enthusiastic, and been brainstorming and inspired and all sorts of good things.  Really good things.  We're going through a transition, and there's a lot to be done.  I've already been meeting with lots of folks in the church and getting an idea what makes them love our church, and where they feel a passion and a calling.  All good stuff.

I have also been more than just a soccer coach.  For the last two years, I've served on the Rec league's board.  Mostly I did it so they wouldn't forget me when it came time to recruit coaches since I had been an assistant coach for my best friend's daughter's team, and I don't have any kids myself.  But I really enjoyed it.  Our board is under "staffed" and so each board member took on several roles.  So, in addition to coaching, I ran the concessions stand, helped with the candy drive, and was director for a league. 

This season was a bit overwhelming.  And I was grumpy for reasons outside of soccer, and finding myself constantly pulled away from being able to coach my kids.  Which was the fun part.  So, near the end of the season - technically before I even knew about the church responsibility - I was considering taking a break.  I was feeling burned out, and I wanted to just coach. With the new church responsibility, I had a good excuse I could use to gracefully back out for a couple of years (or longer, we'll see....) from the soccer responsibility. 

Tonight was our soccer "banquet" for coaches, refs, team parents, board members, etc.  And our elections for the following year's board.  The board is light, and I felt a pang to want to help out - there were almost as many empty slots as there were people who filled them in - seven people and five remaining open slots.  I did resist, and for the most part, I am glad I did.  But I have enjoyed being a part of the team, and a part of me will miss that.  They know I'm available to help, but they also know many others who have offered to be available not really follow through to be there, and once I'm no longer obligated to get up at 9 AM on a cold winter Saturday morning to winterize the field, I'm less likely to do it. 

So, tonight is bittersweet.  A bit of relief, a bit of sadness.  One woman offered (unsolicited) about what a wonderful coach I was and how much her daughter had enjoyed having me as coach.  Those accolades are always nice.  So I'll stick to the good things, and let go of the less pleasant things, and we'll go from there. 

A Plan?

A friend of mine asked me yesterday if I had a "plan" set for what I am going to do with myself after the contract ends.  A plan? I facetiously asked...? What? Doesn't she read this blog religiously?  I'm going to make sure my sink is clean before I go to bed at night.  Other than that, what kind of plan do I need?

Later, by Twitter, I mentioned how I felt like I was sitting around waiting for something great to happen.  And she chimed in how I shouldn't wait, I needed to out there and make it happen.  To which I gave a harvesting analogy and insisted I had planted seeds.  She believed me.

And I have... Don't get me wrong.

But she is poking at the bear issues I have concerns about myself.  Gently - or perhaps not so gently - making sure I won't devolve into a glob of blubber when the contract ends.  I think she's afraid I will sit at home all day in my bed watching re-runs of Love Boat that I recently discovered on You Tube (that song is IMPOSSIBLE to get out of your head, so I don't recommend it... But, oh, that Doc, he is so funny (NOT!)).  And her fears aren't entirely unjustified.  Although I'll probably also catch up on some of the bloggers I'm friends with on Twitter and now here.  And maybe find creative ways to enhance and improve my blog.  And maybe I'll start a doll head collection.  Okay, NOT to the last one.

And I won't be starting a Vision Board or likely a Pinterest account either, although I'm a little wary to say the last one because that pretty much is what I said about Twitter all this time, and we see what happened THERE!

But she's right.  I know she's right.  (Is there a way to block one single person from reading a single post?  I mean I don't need her to spend the rest of today, this week, lording it over me that I said that she was right, do I? No... I mean, she'd favorite the shit out of this post, and return to it every day just to see that I said she was right... Wait... that might help my statistics, though.... If you found this post from the right hand side, well.... you'll know that I already regret it! Kidding!)

I do need a plan to make sure I don't just burrow deeply into my bed and never emerge except for soccer and to get the church bulletin done.  Particularly because there's only another month to soccer, so that won't last too long. 

Do I have one? No.  Not entirely.  Not much at all.  Except a recognition that I want there to be some structure to my days.  Something in particular I accomplish each day.  Incremental work on other things.  I don't want to simply burrow into my bed (although it is nice and comfortable) and get lost.  That's the start of a plan, right?

In the meantime, though, it's early-ish in the morning and I need to hit the shower and get this project done first.  Right now, THAT's my plan.  Once that's done, I can concentrate on the other.  For now, that's my plan.  Okay?  Okay.

Ollie's Barbecue or Choice

Now when I started thinking about the topic of “choice” this morning, my head was in a different space about a different topic.  And at some point, I really want to get back to my original thoughts and write a post about that.  (And yes, this is one of my infamous shower posts...)

For those of you who might not make it to the end, I'll give you a spoiler alert - our true choice in this and many matters is to choose to respect each other.  Seems like an easy choice to make. 

I tend not to be too political, and I’ve already promised you that you won’t find many political posts on here except that as they may apply to the “human condition”.  (Nice broad vague catch-all, since all politics, at some level, apply to the human condition, or could be interpreted as such).  If you look, though, over there at that my 'tags' you'll see that "politics" is quite small.  But my intent, shall we say, is to bring “political” issues in NOT because they are political hot-button issues, but because the issue has something valuable to observe.  I have written early on, although many of you have yet to read this post (since the stats show only one view as of this posting), that I am neither politically correct nor politically incorrect.  I'm bound to offend someone!  You may want to begin reading that post before you dive into this one (and, no, I'm not just shamefully trying to up my stats - that's just an added bonus! ;) )

Now, if I had titled this just “Choice” as I originally thought to, and once you realized this might be political, your first thought might be that this would be a post about abortion.  And believe me, while not my originating thoughts, it is one area where my thoughts wandered this morning in the shower about what to write and how to compose this message.

And so I’ll spend a moment – a few paragraphs – clarifying my stance on the issue of abortion, and then we can move on.  I am a pro-life pro-choicer.  I believe that woman should be able to make a choice about their own bodies, but I hope that they choose to bring the life into this world.  Although this world *is* heavily over-populated.  What I would like, though, is for there to be more choices for someone who chooses to carry to term.  I’d like there to be less stigma attached to giving up one’s baby given that there are so many wonderful people out there who would like to be parents and who are looking to adopt.  I’d like there to be more options in finding support for raising a baby they choose to raise.  I’d like the anti-abortionists, then, to really reflect on the serenity prayer and put their energy and their money towards creating positive solutions and positive choices.  While we would love every pregnancy to be wanted and the news to be received with joy, this will never happen.  Even many parents who choose to have their children, sadly, don’t necessarily look with joy upon their new arrival.  (That’s a whole other sad scenario). 

Accept the things we cannot change.  It doesn’t mean we can’t take serious preventative measures to lessen the number of those pregnancies (something, by the way, Planned Parenthood works towards), but it also means we need to accept the reality of unplanned and unwanted pregnancies (by the way, in case you were wondering, that’s what the “planned” part of Planned Parenthood refers to…).

Change the things we can.  We can’t changed unplanned, unwanted pregnancies.  And given that abortion has been around since the dawn of time, in one form or another, the reality is that we can’t change whether abortion happens,  although clearly we can make it more difficult, and we can limit them.  What we can change is the following three things: 1) provide education on how to prevent unwanted pregnancies and the means by which to do so, 2) provide options for women who do become pregnant to have an effective choice, and ideally a clear choice, to carry the baby to term – to know that doing so won’t affect the rest of her life, that she won’t be a pariah in society for having become an unwed mother, if that’s the circumstance, and that there will be resources out there, for example, if she is still young and in school, to finish school and be able to have a job or a career to support her and her child should she choose that, or to find a loving and caring family who would lovingly take her child into their home as their own.  3) if, nonetheless, a woman still chooses to have an abortion, make it a safe, healthy choice for her so that we don’t lose two lives in the process. 

And frankly, if you look at what Planned Parenthood does, I think it tries to do all three of those things.  And someone who supports Planned Parenthood (as an aside) is not necessarily pro-abortion.  In fact, they are likely not pro-abortion at all, but pro-healthy-woman and healthy families.  Lord knows we have a growing mental health community due to unwanted children being brought into this world and being neglected, abused, and essentially thrown away.  These are real issues that we need to face and deal with as a society.  But that’s another rant.

But abortion was NOT the topic on my mind at all.  But it was raised last night as part of a discussion regarding Chick-Fil-A.   The issue was raised because some people are trying to make the issue black and white.  And some people are trying to lump other people into neat little boxes.  Some people are trying to focus on the right of Cathy to speak and in the process gracefully ignoring what it was that he said. 

Frankly, and I may not when popularity points here, I don’t think what Cathy said was that “offensive”.  I have heard much worse.  He was expressing his views and his opinions, and not only is he entitled to have them, not only are they shared by a lot of people in the country, he is also entitled to express them, and to express them not only with his voice but with his dollars.  I find it sad that he is unable to see or understand that God made me the way that I am, and that I believe God blessed my union, and that, frankly, if the government is going to confer benefits on two people who choose to share their lives together in the form of a family, I should be able to partake in those benefits, too.  As well as the responsibilities.  (The California domestic partnership law is called the "Domestic Partners Rights and Responsibilities Act").

But some people, and understandably so, find his speech to be hate-speech.  I'll be honest, I'm not sure that it rises to that level, but I can understand in this day and age where others who are fighting so hard for equality, and who have determined that their equality will best be won through legalized marriage, how that those words can be hateful.  Essentially, Cathy is declaring that anyone whose lifelong partner is the same sex is a second-class citizen.

Notice, we don't hear a lot of people who have been divorced speaking up or taking note of Cathy's statements about being still married to their first wives.  They are cleverly and wisely hiding behind the gays' outrage at his statements and hoping no-one will notice that they are not amongst the people that Cathy supports either. 

Westboro Baptist Church, as I reminded some folks in last night's conversation, also claim Freedom of Speech when they picket military funerals.  People find it easier - because they aren't simply targeting gay funerals - to find the Westboro Baptist Church's speech as offensive and hateful.  They are actually clearly targeting America (go to their website, this isn't MY conclusion, this is their own declaration!) I guess it might depend on who the speech is used against as to whether or not we might more easily recognize the "hate" involved.

In 1967, the Supreme Court made a fairly radical decision at the time.  It decided that a ban against a man and a woman who loved each other who had actually been legally married was an unconstitutional action on the part of the Commonwealth of Virginia.   Two people had gotten married in the District of Columbia, and then returned home to Virginia.  Two policemen raided their home at night, hoping to catch them in marital relations, but only found them sleeping together.  When the couple pointed to their marriage certificate on the wall, the police found that as evidence to criminally charge them. 

Picture this.  You're in bed with your significant other (who you may or may not have married - let's face it many of us are involved in pre-marital relationships) and the police come in and arrest you for actually SLEEPING together?  WTF? Don't the cops have anything better to do?  And it was a RADICAL decision at the time for the Supreme Court to tell the Commonwealth of Virginia that what they did was wrong. 

By now, I hope, you've figured out that the case I am referring to was Loving v. Virginia, and while each had a partner of the appropriate sex, they did not fall in love with partners of what was then the appropriate race. 

So when supporters of LGBT rights liken this to the 1960s civil rights movement regarding race, this is kinda an example of why.  We fall in love with who we fall in love with.  We should be allowed to choose the people we want to share our lives with.  We were born this way.  God made me this way.  To say that I, a creature of God, is a second class citizen is considered hateful by some. 

Now, I don't think what Cathy did was illegal, nor do I hear anyone suggesting it is.  Free speech is speech free from GOVERNMENT restriction.  The public arena is free to use their own means of expression to quell speech they find offensive.  And some are. 

Someone wrote last night that supporting Chick-Fil-A is not supporting the suppression of rights.  Well, here's the logic that says that it is.  No, Chick-Fil-A, unlike Ollie's Barbecue, is willing to serve and take anyone's money who wants to purchase their chicken and other fare.  BUT, the profit they make may be used to support anti-gay organizations who ARE fighting and making strides in suppressing the rights of all people to marry whom they love, regardless of race, or gender.  And so, some hungry people are choosing not to do so.

(Is anyone still reading at this point? Because here's where some of the humor comes in.. )  So I posted on my Facebook page (yes, my Tweeps, I do still use FB) a link to a picture of a KFC sign.  Again, there, too, I try not to be too political, and I don't think food and politic necessarily belong together, but they have since before I was born, so who am I to fight it?  The sign said "Delicious Chicken Served Without Hate"

Now a friend of mine who is a vegetarian posted a quandary this morning.  She wrote that she's not a fan of homophobes, but frankly the way that KFC treats their chickens isn't particularly humane, either. 

What's a person to do?  As I wrote in the post I first referred you to at the start, I'm not politically correct or incorrect, the best a person can do is to try to be sensitive.  Even if you can't understand why someone might be upset, be respectful that there might be a valid reason, and try to be sensitive to their pain and anguish.  When someone is angry, it is because they are hurt.  Here, people are hurt because they've been told that they are inferior citizens.  Their choice - a very valid choice - is to be angry and not accept being told that.  To let the world - or the U.S. - know that they find that treatment unacceptable.  That they find that behavior to be hateful.  No-one on either side here in the chicken world is proposing or advocating violence.  But still, as I wrote in the original Sticks & Stones, words do hurt.

Even if we don't agree, then, with what someone else is saying, let's at least begin the dialog by acknowledging their right to feel that way.  This means acknowledging Cathy's right to feel that traditional marriage is defined in the Bible as between a man and a woman, even if we disagree.  And acknowledging that this speech can be found to be hateful, even if we don't agree.  Our first choice, then, is to respect each other and try to come to some middle ground.  To respectfully engage each other in a dialog to illustrate our understandings so that maybe we might help the other to understand, too. 

The movement for gay marriage as a right actually started in the late eighties, early nineties.  Most politically active people knew then it was too early to attack that issue and change people's minds.  It may still be.  In my mind, the best choice is to create a civil domestic union, and grandfather in everyone who has been married to date.  From here forward, keep the government out of "marriage" - recognize it as a religious "sacrament" -  and let the churches decide whether to marry or not.  But let everyone have equal access to the responsibilities and the rights involved in becoming life-partners- the right to pay taxes, the right to visit in the hospital, to choose funeral arrangements, to receive social security benefits, health care insurance, etc.  Separate that from "marriage" and I think most people would be more accepting of conferring this status upon same-sex partners.  Just my two cents...

Sticks & Stones - A Followup - Pt 1 - Self Esteem

My post Sticks & Stones from June 30th really struck a chord with folks.  It's currently the fifth most read post of all-time on my blog. 

Today I received a comment that struck me:

Why is it so hard to believe a compliment someone gives us,and so easy to believe the hurtful things other can say? I admittedly have Self Esteem problems. I have severe depression and a tendency to self harm (generally more mentally than physically) I beat myself to a pulp all the time. I don't need anyone else to do it for me. How do I stop letting it effect me?

This comment set my mind off in several different directions (and based on how long I typed on the second direction, it will clearly also, set me off on several blog posts, too). 

The first, which I replied to her in the comments section, was specific to the incident she was referring to.  A blog post that she had written had sparked a firestorm of response, and a lot of it, as you can see above, was clearly hurtful.  She was surprised to have received such a reaction. 

The second direction was this issue of self-esteem and our role in this hurtful dynamic.  I will admit that whether something hurts us often has a lot to do with us. A friend of mine recently described to me an incident where she felt bullied and I admit I scratched my head when she first described the situation and what had happened to me. But part of what made her feel bullied wasn't completely what was happening to her at the time, but who she was as a result of her experience that she brought to that moment.  And fortunately, she was able to step back and recognize this and not be further hurt by the confusion I expressed.  ("Um, so what exactly did they do? That's it? So? Why did this bother you?")

When our parents taught us that little thing about "Sticks & Stones" they were trying to teach us that we have power over what hurts us.  That really, the only thing that can hurt us, that we don't have much power over, is sticks and stones.  But the words we can develop an immunity to, in theory, and not let them hurt us.  Sounds nice in theory, but in practice, as I discussed in the last post, it doesn't quite work out so well.  However, in this post, and in the next (few? couple? not yet written) posts, I hope to help develop an understanding of why these things hurt and perhaps a strategy of how we can work on making them hurt less.

How much of this is tied into our self-esteem and our image of ourself? 

Generally, I like to believe that I have a pretty good sense of self, and I hope that this translates into a healthy self-esteem.  I know who I am and I am comfortable with who I am.  I know I'm not perfect, and I'm happy with that.  I know that I am human.  I know that I will make mistakes.  I know that I will hurt people, even though, for the most part, I try very hard to be supportive and not hurtful.  I know that I do the best I can, and I try not to beat myself up too much about the things where I fall short where I want to be, and instead, try to learn from those experiences and do better next time.

But as a kid, like so many of us, I was often a new-comer, and often insecure in my new surroundings.  I was short (okay, still am), geeky (okay, still am), and different from the others solely by the circumstance of being someone new.  When I moved to the neighborhood where I spent most of my childhood, I was five years old, and the kids who lived in the 'hood had know each other all their lives.  I was a stranger to them.  Later, when I went to a new school that taught K-12, and I entered in the fifth grade, I was new to these kids as well.  I learned, over the next eight years, that many of us came and went, so over time I was no longer so unique.  But it was tough being at a new school, and being different. 

I see, as an adult, that I brought my own insecurities about being different into these situations.  I do NOT think the results would have been any different because kids are kids are kids, and I would have been teased regardless of my own insecurities. 

In third grade, though, I had a different experience.  I was sent to a new start-up pilot program.  There we were all new.  It was the first year of the program.  There we were all the same because we were all new and we came from different parts of the county to be in this program.  I imagine we eventually formed some cliques, although my memory is hazy, and frankly I think those "cliques" were less exclusionary circles and more groupings of people who had interests in common as would happen, naturally, in any social setting  - particularly those free of other barriers.

My school history and history of being teased is in many ways a long sidebar, but it's informative to me about the situations where I was hurt as a kid, and in evaluating, now, when I am hurt as an adult.

With our significant others, sometimes we have buttons pre-installed.  Something our parents used to pick us on, our siblings, our previous significant others, or areas where we already feel insecure.  Having someone whose opinion matters to us pick at these areas and push these buttons can trigger a reaction that may be stronger than the situation, objectively, might warrant.  It is sometimes difficult for us to step back and separate what emotional response belongs to the past, and what belongs to the present. 

I used to joke (although it really wasn't funny, and I often wasn't laughing) that my ex-wife had land-mines.  She did.  She had emotional land-mines that I would inadvertently unknowingly step on and trigger a huge reaction and response.  On occasion - particularly early on - we would be able to diffuse them, and sometimes, those land mines would then become a future joke between us.  But we weren't always so lucky.  (And this, again, is why I'm single...)

When I realized I was gay, I was very fortunate to have been raised in an open minded and somewhat supportive family.  My mother wasn't too terribly surprised, and my father merely worried that life would be harder for me.  But there was never a question for me, fortunately, over whether they would still love me.  I know others have had a much harder "coming out" process, and again, faced ridicule, disownment, subjected to teasings and beatings in school, and all around horrible time of it.  I do realize how fortunate I am.  But I also realize this is why any attempts to insult me, upset me or put me down because I'm gay really are fairly ineffectual.  As you read in "Isn't Dyke Derogatory?" for me, personally, the answer is "no". 

You can't hurt me by calling me gay or a dyke.  I am.  I am comfortable with it.  Westboro Baptist Church can tell me that God hates me, but I am secure knowing that isn't true.  Those words don't hurt me.

But this doesn't mean that there aren't words that can hurt me.  Part of what was hard about my ex-wife's barrage of complaints about me and to me is that there were some half-truths in among them.  So I had a hard time sorting out what really belonged to me, and what belonged to her.  It wasn't until she accused me of having an affair with a man, which at one point she actually did, that I began to be able to step back and realize much of what she was saying wasn't about me.  That I, unfortunately, was an easy punching bag for her to lash out at because she was so unhappy with herself and her life.  (That's very simplistic, but for now, given the length already of this post, let's just go with it).  Five years later, I have a little more insight into what DID belong to me with that accusation, but it was so ludicrous at the time, that it let me step back and not take what she was saying to me as personally as I had been.

Self-esteem is certainly, then, a factor in whether we let words or insults from others hurt us.  If we don't like ourselves, or a part of ourselves, or we're unhappy with a part of ourselves, and they hit that button square on the nose, it taps into our own insecurities about that aspect of ourselves and hurts.  Sometimes that is what they intend to do, and sometimes, though, it's inadvertent. 

So, my conclusion in this first part is that yes, our self esteem and our insecurities plays a big part in whether something someone else says hurts us. 

In the next few posts, I hope to address other factors that contribute to when something hurts, what we do to ourselves, and answer the question posed "How do I stop letting it affect me?"

I don't pretend to have all the answers, but I do have some insight that I hope will help.  Comments and feedback is always welcome.  Stay tuned!

Cllick on this link to check out Pt 2 - Beating Yourself Up

Dear Westboro Baptist Church

Now generally, I'm not going to spout political or religious stuff in my blog.  That's not what I'm about.  But the things that do tend to fall under those categories, that I might talk about, I talk about because they are fundamental to the human condition, or useful in my story.

When I'm on #wineparty on my iPhone, and I start to write that hashtag #w, frequently the first option Twitter offers me is #WestboroBaptistChurch.  Oh, Twitter, how little you know me.  Although today, when I post this entry on Twitter, I might finally use it.

I was in the shower today and thinking about the phrase "conditional love" and thinking how those two words don't go together.  How that really is a paradox.  Now, I wasn't thinking of the church at the time, but it was the beginning of that winding path that led me here by the end of my shower.

Yes, that's right boys and girls, it's time for another Shower Topic blog post. 

Dear Westboro Baptist Church,

I don't think God would look very kindly at you for disrespecting his Creation.  I think there's a spark of God in all of us, and when you hurt anyone, particularly deliberately, I think you hurt God, too.  (Cue up Joan Osborne's "One of Us" music)

Jesus told his disciples to go out and preach the Gospel.  Nowhere in the Gospel have I found Jesus telling anyone that you should hate anyone else.  Nope.  In the last few lessons at MY church the last few weeks, Jesus has wandered amongst the unclean and loved them.  Frankly the only ones I've noticed Jesus be upset with or encourage shunning or avoiding are those who are self-righteous...

I don't care if you like me. I don't need you to love me.  And while God may ask that of you, I don't.  And I think He might understand that it is difficult to love everyone.  Jesus talked about it a lot, in fact.  It is not easy to love one another as I love you.  But try. 

But I don't expect it.  I don't require it (not that my requirements should matter to you).  I just ask you simply to allow me to live my life in peace.  You don't need to bless my unions - my church and my God will do that.  You don't need to come to my funeral - in fact, I kinda would prefer if you didn't, since you don't seem to act particularly respectful of the dead and those who mourn.  But I may invite the folks at Texas A&M to come.  They seem to understand what it means to honor the dead and respect the living. 

If Jesus were here today, do you think he'd want anyone's website that was proclaiming his GOOD News to have the words "God Hates" in the domain name?  No.  God doesn't hate.  God loves.  And Jesus asked you to do the same, although he didn't expect it.

I think God and Jesus would accept the following compromise:  You live your life and follow your beliefs, and do no harm to others, and I will do the same.  Fair enough?

Sincerely,
A Child of God

Rant, Amish Sex Swingers...and big boobs!

I'll warn you now, I'm gonna rant.  Which isn't what I want to do.  What I want to do is be more excited over how many people are finding my blog.  Including one soul today who typed in "Amish Sex Swingers" into Google and found me.  And on a Sunday! Tsk, tsk... ;) 

I'd much rather write about how exciting I am about how popular my blog is becoming, and that people are actually searching for it by name.  Someone in the last 24 hours or so actually searched for "borgblog resistance is futile."

Because, really, resistance is futile. 

Now, I need more of you to hit the 'share this' on the Facebook and Twitter buttons over there on the right... Yeah, that's right, just up a little.  But maybe not for this post.  Because I thought I was gonna rant, and that might not be a good first impression for first time readers...

Oh, if you're a first time reader... please don't judge me on this alone.  Usually I'm nicer.. less rantier.. some even say funny...

(True.. I haven't started ranting yet.. already, I'm turning my frown upside down...)

If I were to rant, and I might still do so, it would actually be the third post inspired by this particular person.  We'll call him Tom because frankly I don't know any Toms, and so hopefully I won't actually insult anyone I know.  If your name is Tom, this isn't about you.  You're safe.

If you want to know the other two posts, they are "Buttons" and "Trigger People" (except now I can't find that post even though I SWEAR I wrote it....??).

And I know, really, that while I'd like to lay all of this raw irritated emotion at his feet and at his responsibility, I know that it is mine to deal with.  So rather than respond to the e-mail I got about a half hour ago, and make the problem worse, I am reaching out to the wider social networking universe, instead.  Because I can't piss you off because this isn't about you. (Today!)

Ironically, one of today's readings spoke directly to my problem.  This is from the second letter of Paul to the Corinthians "Therefore, to keep me from being too elated, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to torment me, to keep me from being too elated." 

OMG.  When that passage was read this morning, I immediately thought of Tom (there's even a note in my bulletin now, in case I forgot, with his name next to it).  And this was before he'd done anything grievous today.  (Don't worry, he eventually did.  He always does.  It's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when).

I want so badly to respond to his e-mail.  I want so badly to spell out clearly how wrong he is and what an ass he is. 

(Hee hee, just checked twitter.  Another confession coming in.. "I like girls with big boobs!"  See you guys rock .. hard to rant when people are sharing important things like that with you.. and wanting to find Amish sex swingers...)

I know that I have a choice with Tom.  It's not one that makes me feel good about myself, frankly.  I can be right, show him and tell him I'm right and drive him right out of our church.  And sadly, I am ashamed to admit, there are several members of the church who would pat me on the back in appreciation for doing that.  And I think I'm close to having accomplished that, whether intentional or not.  After I've snapped at him, he's gotten pretty quick at leaving.

I am ashamed to admit that there is a part of me that would like to see that happen.  That thinks things would be easier without him - heck KNOWS that things would be easier without him.  But then I think of two things. 

First, what would it be like to not feel welcome in your church?  Is that something I want to make him feel?  On the one hand, I've already admitted (here, and to myself) that his presence makes me not want to go on Sundays, but do I *really* want to be the reason someone else feels that they can't go to their house of worship?  No.

The second is a post a friend wrote recently about being bullied that broke my heart having read it.  And I can't help but wonder in this situation, if I'm not being a bully? 

Man, that sucks... Can we go back to talking about big boobs and Amish Sex Swingers, please?

I wrote in my post "History in the Making" that we are quick to label ourselves the hero or the victims in our stories when we tell them.  But really, in this story, if I made him leave, would I really be a hero?  No.  And while he irritates the bejesus out of me, am I really a victim? (I wanna be able to answer, "yes", but I know the answer is) No.

Someone wrote on Twitter (it happens probably every thirty seconds or so, even if you're not following the person who tweeted - and like that tree that falls in the forest if no-one is around to hear, it still falls...) being an adult sucks. 

Yes.  Sometimes it does.  Resistance is futile.  Big boobs are nice.  And, sorry, there are no Amish Sex Swingers here, but there is some funny stuff.  And some not so funny stuff. 

Tribe

Last week (or has it been two weeks?) during The Bloggess Book Club, she expressed her happiness at finally having found her Tribe.   Since then the "Lawsbians" movement has taken off.  The Tribe figures that if we enjoy The Bloggess, than, at a minimum we have a quirky enough sense of humor to enjoy each other, too.

But this finding of our Tribe hits upon so many other common issues.  Finding our Tribe suggests, perhaps, we weren't already within our Tribe to begin with.  It hints at the feeling of being "outsiders" so many of us feel.

Last night, I admit, I was watching The Mary Tyler Moore Show.  Of particular relevance to this post, I watched Episode 7 of Season 1 - Toulousse Lautrec is One of my Favorite Artists.  In this episode, she interviews a wonderful author for a news segment, and then he asks her out for dinner.  When they both get off their chairs, she realizes how short he is, and then tries to be sensitive in all that she says next to him, finding herself blundering with inadvertent "short" references.  Not aided, of course, by her friend Rhoda, who refers to him as a shrimp when he's out of the room, so that when he comes back, Mary introduces him to Rhoda as Eric Shrimp.

In the meantime, in the course of the show and their spending evenings together getting to know each other, Eric finishes his second book, which he leaves for Mary to read.  It is all about how we all feel like outsiders.  He has this line, that I'll paraphrase badly, but you can hit the link above, and as long as Hulu has it, you can watch it for yourself.  He talks about high school, and how there was this one guy who was the captain of the football team, class president, and he may even have suggested he was top of the class.  And there was this one girl.  She was captain of the cheer squad, class secretary and dating the captain of the football team.  Those two people, he said, were the only ones who were actually happy in high school. 

Facebook - as much as Tweeps may diss it - has been a remarkable tool for reconnecting with people you used to know.  (Maybe Gotye should try it?).  I definitely felt on the outside in high school.  And so, when I left, there were only about two or three people I actually kept in touch with, and I never attended a reunion.  I got on Facebook the year of our twentieth reunion, and in those early stages, you clicked "Accept" on anyone whose name you recognized before you learned to filter.  And I had the opportunity prior to the reunion to actually get to know some people from my class that I hadn't been close to.  Who seemed, from the distance, to be popular and happy and well accepted at school.  And then, to learn, that they, too, were miserable in high school and felt like outsiders.

Then, since I was in town at the time, I went to my twentieth reunion.  And ran into more former class-mates who seemed like they were part of the "in" crowd only to discover they felt like they were on the outside, too.

I think we tend to underestimate our place within society and our community, and perhaps, to over-estimate others.  Twitter provides a remarkable ability to feel "closer" to celebrities and perhaps not their innermost thoughts, but their most random thoughts that they share with the thousands who follow them.  Not surprising, their tweets aren't too much different than ours.  Not surprising, their tweets often express their own insecurities, their own desire for acceptance, their own search for community and their place.  In some ways, it has to be harder for them, because we have all placed them way up high on a pedestal, outside the normal realm of society. 

But the reality is that our common denominator is that we're all human.  We all want to belong.  And so many of us often feel that we don't belong. 

Don't assume that the person next to you feels a part of your community.  The healthiest churches I have been in encourage parishioners to greet and get to know the person sitting on the pew next to them.  You can't assume that the person there feels like they belong until you let them know that they belong.  Just as you often feel out of place yourself.

I admit, I have felt that since I found Twitter, I have found "my people".  Y'all laugh at my jokes, enquire about my pain, and read my blog and ideally enjoy it (more comments to confirm doesn't hurt my self esteem or ego!)  But the reality is that we are all part of one big tribe.  The Tribe of Humanity.  You will be assimilated.  Resistance is futile.

Buttons...

There is a "joke" response that I've often given when I've heard someone express frustration over their mother.  "Why is it that she can seem to push all my buttons?"  To which I give them the classic line (and I'm sure it's not mine originally), "Because she installed them."

I have been trying to write a post for some time now about button pushing people, and figuring out which buttons it is that are even being pushed.

Yesterday, for example, I saw the train coming.  The headlight heading my way as the train approached.  I had plenty of time to step out of the way, and even made one half-hearted attempt to do so (although when I made it I thought it was full-hearted, but clearly was not).  But somehow I found myself caught in the light, stuck in the track and unable to get out of the way of this train that tried to steam-roll over me. 

At some level, I remained detached.  Unlike other interactions with this person before, I did not lose control of myself, but I did seem to easily lose control of the situation.  Unlike before, when the train came from behind and I was completely surprised by this person, I saw it coming.  But I still couldn't step out of the way.  Why couldn't I let people behave idiotically if they chose to do so?  What compels me to point out the error in their logic?  Do I really hope to change their mind? 

As I've written before, I am a church-going person.  I admit that circumstances wouldn't have to be so much different for me NOT to be a church-going person.  A lot of why I go is for the sense of community.  And I have become very involved, so extracting myself, at this point, would be difficult.  But I have found myself dreading Sunday mornings lately because of one parishioner who knows how to ring my bell - and not in the good way. He walks in the door, and already I'm annoyed.  He can never answer a direct question.  He can never accept a simple answer.  And, I concluded last Sunday, the reason he annoys me most is that he has or at least shows little respect for me. 

I like to think that I am a reasonably decent person who treats other people, well, reasonably decent.  I don't expect people to kow tow in front of me and lick my boots.  I don't hold myself in such high (over-inflated) self-esteem.  But I don't expect people to walk all over me, either.  I expect, surprisingly, to be treated reasonably decent. 

Now I understand that I can provoke someone with the best of them.  And if someone responds upset to something provocative by me, I can respect that.  I can even respect an irrational response.  But it makes a difference, in the end to me, whether someone can back up and try and understand their own response, and articulate to me why what I said or did upset them.  If they can, at some point, step back and evaluate the situation and try to resolve it rather than escalate it. 

I can even half-heartedly accept a half-hearted apology - "Sorry, woke up on the wrong side of the bed"  We all over-react, and sometimes don't even understand our own over-reactions.  And there will even be times when we won't see it.  Over time and experience with you, I can learn to understand and accept that.  And even in the beginning, I will give you the benefit of the doubt. 

I work hard at giving the compassion the Dalai Lama states is the secret to happiness.  But, I admit, in return, I expect or hope an attempt at compassion for me from you. I don't think that is too much to expect. 

And apparently, those who can't give it, have found a button in me that they can push. 

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We are family - Borg Family

For those who are unfamiliar with the Borg from Star Trek, this article from Wikipedia is actually quite helpful to bring you up to speed.  I *do* not suggest you need to read the WHOLE article, but the first few paragraphs should give you an overview.

While the naming of this blog was a product of auto-correct, on more than one occasion, the naming of the blog after this “pseudo-race” from Star Trek seems very fitting, nonetheless.

Although I am an active weekly church-goer and participant, I find much value in Eastern philosophies.  Early on,I was amused to make the connection between Taoism and the Borg, when I first read in an elementary book on Taoism (it may even have been the Tao of Pooh)that resistance is futile. 

The Borg operates as a collective. All the smaller units are really just part of a whole and they all have the same data and responses, generally to any situation.  They think alike.  They are alike.

In the last two weeks, I have made more friends in the Twitter-verse (particularly from #wineparty) that I now follow.  It is clear, of course, that it has attracted like-minded people.  But the similarities amongst us are remarkable.  There have been a number of tweets that I have flagged with the thought of using them as “story-starters”or post generators.  Where one of you has expressed something that I strongly agree with, or have expressed at some point (likely recently) myself.  Made an observation that I have made.  Felt the same emotions, reactions, responses as I have felt.  And even some of you have responded to my tweets or my blog with amazement at how much you feel like you could have written that.

A friend of mine was venting to me last night by e-mail about the evil ex of her current flame.  And she ended it with a stern warning of her mood: “please don't give me the compassionspeech”.  I admit – and she may not want to know this – I laughed a little at that. Because in many ways we are more alike than we are different.  And I often preach (see, Dad was right) to stop and put yourself in someone else’s shoes to try and understand why they are reacting or responding the way that they are acting.  If we can step back from ourselves and always being right, we may realize that if we were in the same situation we might be acting the same way – or at least want to. 

When we stop and realize that I am just like you and you are just like me – with all of our wonderful qualities and all of our flaws (yes, you DO have flaws, sorry, honey, you are NOT perfect) – then it is easier to give someone else the break that we feel we deserve.

If we stopped and thought of ourselves as a collective – as one being of sorts – so that hurting someone else was really the same as hurting ourselves, perhaps we might think twice about some of our behavior towards others.  If we realize that the ultimate impact in mistreating others was being mistreated ourselves, then perhaps we might treat each other a little gentler.

One poor tweep today in reaction to another friend on Facebook reposting a Dalai Lama quote blasted her (or him?) about how she didn’t want to read some stupid repost PARTICULARLY when she knew that you didn’t even believe it yourself.  I teased her back, “but I do!” and she felt sheepish and clarified that it wasn’t about me (which I knew).  But I do believe in all that compassion stuff that the Dalai Lama talks about.  It is hard to practice, but I think if we stop and realize that we are all extensions of one another, and treat each other with the same respect as we want, the world – or at least the one that you live in – will begin to look better. 

Resistance, after all, is futile. You will become one with the Borg. You will be assimilated.  We are one.

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Twenty Two Days

Blogging is NOT an easy business.  I follow several bloggers and now I have even greater sympathy when they discuss the efforts they make to ensure that they create time in their schedules to blog.  I appreciate, even more, when I receive entries two days in a row from them (I get e-mails for many of my favorite blogs, you can, too, by hitting one of those options off to the side here on this blog!)

I'd love to blame it all on tulip-girl.  I'd love to tell you that we'd embarked upon a wild tumultuous passionate affair, and frankly, I've been too busy with her to write here. 

Nope.  But thanks for the good wishes, because I know that's what my four regular readers from the Ukraine have been thinking. 

I'd love to blame it on winning the Mega Millions lottery and embarking upon a whirlwind charitable world tour.  Because, of course, that's what I would do if I won Mega Millions - I'd travel the world being charitable to others.  Isn't that at the top of your list? To give it away to others?  That's what I thought.

Nope.  But thanks for the good wishes, because I know that's what my four regular readers from the Ukraine have been thinking. 

I can blame it on ADD, and on life, and on you (why not? Oh, yeah, because if I start blaming things on you, you might stop reading...).

First, there was Holy Week.  Being involved in my church meant I actually attended all four services leading up to and including Easter Sunday.  That wiped me out.  For weeks.  Actually, seriously. 

Then there is the ADD-thing.  Habits and structure are a big part of getting things done (if you get things done) with ADD.  So I got out of the habit of writing during the tail end of Holy Week and in the weeks recovering. 

You probably thought I forgot all about this.  I hadn't. 

And, well, actually, tulip-girl has played a part of it, too.  No, we have not embarked upon a wild tumultuous passionate affair.  Yet.  But we have been spending time together and getting to know each other more.  We haven't even kissed.  Yet.  But the signs of interest continue to accrue.  A touch here, a touch there.  Some of my friends say it is just a matter of time. 

Well, then, time will tell. And, as I keep returning to, resistance is futile. 

What a week!

Well, it's been quite a week since I called out The Bloggess.  I've gotten quite a bit more traffic to the site as I had hoped, and hopefully a few of you will even stay.  Two of my favorite bloggers are now following me on Twitter, and I wasn't even a twit, er, a tweep, er, a .. well, whatever twitter-lovers are, just a week ago.

I've even been told by someone that I am scarier than they are... which I think is a compliment.  I hope it's one.. Perhaps that person will come back and let me know.

I can see the traffic to specific posts, but I don't know how many of you are coming back for the blog.  I hope a lot. 

It has been an exciting week and a fun one.  I hope that it is just the beginning of a long and beautiful relationship with you, my audience, and that something I say makes you laugh, or stay, or read, or think.

I admit I am kind of between careers right now.  Currently I am "consulting" which is a three-syllable fancy word for an outsider you pay money to look in.  I do a variety of things, and hopefully I provide value, but it really is a catch-all for someone who is a contractor who will do whatever you need.  Or think you need. 

But I was talking with my father the other day, and not for the first time, thinking, I guess, that I need career advice, he suggested I consider becoming a priest.  This from a man who probably hasn't been to church since I was baptized, but we'll ignore that part. 

I think, to be fair, it is his way of acknowledging my "spiritual" side which has grown like a weed despite my parents raising.  I have a strong faith, and in the face of "recent" turmoil, it is my faith that has kept me strong.  It is a faith that they never gave me, but I have managed to find nonetheless. 

I think it also a way to acknowledge his recognition that my church is an important part of my life.  I go every Sunday.  I am active in my church (I've forgotten what number that was on the list, but I know it was there). 

I think, to be fair, it was his way of saying he loves me no matter who I am. 

And for that, I am tremendously grateful.

But it's not the first time he has suggested in recent years I consider being a priest, nor the only one who has made such a suggestion.  Usually I quite quickly answer "No.." but am unable to articulate why it's not the job for me.  But I know it's not.  They see someone who is a great listener, who can counsel friends and help them through crisis.  They see someone who has great faith in a higher being.   They see someone who is quick to help others. They see someone who goes to church a lot.  They see someone who likes to talk.  (They also see someone who is celibate, but I'm not Catholic (and then I'd have the whole being a woman and being gay problem, anyway) so that shouldn't be something calling me to the priesthood). 

I finally came up, though, with the foolproof answer as to why I can't be a priest.  One my father could agree with - although he may bring it up again, who knows.. Thanks to my ADD I don't have the patience to read the Bible from Genesis to Revelation - Alpha to Omega - and I think that might be a small requirement.  He bought it, at least.

Now I have read more of the Bible than I suspect many people, including those who thump their Bibles (and what exactly happens when one thumps a Bible - or rather what does one expect will happen? God will Morse code a message back to you??), but I have far from read the whole thing, nor do I have any desire to do so.  I can fight scripture with scripture if I have to - although the person who wrote the letter to Dr. Laura that was later paraphrased and re-done on The West Wing has done such a good job for most things, I don't need to bother.  (That and the MasterCard spoof -- about a tattoo someone had on their arm about Leviticus saying homosexuality was wrong, that a few verses later in Leviticus that thou shalt not tattoo made this tattoo priceless -- also works.  You probably have to see it...)

But I guess there is a part of me that is looking for a pulpit.  A place to expound upon the observations I have made in life and perhaps a place, ideally, to give others some food for thought in their own lives.  Not a bully pulpit, I hope.  I don't know that what I think is necessarily right.  I know it works for me most times, but that doesn't mean it would work for everyone, or that it is even right for me.  However, I do think I have a few things of value to share, and I do seem to enjoy sharing them and hope that others might find some value.

And that, my friends, may be part of the underlying drive to blog.  To find my pulpit.  Without having to read the whole Bible.  And this week I have seen my little "church" grow.  And it pleases me. 

Please leave a donation in the plate below.  :D  Thank you.


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If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.