To: You

a "book review"

today i read the new york regional mormon singles halloween dance -- a memoir by elna baker. there were a lot of things in this book that struck me -- things that i agreed with and that i didn't, that i related to and didn't relate to, and what counts most, that made me re-ask myself some important questions.

i just want to share this paragraph from the last page of the book:

"I'm deathly afraid of making the wrong choice. For good reason. Either way I choose, my life will become so much smaller. If I stop being Mormon, I won't be allowed to attend my brother's and sisters' weddings in any Mormon temple. I'll break my mother's heart and I won't be with my family for eternity. But if I stay in the church, I can't wear the sleeveless dress I wore last night, I'll have to say fetch instead of f***, and I won't get to live the rest of my life with any of the men I love most. I've spent a decade saying yes to both sides, stalling and questioning, not ready to choose and watch my life become simpler and more ordinary. Only without definite or definable values I'm a genuine indeterminate. I am what I might be, not what I am."

i am not afraid the way she is. i do not believe my life will become smaller by choosing my faith. i do not regret or resent my lack of sleeveless dresses or having to say fetch, or any other things my religion dictates. i DO believe in my definite and definable values. I DO believe that everything I want in life is available to me within my church. for me, my church IS true. And as long as i have had faith and acted on it... God has been with me. And that feeling -- nothing else has ever been able to replace it. 

it was good to remember that. 

(and this book will very likely become a christmas gift for many of my friends)

sufjan stevens

sings about how i feel about christmas

Communication & Comunicacion

Living in Central America and being surround by another language I quickly came to understand better the importance of communicative-relationships. Having to learn Spanish, and the frustration and loneliness that came from being unable to make myself understood, brought insight into difficulties of interpersonal communication. I was a college graduate, a capable thinking adult, and yet I couldn’t carry on an effective conversation with a six-year old child. I remember sitting on the floor and playing with two young girls not being able to follow what they were saying to me -- then when I would speak to them, they would turn to their mom and ask what I was saying. We just could not communicate. I believe many adults feel the same way in their own native language – that they just can’t seem to pull out the meaning from other's words. And there seems to be a poignant difference in an inability to express oneself in an effective and satisfying way as an adult as opposed to as child. It is changes from a simple lack of experience or maturity to a kind of conflict between minds.

The miscommunication that happens between reasonable adult humans happens so frequently and powerfully that it can go beyond feeling like we're just speaking a different language to seeming as though we aren't even the same creature. I wonder at times if effective communication and complete understanding is even possible. Learning another language, I came to find that no matter how many words I knew and how used I got to hearing native speakers – there was still a fundamental difference in how they spoke versus how I spoke. Even when I felt I understood what they were saying, a part of me still wondered if there were subtle meanings in inflections and word choice that I was just never going to be able to pick up on. We were the same people, speaking the same words, and yet not ever perfectly communicating.

Of course the "language barrier" was there but even communication between two native speakers seems to have the same "barrier" because of the inherent imperfections in our methods of communicating. But...Perhaps that imperfection is necessary, and part of what makes a truly dynamic human relationships.

blossoms

Remember the story of the Buddha sitting under the bodhi tree?

"In traditional versions of the story, it’s said that no matter what appeared, whether it was demons or soldiers with weapons or alluring women, he had no reaction to it at all. I’ve always thought, however, that perhaps the Buddha did experience emotions during that long night, but recognized them as simply dynamic energy moving through. The feelings and sensations came up and passed away, came up and passed away. They didn’t set off a chain reaction.

This process is often depicted in paintings as weapons transforming into flowers – warriors shooting thousands of flaming arrows at the Buddha as he sits under the bodhi tree but the arrows becoming blossoms."
     --Pema Chodron


To be able to experience "negative" emotion without getting sucked into the destructive cycle of feelings feeding upon feelings is something that I really struggle with and am working very very hard at. Worth it?

I'm sure it is. Throughout my life I have found myself caught up in the dangerous downdraft of negativity. What starts out as a small misunderstanding or hurt feelings quickly escalates into my life falling apart. Even when I know it's not rational. Even when my brain is saying "stop this! it's not a big deal!" Even when I understand that I'm just caught up in negative emotion...I still feel it. I still FEEL like everything is just disintegrating. However, there have been moments when I've been able to avoid this cycle of negative emotion... usually through focusing on something positive or distracting. But I feel like the story of the buddha is teaching something else. Not to dodge the arrows but to accept them as blossoms. I haven't quite figured out how to do that yet... But i'm learning bit by bit.

babies

I miss magnolia and olive.

I was looking at pictures of these beautiful babies and, like a shove, I realized they aren't babies anymore. I don't think I appreciated how lucky I was to live so close to these darling mini-humans. I miss holding their hot little bodies and playing with them -- and I miss the way that simple play brought immediate love. I ought to have treasured those moments more.

On sunday I was watching a little girl who had just learned to walk run across a wood floor and sliding around on it in her red tights sans shoes... and I thought about how mags is running around now. I'm missing that! I hate missing that...  and olive's toddler-talk and wiping sticky faces and hands and the sound of little hiccups.


And I miss watching their mother, and what a natural she was for knowing the perfect thing to do when someone was grumpy. It's captivating. Even being just a small part of that dynamic, by being around a real mommy with her babies -- was the most lovely thing in the world.

a new dress

My mom hasn't bought me clothes in years.

She used to buy everything for me. That or it was hand-me-downs from cousins. I really didn't differentiate or even care. I do remember the first time I ever bought something new for myself. My grandma had sent me birthday money and I couldn't find a toy that I wanted, so mom took me to the clothing department. I bought butterfly-print shorts with a matching top. I think I was in 4th grade.

Around middle school I started to "shop" for reals. For the first couple years mom came along, but after a certain point she just gave me my budget of money (or made me use my own) and sent me off into the stores for the hours I was willing to spend there. I think she was worn out. She would still buy me things from time to time, but after enough of my constant rejections of her choices she left me to my own devices.

I don't presume now to call myself a fashionable person. I certainly wasn't then, despite the years and HOURS and $$$ I spent hunting clothes. I think I went through the typical teenage-girl stage of "desperation to fit in through shopping" and just came out of it where I am now; aware of my personal style but without any driving urge to be continually expanding my style and dress.

And after the whirlwind of growing up I'm back to where I started. Back finally to a place where my mother can find something she thinks is pretty and suits me and not be afraid to buy it for me. Where we're once again close enough to understand what to give, and to be able to lovingly do so. I think THAT is the best part.

Thanks for the dress mom. It's perfect.