IfYouCan'tSayAnythingNice...MakeAFist...OrLightSomethingOnFire...Part One

I have a problem.

I am too nice. I am way way way too bleepity bleep nice!

Don’t get me wrong. I can be as cranky and moody as the rest of them, especially if my female hormones are spilling over in excess, or if I haven’t eaten on time, or if I’m overtired, or most especially, when there is a frightening combination of all three of these factors. But sustained nastiness is difficult for me, even towards those who most others would agree deserve sustained nastiness. “Nice,” it seems, is my default setting.

Now, being nice is not, in and of itself, a problem, especially when the niceness is actually genuine, and I think, in my case, it generally comes from a sincere place. I seem to have exited the womb wearing rose-coloured glasses. Altruism and empathy come very naturally to me, I am an incurable eternal optimist, and I tend to (rather naively) believe that, for the most part, people mean well.

Let’s say, for example, that I encounter a woman in line at the grocery store who is pushy or rude or otherwise unpleasant. My initial reaction is usually to give her the benefit of the doubt, and to trust that there must be some deep down (hopefully fixable) reason for her behaviour, like maybe her dog just died or she had a really difficult day at work, or maybe her mom didn’t give her enough hugs when she was little, or maybe she has low blood sugar, or maybe she feels unfulfilled in her job or unappreciated in her relationship. I have trouble wrapping my head around the idea that somebody could be a horribly mean person simply because they just ARE a horribly mean person, because they choose not to be a better person, because they just don’t care enough about the people around them in order to be motivated to be a better person.

My niceness also stems, obviously, from my good, decent, Christian upbringing, and the messages I grew up hearing over and over and over again: “Turn the other cheek”, “Do unto others as you’d have them do unto you”, “Love your enemy”, “If someone asks for your mink coat, give it to them, along with your brand new sparkly Louboutin heels” (or something along those lines- I admit I never was too good at memorizing bible verses). And I’ve got to say that, generally, I don’t think there is anything wrong with being generous with one’s niceness. I mean, better to err on the side of being too nice than not nice enough. Everybody, after all, could benefit from a little niceness tossed their way, and sometimes, a little niceness is just enough to get a poor, wretched, lonely soul through the day.

So, the problem really isn’t the niceness. The problem is giving niceness out to people who don’t actually deserve my niceness, people who have used up their chances for my niceness by demonstrating, time and time again, that they don’t deserve it, demonstrating that through their perpetual acts of selfishness or entitlement, through behaviour that shows a complete lack of what I like to call “other awareness,” or through a general spirit of meanness. I continue, much of the time, to be nice to these people, even when they don’t appreciate it or deserve it or reciprocate it, and the end result is often me becoming resentful towards them and angry at myself for being such a pathetic pushover.

But, actually, if I think about it, that isn’t even the problem. The problem comes about because, sometimes, in my desire to give people the benefit of the doubt, I end up giving the wrong person extra chances at my niceness, I get a little burned, and I end up being more than just a little disappointed and dejected. I end up with my whole worldview thrown into crisis, because I think, “What? That hug and smile was not enough to cure this person from their foul mood?? I don’t understand. How will my world turn now that I know sometimes sustained niceness simply isn’t enough to make someone behave properly or to motivate them to treat others the same way?” And maybe that’s because, deep down, I wrongfully expect a certain kind of response to my niceness, and essentially set myself up for disappointment.

Now, add in the following ingredients and we arrive closer to the real problem. First of all, there’s the sad but true fact that I no longer have an endless supply of niceness. I used to. I used to be able to give and give and give without ever needing anything in return. Really! But unfortunately, after recently almost completely emptying my reservoir to the last drop in my bucket of good will, I have to recognize that rebuilding that reserve fund of niceness takes some time, and now I have to be a little bit more conscious of how I’m using my supply of niceness, a little more selective as to who gets my niceness sprinkled in their direction. Then there’s also the issue of my messed up internal calibration, the gut I forget to trust, which means that sometimes I have delayed processing of a situation and trouble recognizing the appropriate reaction to said situation.

So, imagine, for a moment, that the above-mentioned mean lady in the grocery store gives me a little shove. Now, most people would react with a “Back off, bitch,” and maybe those slightly more mature and patient would confront her in a calm, cool and collected manner, or others might give a little growl, snarl, and roll of the eyes. What I would most likely do is either apologize for being in her way, or I would stand there completely dazed and confused, and by the time I realized what had happened and that I actually am entitled to feel a little upset about the fact that a rude stranger pushed me, she would have already paid and taken off, and I’d be left there, shouting, “Hey. Hey. Wait a minute, mean lady. We need to talk.”

I often have delayed processing in these situations. I frequently need to check in with the people around me to see if my feelings make sense, to see if I am justified in feeling irritated or frustrated or taken for granted or ignored. That’s what happens, I guess, when the main message-giver in your life continually tells you for a good solid decade that you’re overreacting or you don’t know what you’re talking about. You start, unfortunately, to believe it, and it takes a surprisingly long time to undo.

I wish I had a pause button so that when someone does something or says something that gives me a little uncomfortable pang in my belly, I could take a time-out to figure out what I was actually feeling, own its validity, and then react accordingly. Because now, what generally happens is that an hour after the incident, or a day later, or a week later, I sit there and say to myself, “Wait a minute. You mean, she did that on purpose? He manipulated me intentionally? She took advantage of me? They ripped me off? Deliberately? Why would somebody do such a thing??” and then, of course, I replay the initial situation and think of what I should have said, what I should have done, and then- well- then, I’m just furious, and feel like I’ve been screwed over, not only by Little Miss Meanie, but by the universe and my pathetic little too nice self!

So, this, in the end is the real problem- the fact that when you take the way I’m naturally wired plus my deeply instilled motivation to give people the benefit of the doubt plus my fragile intuition plus my almost empty reservoir plus my delayed processing plus my tendencies towards guilt plus my discomfort with confrontation plus my new attempts at setting strong boundaries and my recent commitment to more clearly trying to teach people how to treat me, what you end up with is a completely warped and unhealthy relationship with anger, because what happens is this:

First, I’m in complete denial and ignore my gut reaction. Actually, a lot of the time, in the spirit of trying to understand and just give the offender the benefit of the doubt, I let it go and forgive, and let it go again and again and again, and then- finally- I sit there and start thinking and thinking and thinking some more, and then when I can officially admit that yes, indeed, I just might be angry, I still resist it and resist it some more, and then there is this tossing back and forth between reason and reactive emotion- denying, justifying, multiplying, until all this festering transforms me into a (somewhat cuter) version of the Incredible Hulk, a force to be reckoned with, an articulate, passionate woman with a burning volcano of rage in her belly, a fiery tongue (that can cause a considerable amount of damage), and a mind filled with heart-pounding, furied fantasies of shitting on someone’s front step, kicking their teeth in, gnawing their testicles off with my teeth, setting their house on fire, announcing through a department store intercom system that both their mind and nibbles&bits are limp and tiny and useless. But, I would of course never actually do those things because those are the actions of storybook characters and crazy people, and I am neither a storybook character or a crazy person (at least not yet). But if I were to do any of those things (some of which, I admit, I have actually threatened and come close to realizing), I would probably apologize profusely afterwards and possibly even pay for the testicles to be sewn back on and fancy new straight white teeth to be re-inserted.

So, this, I think, we can all agree, is the problem- the delayed reaction of anger, so that the expression of anger comes too late and too big, and all the headspace it takes up is just unnecessary and avoidable had I just trusted my gut in the first place, rather than always trusting in another’s intentions or relying on someone else’s advice. If only I could find a way to keep my nice self intact without feeling obligated to give a selfish, insensitive, rude, unpleasant person anything more than a civilized nod of greeting.

I have trouble negotiating this idea that there are levels of civility and niceness and emotional investment, that not everyone deserves the same treatment, and that I can do that without jeopardizing my character or worldview.

Let me give you an example or two of this struggle, if only to make you sigh, shake your head, and roll your eyes a little.

Example #1: When my husband and I divorced, we had some shared investment accounts that needed to be closed and the contents shared. I (of course) had actually gone to meet the investment consultant and I (of course) was left to deal with the final split of assets. Now, I could’ve just had the investment people send him his cheque in the mail, but there was a postal strike, and he had called me (because he only ever calls me when he needs something) and asked me to please deposit the cheque directly into his bank account. Yes- he wanted me to go to the investment office, pick up the cheque, drive to his bank with his bank number and deposit the cheque, because he needed the money and didn’t want to be inconvenienced by the delay. Most normal people would say, “Too bad, so sad” and most recently divorced, mildly bitter people would say, “Too bad, so sad. Go fuck yourself” and some less bitter, somewhat helpful people might send the cheque with a paid-on-delivery courier service, but me, well what did I do? I called him up to confirm the details of his banking information and deposited that bloody cheque, and then I emailed him a confirmation that the transaction had been done. I even, and thinking back at this, I roll my eyes and shake my head at myself- I even planned to write him a good-bye email at the end of all our divorce proceedings, a kind of “Thank you for the good times. I forgive you for the bad times” email, to bring some kind of closure and to tie things up in a nice, pretty, little bow. That was my plan….until I learned, through my confirmation-of-bank-details phone call, that he had a new “partner,” and then I felt this overwhelming wave of outrage and disbelief well up inside of me, not just about the cheque or about the new partner, but about everything, everything that I had buried away, that I’d pretended didn’t matter and didn’t hurt, everything that I’d claimed to have forgiven and forgotten, everything that I hadn’t allowed myself to be angry about before because I’d convinced myself for so long that he never meant to hurt me and he couldn’t help himself and deep down he wanted to be better but just didn’t know how, and convincing myself of all of that had somehow meant that if he didn't intend to hurt me, then I wasn't entitled to be angry. Everything! Everything! Everything! I was angry about it all. About him, and me, and her, and all the different 'them's involved. Everything and all of it. All at once.

Some of my friends had expressed concern early on in my divorce proceedings that I hadn’t been angry enough, and I had said, in response to their concerns, that it wasn’t worth it, that it was easier to just forgive and move on. And in a way, in the end, that is a legitimate truth- forgiveness is good, moving on is good- but you still have to let yourself feel the disappointment and rejection and hurt and sadness and frustration. You have to give yourself permission to feel affected by something shitty. You have to stop pretending that it’s not a big deal, that it doesn’t matter, because it DOES matter, and it’s okay to be angry when someone treats you badly; it’s okay to be disappointed when something doesn’t go as planned; it’s okay to feel hurt when you’ve been rejected or ignored or taken for granted.

And that, in the end, is the issue. In my fear of anger, in my fear of being weak, of being oversensitive, of living in the past, of not moving on quickly enough or fully enough, I preached this idea of letting go without actually ever letting go. You can’t let it go if you are in complete denial of what you’re actually letting go of, if you haven’t looked it in the face and identified it. Burying something, denying it, brushing it off, is not the same as letting it go. It’s just wood to feed the inevitable fire of heart-wrenching, headspace-stealing, soul-gnawing rage that will eventually reveal itself.

What an uncomfortable lesson to learn- a lesson I am still struggling to learn.

More to come.

JustGiveMeAMinute...It'sInHereSomewhere!!

I am a secret hoarder, or a weightlifter in training, or a wannabe Mary Poppins, or just a perpetually distracted mess of a woman, or all of the above.

I can’t decide.

Anyways, I decided to finally, at long last, clean out all of my most used purses, because it was simply getting ridiculous. I couldn’t find anything EVER, and lugging around these bags was beginning to feel like a bit too much of a workout.

Here, the contents of five fully cleaned out purses revealed:

• An umbrella, which I purchased quite a while ago but have never actually used. For a good long while, every time it rained, I didn’t seem to have it with me, and each time I would say to myself, “Maybe you should put that umbrella you bought in your purse.” I did, and it hasn’t rained since. Go figure! (As an aside, I can’t decide if the umbrella is actually funky or ugly. I struggle with that sometimes- believing something is cool when the rest of the world thinks it’s just plain hideous!)
•  A make-up bag stuffed to the brim with an assortment of cosmetics
• A pile of receipts, most of which, it seems, are for wine
• A pile of crumpled papers, including printed out directions to my homeopath (even though I have an iphone and could easily look up the directions on my phone- old habits, apparently, are hard to break), an entrance card for a design fair that was in…ahem…October, information about a nearby art school, and an invoice from this time a while back when a guy on the street stopped me and asked me to support some kind of poor children fund
• Baubles that broke off a silver ring that I got at a clothing swap a few years ago
• Plastic flowers that must have fallen off the lei I made a few weeks ago for a tropical-royal themed housewarming party
• Papers on which I scribbled some big ideas while I was invigilating a Bio exam last week
• A full box of Panadol Plus medication for my headaches
• Dermalogica sunscreen, to slather on my sensitive skin before I head off on my bike (though I still seem to have a very pink nose- how is that even possible???)
•  A ticket for the tram in Amsterdam
• An airline baggage claim tag from Bonaire to Schiphol (I’m guessing it was attached to my passport and must have fallen off at some point when my passport was hanging out in my purse, which happens from time to time- they’re big here on having identification with you at all times)
• Two lip glosses and a lipstick, none of which I actually bought- one was a gift from a student and the other two came in a gift basket I won from a department store. I need better access to them than if they are in my make-up bag, which usually sinks to the bottom of my purse and requires a great amount of searching to find- this way, while I am chitchatting with someone, I can oh so casually slide my hand into the side pocket of my purse and easily find the lip gloss, apply it and replace it into the pocket without ever stopping the flow of conversation. 
• Solid perfume- always handy
• Weird little lion Queen’s Day figurines that were given to me by the cashier when I bought a friend’s birthday gift at the Xenos (the cashier asked me if I wanted them and I didn’t know what she was talking about or what they were.....so I naturally said “yes”)
• A key chain purchased at the Aboriginal gallery in Utrecht- I don’t seem to ever be able to remember to actually put my keys on it
• One of those things that you use to unlock a shopping cart at the grocery store. I never seem to know where I put it and end up having to use a 50 cent piece (perhaps I should put both the key chain and the shopping cart coin onto my key set?)
• Keys for work
• A very full change purse
•  A little slip of paper with numbers on it that I noticed fell out of my coin purse but should really be in there and I didn’t want to lose it so I quickly shoved it into a zipped purse pocket with the intention of putting it back into my change purse. I got it from a guy I went on a 10-hour date with last summer and he had gotten the numbers from another friend who told him they are supposed to bring you prosperity. I figured, what the heck! I can use all the prosperity I can get. I also have a little lucky elephant in my change purse but its trunk is broken off so I don't know how lucky it is anymore!
•  Loose change, made up of approximately 10 euros, as well as some Aruban florins, American quarters and one of those lucky Chinese coins
• A condom (because you just never know when you might need one- it’s good to be prepared)
• Some tampons (because although you are more likely to know when you need one, it’s still good to be prepared!)
• An assortment of pills- activated charcoal, headache medication, homeopathic pills for coughs, some ricolas & other lozenges, and an assortment of completely unrecognizable tablets that will now have to find a new home in the garbage can since I don’t know what they are and who wants to put something into their mouth if they don’t know what exactly it is!
• Seven pens and four paper clips
• My little notebook, in which I write random little notes, grocery lists, to do lists, phone numbers, and anything else I need to remember (tagged with a reminder to read E.M. Forster’s “Aspects of the Novel”)
• My wallet (which is a temporary replacement for the wallet that was stolen during Carnival- I still haven’t found one that I like enough to purchase)
• A neon yellow H&M change purse, purchased for a tacky 80s party last week, and good for nights when I don’t want all my cards and things with me
• A ridiculous amount of empty pill blister packets
• An orphaned earring- one of my favourites. It chokes me up to even speak of it! A dear friend gave these earrings to me as a gift for my divorce party last year. She bought them from a little old lady selling them in the street in Portugal. I have gone up and down the street where I lost it several times now and can’t find it. I will have to find another use for the leftover earring. And, it’s been decided- no more beautiful earrings while biking. The risk is simply too great!!
•  The plastic cover for a plastic rain poncho (which, by the way, I have absolutely no clue where it is)
• 3 ½ packages of Kleenex
• 5 completely useless used up batteries
• tickets to Shame and Swan Lake
• an assortment of business cards
• an information card about Mindfulness….I don’t know about you but I think I should maybe sign up for that course!!! A little mindfulness would do this girl some good.

TheTruthTheWholeTruthAndNothingButTheTruth

Remember those lessons learned and epiphanies revealed that I keep talking about? Well, these are the ten truths about me and men that I plan on undressing here in the next few days:

1. Men are like shoes (in more ways than one).
2. I am, alas, not Samantha Jones.
3. I am too old (and too freaking awesome) for a NoncommittalQuasiHalfway "relationship."
4. It's okay to have expectations of the people in your life.
5. Words are good. But actions speak much much much louder than words.
6. You teach people how to treat you.
7. Decisions made about men while under the influence of a mind-altering substance are generally not the best decisions. (I know...duh?!)
8. There's something to say for the old school style of courtship.
9. A bad fit ≠ a big failure.
10. Trust your gut. That's where the truth sits.

Stay tuned!

YouGottaHaveFaithaFaithaFaithAh vs. Let'sTalkAboutSex,Baby: A MashUp

So, in the next few days, I want to use this space here to start unpacking this wonderful, evergrowing collection of truths I’ve been gathering up about me and men. But, before I do that, I feel like now is as good a time as any to wander off on a little tangent.

As many of you know, I grew up in the Church, like, really grew up in the Church. We’re talking a church service every Sunday, and then also Sunday School, youth group, bible study, care group, summer camp, youth conference, church retreat, mission trip- full on, head to toe, all the way! This means that my worldview, my values, my way of approaching myself, others and the world, my work ethic, my belief system- all of it- have been very heavily steeped in the evangelical subculture.

What many of you also know is that me and the Church- well- we have had a bit of a tenuous relationship for a good, long while now. I keep leaving and coming back and leaving and coming back, and my faith- while strong and solid- is also very uncomfortable; so uncomfortable, in fact, that I am even resistant, at times, to identifying myself with the label of “Christian”. If we were to sit down and really analyze the itty bitty details of what I believe, the most fitting description for my faith system would definitely be Christian. I mean, I believe in a good, kind and living God who deliberately created me, who is tangibly involved in the lives of the people He loves. I believe that we all have the capacity for wholeness if we accept the wonderful gift of God's love, and I believe that I've personally experienced the healing touch of this compassionate and gracious God. I also very much like the idea of belonging to something bigger than myself, and of living a life rooted in love.

So what’s the problem? Well, the problem is that even though my faith can very obviously be defined as Christian, I feel like I often don’t identify or agree with many of the elements of the culture of the Christian, like some of the ways of being a Christian, of living the full-on Christian life, just don’t fit me. I don’t like many of the connotations attached to adopting the label of Christian, so much so that I actually considered calling myself a monotheistic humanist instead for a while, to quite obviously separate me from the evangelical subculture, but that just seemed pretentious and silly, so now, when someone asks me what I believe, I heave a great big sigh, roll my eyes, and launch into an explanation of how, essentially, I feel most comfortable living “in the grey,” how I am resistant to this tendency of the Church to evaluate everything as right and wrong and black and white.

This discomfort I feel isn’t new. It has been present since my teenage years. I have felt for a long time like the Church makes a really big deal out of things that I just don’t think are issues we need to waste our time and energy on, and then I feel like there are these great big huge issues like social justice and stewardship and real-life practical expressions of love that the Church often completely ignores. I guess I feel like- generally- the time, energy, money and resources of the Church are often invested inappropriately and ineffectively, and I feel like certain cultural elements of the Church have taken greater priority than their original theological intent, that we have often seriously confused tradition with truth.

Now, I’m not a theologian at all, and I don’t really have any interest in debating with somebody what the original Greek text in book so-and-so says about this-and-that. My faith is largely experiential, much more experiential than it is analytical. I feel like the truth that I know, that I have experienced, in terms of my God and my faith, is very much connected to intuition and gut reactions and is an almost physical feeling. My gut is my internal barometer, so to speak, and it’s in my gut that I connect with truth, so when I hear something and it clicks, then I go with it, but when I hear something and it twists me up in a knot and makes me uncomfortable, I tend to reject it. Now, obviously, I am not the BeAllEndAll knower of what is true and right and sound, but when it comes to understanding and applying MY faith, I choose to trust a combination of my intuition, the opinions of wise and kind souls who I trust, and my own understanding of the original intent of some biblical advice. Now, I realize that might sound a bit hippy dippy or wishy washy to some people, but I don’t really care. I live from my heart. I make decisions from my gut. And I figure faith is personal- personally created, personally applied, personally lived out- and my way of appreciating and experiencing my Christian faith is going to be different from that of someone else.

So, a long preamble to lead to the essence of my tangent.

One of the issues that twists me up in a knot and doesn't sit right, that I feel the Church has gotten so completely and utterly wrong, is its approach to the discussion of S-E-X. Here’s what I think: the way that Christians currently talk about sex (especially with our hormonal teenagers and frustrated single adults) is ineffective, unrealistic, unhealthy and completely not helpful. I don’t really know what a better (still biblical) alternative is. I just know that what we’re doing now doesn’t really work.

I remember sitting at youth retreats and summer camp, listening to yet another speaker talk to us kids about sex & love & relationships, and even before my lips had ever so much as touched a boy’s lips, before I’d had the opportunity to do anything “wrong,” I already felt confused and uncomfortable with the message we good Christian kids were being given about sex, because the message was essentially this:

1. Any sexual activity before or outside of the covenant of marriage (publicly declared in a wedding ceremony in a church), even if that sexual activity is with the person you will be marrying in said wedding ceremony, is sinful. Basically, sex is dirty; keep it for the one you love.

2. Thinking about sex, wanting to have sex, having sexual feelings (even if you don’t act on them, even if your feelings are directed at someone you love) is lustful thinking, and that is also sinful.

3. Masturbation??? Don’t even go there.

4. If you sin by having premarital sex, you can (obviously) be forgiven, but sex is incredibly powerful, and each time you have sex with someone, you give a little piece of yourself away, and if you give too much of yourself away, when it comes time to actually committing to the person you will love forever and ever and ever, you won’t have a pure, whole self to offer up.

I have a serious problem with these messages, because first of all, I feel like a lot of it is bogus, and, secondly, because the result of hearing these messages over and over and over again, and of trying, through the power of prayer and self-discipline and creative make-out sessions that dance around the definition of “real sex”, is the following: sometimes early marriage, sometimes unplanned pregnancy (because using protection would mean acknowledging that you are having sex, which would mean admitting that you are sinning), but, most often, “failure” & “sin” and its accompanying shame. Heaps and heaps and heaps of shame.

I lost my virginity at the age of sixteen, to my French Canadian boyfriend, surrounded by vanilla-scented candles and the voice of Enya streaming out of his ghettoblaster. It was a monumental experience, not because my first sexual encounter was mindblowingly awesome (quite the opposite, actually), but because with it came an overwhelmingly massive burden of guilt and shame that I lugged around with me. For years. Unnecessarily.

If I could go back and talk to my younger self, I would tell her to relax. I would tell her that there was absolutely no reason to feel guilty or ashamed. I would tell her that she had done nothing wrong. She had protected, consensual sex with a boy she cared about. There’s nothing wrong with that. I would tell her that what she did was totally natural and normal. And I think I would maybe even tell younger me to feel free to go out and do it again, that it’s totally okay to explore and experiment (with certain disclaimers, of course, about how and when and why she is making those decisions).

I got married at 20. I don’t really regret getting married at 20. I was, after all, madly and deeply in love. But looking back now, I see that 20 is kind of a young age to be making such a massive, long term commitment, and that maybe marriage then and there was not really necessary. Early marriage is kind of the norm in the culture of the Church. Just to be clear, kids aren’t getting married only because they want to have sex. I mean, I certainly didn’t. I loved my soon to be husband and I couldn’t imagine life without him. I wanted to be with him forever and always. But expectations and teachings of the Church concerning sex & love & marriage certainly factor in.

You see, I wonder what would have happened if living together was an acceptable alternative in our subculture. I think that if it had been culturally acceptable for us to move in together first, if we had felt like we could have done that with the blessing of our parents, without fear of judgment from our church communities, that maybe that might have been a healthier option. There are, after all, so many things to get used to when you are a young couple getting married. There are the adjustments and lessons that take place when two people become husband and wife- a significant change in roles, definitions, expectations and trust. If you throw the issue of sex in there- getting to know each other sexually, exploring and experimenting; and then you also add in the massive shifts and learning curve that happens in simply figuring out how to run a household together- well- it’s just a lot to take in and learn all at once. Finally, add to the whole mix the fact that these two young people are also still discovering who they are and what they want and need out of life. It’s a lot all at once; maybe even, dare I say, too much!

I would much rather that a young couple who care for each other feel free to become sexually involved and wait to marry (or not marry), or that they live together to see if it works and then decide to marry later. They need time to get to know each other and themselves, to negotiate roles, to learn how to deal with confrontation and disappointment, and also to learn the difference between sex and love. Sex and love are obviously connected but they are not the same. I think that sometimes young people confuse sexual feelings with love, and I think a little experience helps them figure that out. Learning the connection between the two is both important and empowering. And, really, I think a little heartache (not a lot, but a teensy weensy little bit), as well as experience with the negotiations, compromises, and sacrifices of a serious relationship, helps us set better boundaries and make better decisions and participate in better relationships.

Marriage has a place, certainly, but if I look back at me and my friends who married young, the truth is that the majority of us are divorced, and many of us stayed in unhealthy relationships for far too long because of all the complicated layers of what it means to be both a Christian and a wife.

But maybe I’m projecting.

Anyways, I bring this all up because, obviously, now that I am unmarried again, the whole issue of sex and faith resurfaces. How do I negotiate the teachings of this evangelical subculture I kinda sorta belong to with my own feeling of what is morally okay and my understanding of my own desires and needs and limits? Some folks have actually suggested that the answer to my single life sexual conundrum is to essentially reclaim my virginity and to remain abstinent, keeping myself “pure” until I maybe someday possibly meet another man who wants to be my husband.

Well, to that I say…and it might make some of my churchfolk uncomfortable….um…I don’t think so. Forget it. Not gonna happen. No way. In fact, the idea is completely ridiculous!

Now, I have no desire to develop a reputation as a “slut” nor do I wish to treat sex as a recreational activity. I respect sex, its purpose, its power, and its place. I recognize that sex can be a significant tool in creating and maintaining intimacy, and I recognize- from my own experience- that decisions about sex can impact the heart, the mind, the soul- both in negative and positive ways. But I absolutely refuse to own this idea that my decision to participate in consensual, protected sex is immoral. I refuse to give sex so much power as this sacred gluing force that I should only reserve for my next husband, whoever he is, wherever he is, whenever he shows up, and I just don’t buy this idea that sex outside of that sacred, committed context, is always and inevitably damaging. In fact, I would argue that on many occasions, sex for me, even out of the context of a committed relationship, has had an almost healing quality- empowering, invigorating, and freeing- reminding me again, at long last, what it’s like to feel attractive, confident and desired, what it means to be a wide awake woman.

So what it comes down to is this: I realize that it can come off as a bit hypocritical or weak to pick and choose which of the guidelines of my faith system I am going to follow, that doing so might concern some of my fellow Christians, who will surely now be praying for my troubled soul, but I also, in the spirit of integrity and being true to myself, don’t want to follow guidelines that I don’t actually understand, agree with or believe, ideas that just don’t fit me or the world I live in, that don’t sit right in my gut, ideas that simply don’t work or make sense.

And that’s all I have to say about that. Hopefully, someone out there is feeling it and can give me an “Amen.”

OhSugarSugar

So the typical response of many of my guy friends when they hear about my ManFreeMay is some well-intended yet totally not helpful piece of advice that sounds something like this: “You know, L, that you are the only person in charge of your thoughts, right?” or “You know you don’t have to allow those guys so much headspace, right?” or “You know it’s a choice to be impacted by the opinions of others, right?” Yes, gentlemen, thank you. I know. I know. I know.

But, it comes back to that big fat HUGE difference between knowing it up in my head and knowing it deep deep deep down within my core, knowing it with every ounce of my being, in such a way that the truth lives in every drop of blood coursing through every vessel of every organ of my body, knowing it so that my unconscious, automatic way of acting and being and speaking reflects my knowledge of that oh so obvious truth.

I am not there yet.

Hence ManFreeMay.

Dating for me so far has been a bit of a participant-observer anthropological experiment. I have frequently sought the opinion and advice of friends who have oodles more experience than me, I have watched- with fascination- veteran players at work, and I have had a heightened awareness of my own experience, literally taking notes after a date (I know- what a keener, huh?) as to what I liked, what I didn’t like, what I learned about myself, about men, and about the interaction between men and women. And even with this incredibly heightened awareness, I have found myself doing and saying things that made me go, “Girl, seriously? Still? Now? After all this? Come on!? You KNOW better!!”

It seems there are these habits in thinking and acting and being that are so deeply engrained that they are, quite simply, a “bitch” to fix. So I figure that this whole idea of ManFreeMay gives me a chance to step back, to deliberately put some distance between me and the men that distract my romantic, sensual, impulsive self, and to take some time to reflect on some of the lessons learned thus far, a performance evaluation, if you will, a cleanse, enough time and space that I can somewhat more objectively observe recurring patterns, unhealthy choices, and areas for improvement. It comes back to this idea that legitimate, long term changes require the exertion of deliberate, conscious, sustained effort (well, let’s be honest, not that sustained- it is, after all, only a month). If I want to make my headspace and heartspace an exclusive, invitation-only, VIP zone, I first need to seal off the premises for a while, inspect the area for secret entrances and safety hazards, and determine the qualities necessary for those potentially on the guest list.

I’ve been trying to treat this like a springtime sweet cleanse. Once a year or so, usually around this time, I like to take a few weeks where I completely cut out sugar. (I’m obviously not doing that this year- my poor self-discipline can’t handle such an intense double whammy!!) The point is this: there’s nothing wrong, really, with a piece of cake for dessert. There is something wrong, however, with eating a hunk of tiramisu for breakfast, and having an afternoon craving for something sweet so intense that it distracts me from my work. Food needs to know its place (and to extend the metaphor, men- however deliciously sweet and tasty they are- need to know their place; or maybe, the point is that I need to know their place). What I usually find is that the first few days of my sweet cleanse are almost painful, and then, committed to becoming a healthier me, the sugar fog lifts, and I start recognizing patterns in temptation and moments of weakness, I start seeing healthy alternatives, making better choices, and inevitably, in the end, I feel re-energized, stronger, healthier, and more in control of my choices, the welcome new alternative to my automatic choices controlling me.

I want men to be my dessert, not my breakfast; the side dish, not my meat and potatoes; the fabulous pair of earrings that complete an outfit, not the outfit itself; a welcome addition but not a necessity. I am not foolish enough to believe that a man will complete me or give me everything I need, but I also don’t want to become one of these women so independent, with a life and sense of self so solidly cemented, that there simply isn’t any room for a man. I recognize the value, the beauty, the gift of a good man. I know that even the happiest, fullest, richest life can be made happier and fuller and richer by a good relationship with a goodgood man.

And, so, here comes the tricky part: how do I maintain the space between contentment with my life here and now in the company of me, myself and (totally awesome) I, and the state of still leaving room for some equally awesome MisterMister? How do I comfortably exist between need and want, acknowledging that I don’t necessarily need someone, but admitting that, yes, I do want someone in my life. There’s this dangerous vulnerability in admitting what I want, because admitting that introduces the need for hope, and hope is so intricately connected with disappointment, and I know disappointment far too well. Even though I have experienced such incredible growth and healing these last few years, my capacity for disappointment remains somewhat limited. I don’t deal well with disappointment, so sometimes it’s just safer to not say aloud what I want, to just pretend, to live just an itsy bitsy bit in denial. It makes the sting of disappointment a little less intense.

In the spirit of resisting denial, let me say this, that the deep, dark, secret truth is that I am desperately afraid I will be alone forever. And friends can say things like, “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you’ll find someone. People as fabulous as you don’t stay single. Men will be lining up for a chance to be in your company.”  And I appreciate the determined faith of these dear sweet friends. I really do. But let’s be realistic- there is a very real possibility that this is it, that I’ve had my run, that it’ll just be me, myself and I (no matter how awesome) until the bittersweet end.

So, this is where I am stumped. Because I want to be totally okay with the goodness and richness of my life here and now, a life full of love and fabulous people and thrilling adventures and exciting dreams, but I want to be brave enough to welcome more. I don’t want to wear cynicism and denial as a helmet protecting my heart from possible, faraway disappointment. And I want to be fully and completely me, someone who is generous and gracious and open, who gives people the benefit of the doubt, who doles out second chances, who sees the good, even when it’s deeply buried, but I don’t want to get trampled on and taken for granted. How do I maintain this me in spite of heartache and disappointment, in spite of repeated heartache and disappointment? I want to stay soft, I want to stay hopeful, I want to live from my heart, from a big generous heart that feels deeply and fully, not from a crusty, dried up, angry heart.

This is the struggle.

And so this is why I am feeling so intensely the need for my performance evaluation, my man cleanse. Maybe if I can refine my criteria for those granted entrance into my head and heart, if I can learn how to set healthy boundaries, if I can learn that not everyone- quite honestly- deserves my goodness and graciousness and generousity, that it shouldn’t be wasted on those who don’t cherish or respect it, then maybe I can maintain that space, maybe I can remain me, protected by my healthy boundaries, fed by the affirmation of those I know love me, and secure in my ever growing sense of self.

HipHipHooray for ManFreeMay

A friend and I have decided to make this month ManFreeMay. What this means, essentially, is that, for the entire month of May, we will refrain from any interactions with men that are of a romantic or sexual nature. So, let me just spell that out for you: no coffee dates or dinner dates, no kissing in dark corners, no…ahem…funny business, no intentional flirting, no handing out of phone numbers, no lustful, late night texts or phone calls or email messages, no expression of interest or response to expressions of interest.

I have decided to take it up a notch to also include resisting the instinctual urge to do the automatic scan when I enter a room. Usually, I walk in, and as I stroll on over to my friends, I- like a veteran CIA agent- use my peripheral vision, perked up senses, and keen intuition to scope out any and all possibility in the room, thereby spotting the impeccably dressed 6’4” gentleman in the corner, the cute-without-knowing-it grad student sitting at the bar reading while he waits for his friends, and the gregarious attention-seeker in the middle of the room making all his buddies laugh. I am doing my best to just walk in with all my focus and energy zoned in on the good people I am actually there to see. I am doing my best, as well, to resist sending out any availability vibes, by not walking and talking and laughing and standing in a way that reflects that I am looking to be noticed. I’m trying to shake off all the behaviour that demonstrates an acute awareness of my singleness.

Now, some might wonder why two relatively recently single women freshly dumped into the dating world would so quickly need a time-out. My decision is certainly somewhat about self-discipline and refining the selection process. I think that when I first ventured into single life, I was kind of like a dog freshly released from its cage, who, in a fit of excitement over its newly granted freedom, insists on smelling every butt it passes, jumping on every human it encounters, peeing on every tree it sees. This is perhaps a somewhat vulgar analogy, but it is a fitting one. In the beginning, I was desperate to simply validate my femininity, to assert my sexuality, to receive some kind of male affirmation that I wasn’t a used up, withered pile of leftovers & damaged goods. And I needed practice with all the completely unfamiliar aspects of adult single life, since the last time I had been without some kind of partner was when I was 18 years old. In my grown-up adult life, I had never given my phone number to a guy before, or had a stranger buy me a drink. I’d never even gone out on an official date! So I needed practicepracticepractice, and each time I “practiced,” I felt incredibly empowered.

At first, I will admit that I wasn’t too terribly selective. I figured I just needed to finally get out there, and it didn’t really matter who I went on a date with, as long as I went on a date, as long as I finally started taking steps towards overcoming my bone-trembling trepidation of putting myself out there, all vulnerable and available, even in the face of possible rejection and disappointment and heartache. In fact, for the first few dates I went on, I intentionally chose men who I had only the teensiest bit of interest in, so that I would be less nervous and less likely to be impacted by their perception of me. Looking back, that was perhaps a bit unfair to those poor, unsuspecting gentlemen, but- hey- I had to start somewhere.

The main motivation, however, for my ManFreeMay is this: I want to reclaim my headspace. For far far far too long, I have too quickly invited boys into my head and my heart, allowing them to shape my sense of self, giving their opinions and perceptions and judgments and needs and desires way too much weight. If I am to be completely honest, I’d have to say that this isn’t an issue solely connected to me and men. I am far too easily impacted by the opinions of others in general, far too concerned with their perceptions of me (especially in recent years, when my sense of self has been more than a little bruised and battered); but all of this is intensified in the dating world, and even more so given my chemical make-up and my complicated history. Rejection stings more acutely at the hands of a man, especially at the hands of a cute one with perfect teeth and a warm laugh who I wouldn’t mind getting to know better; the desire to be desired is so much more intense; and the confusing, complicated unpacking of multi-layered, mixed messages consumes so much time and energy, that it is just enough to drive a girl crazy. All that thinking, wondering, dreaming, wishing, regretting, what iffing, and trying so so so hard to be what he or he or he or he wants….well, it is simply exhausting!

And that’s my motivation.

I want to evict the boys from my headspace who casually waltz in or who insist on wrongfully claiming squatter status. I want to cleanse my head and heart from the opinions and messages of those who, quite honestly, don’t know me enough or love me enough or respect me enough or appreciate me enough to entitle them to even the tiniest sliver of space in my head and my heart and my life. I want to replace the void left by their eviction with ideas that are life-giving and soul-feeding and spirit-nurturing. Instead of focusing my energy and time and attention on wondering if he’s going to call me or why he didn’t call me or if he really meant what he said or if he is telling the truth or if he really likes me or why he likes her more, I want to invest all of that energy and time and attention into building up a stronger, happier, healthier me, a me that is so unwavering in sureness of self and so full up of goodness that there simply isn’t any space left to host silly wonderings about silly men.

And to that I say hip hip hooray for ManFreeMay.

LangZalHijLeven

My nephew is one year old today.

It amazes me how a child who has only been on this earth for one full rotation of the sun can already have such a well-defined personality. He is independent and persistent and extroverted and musical and mischievous and funny, and he already has a very good sense of what he wants (which is, generally, anything that he is not allowed to have, that is dangerous, or that is in someone else's possession).


He has pretty much changed my life, and- very early on- successfully solidified himself in the #1 slot on my list of favourite people, in spite of the fact that he has peed&drooled&coughed on me (not, thank goodness, all at the same time), dropped my laptop, hit me multiple times in the face, woken me up, stolen my food, buried breadcrumbs in my bed, interrupted me, ignored me, and demonstrated a whole host of other behaviour that would quite certainly annoy me if it were done by anybody else.

I see bits of me in him, which is cool in a completely narcissistic way, but also cool because it bonds us together at some biological level that we have absolutely no control over. I see how Mother Nature works- create a child that reflects pieces of the mother and the father and aunts and uncles and grandparents, and all those people will not be able to keep themselves from loving and protecting him. He has my nose, which isn't actually my nose but the nose of my grandmother passed onto me, but I guess that means it's not really her nose either because she got it from someone else, but anyways, we have the same nose. He also has the same Supernova tendencies that I do before bed, shining brightest before his energy vanishes like the flick of a switch. He, like me, has suffered from FOMO since his birth (the Fear Of Missing Out), and as much as possible, likes to be where the action is. He likes being the centre of attention (I can relate), so much so that if there is a conversation in which the adults at the dinner table are deeply engaged, and he feels he is not getting enough attention, he will make noise- lots of noise- until we notice him.


It's fascinating to see his little brain work, to witness how he processes and applies information, how he watches, takes it all in, and then imitates, which is why he now gives eskimo kisses and raspberries and tries all sorts of noises with his mouth, and nibbles on our toes, and grabs a book and then plops in my lap to read it, and waves and hurrays and stomps his feet.


One of the neatest things about having a one year old around is getting a glimpse of the child and teen and man he will one day be. Now, for the most part, what we see is a whole lot of raw material, shaped by the excitement, pride, encouragement and modeling of his caregivers. He is still untainted by fear and judgment and criticism and misunderstanding and rejection and all those other nasty things that unfortunately, but inevitably, shape our personhood. He is him in his truest form, and I think that noticing those unique elements of him will help those of us who love him to nurture him and protect him and communicate with him in a way that makes him feel safe and free to always be the truest and happiest version of himself.

I have learned a lot from hanging out with the little man. Some of these lessons include the following:

1. Toys that require batteries, light up or make noise are unnecessary, often annoying, and a little bit silly. Don’t buy them for your friends’ kids. No matter how much money you spend on a toy or how many toys you buy, the purpose of play can be achieved just as easily with Tupperware lids, a cardboard egg carton and a spatula.

2. But…every child should own a set of wooden blocks. You can do EVERYTHING important with squares and rectangles and cylinders of wood- you can build things, you can destroy things, you can sort them into piles, you can put them into containers and then take them out, you can throw them and drop them and slide them across the floor, you can chew them, you can hide them and then find them, you can make noise with them, you can pretend with them, you can line them up. Yes, pretty much anything and everything that was ever worth doing can be done with a box of wooden blocks.

3. Books are delicious!

4. Little people make just as much poop, puke, snot and drool as big people. Oddly, the production of these substances in both frequency and quantity is not relative to size.

5. I am hilarious.

6. A baby’s laughter is probably the best remedy for most of what ails this world and its people. It is generous, authentic, inclusive, invigorating and contagious. People who do not smile when they hear a baby’s laughter should probably be tested for a pulse and/or tendencies towards psychopathy.

7. Sleep is a beautiful thing. Cherish it.

8. Trying to give medicine to a squirmy baby, change his diaper, or simply dress him, requires a significant amount of strategy, stamina and creativity, similar to that required in planning a military attack, cutting a dog’s toenails, or catching a chicken.

9. Many activities surrounding the care of a small child are best accomplished as a tag team two man operation- dealing with an overflowing diaper, bathing, feeding, distracting, getting ready to go somewhere. I don’t know how single parents do it!!

10. There are days when it is very difficult to do anything other than make sure Q doesn’t die. Showering, eating, cooking, baking, brushing my teeth, getting dressed, putting on make-up, doing the laundry- these are all extras. Caring for a young child truly is a full-time job. The next person who I hear say something like “Oh, she doesn’t work. She just stays home with her kid(s)” is going to be surprised by my fist in their face and a lecture on the value of a caregiver’s work.

11. I’m not even the mother of this kid and I am still shocked sometimes by how much I love him. I love a lot of people, and I love easily and fully and deeply, but I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone as much as I love this little guy. If you don’t have a baby to love, I suggest you find a friend who has one and go for a visit and snuggle it and cuddle it and kiss its fuzzy little head and make ridiculous faces and noises to get a laugh. You will leave your baby-snuggling experience happier and lighter and freer and probably a better person.

12. This whole "real life" business, where two people live together,  work full-time, manage a household- cooking and cleaning and grocery shopping and paying bills- AND care for children, seems like an absolutely exhausting and overwhelming experience. Both parents are permanently tired and there is always too much to do. So parents and partners, I encourage you to be extra conscious of the need to be nice to each other and to appreciate one another. I just don't see how real life can work, otherwise.

RaindropsOnRosesAndWhiskersOnKittens

I collect words- wise words, beautiful words, funny words, true words, words that resonate, like these:

“The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.”

The poet, Kahlil Gibran, wrote these words, and I just love them, because I think they are hopeful, promising that in spite of (or perhaps because of) times of hardship, our appreciation for all that is good and beautiful intensifies.

This whole idea of choosing to embrace the moment is a powerful one, because on the days when I remember to stop for just a minute- stop working, stop thinking, stop worrying, stop talking, stop planning and rushing and moving, just stop and look around me- I realize how much awesomeness I take for granted.

And so, in an attempt at being more aware of the awesomeness around me, an attempt at being consciously grateful for all the little things that make an okay day good, and a good day great, I’ve started compiling an ever-growing list of my favourite things.

This is it…so far:

·         waking up to the sound of singing birds

·         fresh cut flowers 

·         smiling at strangers

·         accidental naps, especially on the beach in the shade with a slight breeze

·         chocolate

·         a cup of earl grey tea in the morning

·         encountering wildlife (of the cute and cuddly variety; not the big and deadly variety) while out on morning runs or walks or bike rides

·         good solid hugs and good solid handshakes

·         anything cooked with truffle oil

·         a baby’s laugh

·         freshly washed sheets

·         animal print, in pretty much any and every capacity (in moderation....of course)

·         the moment when I realize beautiful shoes that I am salivating over are my size and half price

·         gigantic earrings, colourful scarves and clangy bangles (perhaps, deep down, I am a gypsy!)

·         a doggie’s sigh when you are not giving him enough attention

·         the feel of clay on my hands

·         the power of forgiveness

·         music

• subcategories include....
• hitting shuffle on the ipod and not having one song that I need to skip because they are all excellent
• discovering new music
• rediscovering music that I haven't heard in forever and forgot how good it was
• the wonderful connection between memory and music
• live music (subsubcategory...the moment a musician plays my absolute most favourite song that I have been waiting to hear all night)

·         singing in the car...at full volume....with choreography

·         driving down a coastal highway, especially in the evening, as the sun goes down

·         driving past a group of tight little cycling asses wearing tight little cycling shorts

·         any and all forms of brunch, as long as it involves both sweet and savoury, and is in the company of people I love (as I have discovered that you need to have a certain level of emotional intimacy with someone before you go out with them for breakfast or invite them to your house for breakfast)

·         tiramisu

·         Audrey Hepburn singing Moon River http://youtu.be/JzSYDrW6moQ, and the last few scenes of Amelie http://youtu.be/l4SJD-DWM1A

·         scenes in books and movies where boys confess their undying love for the right girl, like, for example, Jonny Lee Miller's Edmund finally admitting his love for Fanny in Mansfield Park http://youtu.be/XZZmD369l98

·         herb gardens

·         prosecco

·         creating and maintaining new traditions 

·         Ombra Mai Fu sung by David Daniels http://youtu.be/suZrhT-3yes

·         yogourt and green onion Kettle Chips- best snack ever!

·         cooking classes, cooking clubs, open kitchens, dinner parties, and pretty much any moment when good people, good food and good wine are combined together

·         spontaneous, serendipitous adventures

·         watching a pelican fly low, fly high, circle and dive straight down for the catch

·         walking down a residential street close to dinnertime and catching a whiff of the cooking coming out of all the different houses

·         dancing at weddings with little elderly gentlemen and/or excited little girls

·         cleaning out the fridge (the most rewarding household chore)

·         sitting in a slice of sun with a cup of tea and my journal

·         hearing other people's stories

·         walking & talking with my sister, watching movies with my brother, shopping with my mother, gardening with my father, swimming with Opa, drinking coffee with Oma, and playing hide & seek or dancing or reading a book or doing pretty much anything with my teensy weensy little nephew

·         witnessing the "Aha!" moment of a student (finally understanding after working so hard is such a beautiful thing)

·         reading badly translated product labels

·         stumbling upon a good bookstore, a cute cafe or a unique little shop (it always feels like I've found a secret treasure)

·         the energy, noise, colour and creativity of markets

·         Jeopardy, especially when I “bet” 9 million dollars in Final Jeopardy and win (though I can’t help but roll my eyes a little at the lameness of Alex Trebek)

·         fresh, local, seasonal fruit

·         friendship

• subcategories include
• meeting friends in cities where neither of us live
• meeting friends that I haven't seen in years and it being so natural and comfortable that it feels like we just saw each other last week
• inside jokes, secrets and allowing someone I trust to tell me what they see when I don't see it myself

·         books that change me

·         having my sister as one of my best friends in the world (you've got to admit...that is a rare and beautiful gift!)

·         overhearing little kids talk to themselves or sing made up songs while they are playing on their own

·         sending and receiving letters by snail mail

·         daydreaming

·         kissing (teenage make-out style)

·         a good glass of scotch

·         pink skies

·         the moment when Baby Q wakes up from a nap, looks at me and smiles sleepily, like he is thinking "Thank goodness you are here!"

·         epiphanies

To be continued, I suspect, as there is, after all, so much more awesomeness to come....