this crazy world

The truth of our world is that there is a lot of bad. There are unexplainable, bad, sad, evil, awful things that happen.

I feel like they've been piling up a little bit lately.

It is so incredibly to let them bury me.

To get caught up in the news of the bad.

All the negative reporting, the focus on the tragedies.

The deaths that happen around me. Some expected, some not.

Both ways, they still leave an impact.

For me, it's a matter of balancing the bad with the good.

It's a matter of living with my eyes open and allowing myself to feel pain and sadness. It's also a matter of finding the good. The in spite ofs.

The fact that in spite of all this, this awfulness, there is good.

There is joy.

There is love. 

a cardboard sign

I sit at the light, sipping my coffee, my blinker impatiently reminding me that it's time to go.

There is a man to my right. Standing on the curb, holding a cardboard sign. Saying that he is a homeless vet. Asking for kindness. Asking me, WWJD?

I sit in my air-conditioned car, headed for home. Groceries to stock my fridge. A $2 dollar coffee in hand.

I don't know this man's story.

I don't know where he comes from or if he truly has nothing to go to.

I hate that when we were traveling, mostly in India and South Africa, we were told to never look beggars in the eye. Because this would encourage them.

Practical advice? Yes. Heartbreaking? Yes.

By not looking people in the eye, I am taking away their humanity. I am denying them the right to be recognized and their worth as human beings.

I hate that whenever I see someone standing on the corner, this advice flashes through my mind.

And that sometimes I heed it.

I don't want to acknowledge harsh truths, to literally look them in the eye.

It's much easier to continue my easy, comfortable, sure lifestyle in ignorance.

I don't want to be ignorant. 

I don't have the solution.

I just know I don't want to walk through this world with blinders on.

how to deal

I woke up this morning with my Facebook feed once again filled with thoughts and prayers and horror over what just happened in our beautiful state (the last time being the fire).

And there it is, splashed across the front page of every news site.

I couldn't stop saying "ohmygod ohmygod". Because really, what else is there to say?

And it's eery because the rest of the posts on Facebook were about friends going to see the movie. Different theater, different town. But still, too close for comfort. Way too close.

So I'm sitting here asking myself what I do now.

My life can't, won't, stop. That's not how it works.

And I am fortunate enough to not personally know any of the families affected. But that doesn't mean they aren't in shock and pain.

My life won't stop. Even though it feels like it should. The world keeps going.

As I see it, I have two choices.

Try to make the world stop. Hole up at home and obsessively read the news. Refuse to go anywhere. Talk about it ceaselessly. Mourn the loss of 12 wonderful human beings.

Or I can go out and return that dress. I can drive with the windows open and play the radio a little louder than usual. I can keep going with my life. But in the quiet moments, in-between songs, I'll stop. Stop to remember the ones who are no longer living this life. And stop to send a wish for comfort, for peace, for something, to all the families and people affected.

I can live my life; what else is there to do?

Big Stuff

There are big things on my mind.

Things like what classes I should take this fall.

And how I should be filling out the "All About Me" form.

The one that asks deep questions about me that will require some actual thought.

I'm really not interested in thinking. At the moment.

Things like this fire.

The hundreds of people who have lost their homes.

How lucky I am.

How I actually feel about it all.

Because I think it's pretty well known that to get through I go into "don't think about it" mode.

Which is great, because it gets me through the moment.

It allows me to do what needs to be done without being emotional.

But still, looking around at my house and knowing that what I might never see it again--that's big.

I know, intellectually, that it's big.

But I don't think that emotionally it's sunk in that it's big.

Or maybe I just think it should be big.

Whatever.

Big stuff on my mind, so I am going to continue listening to show tunes and not thinking about the big stuff.

Because it's big and I clearly don't yet know how I feel about it.

Fire

I was blissfully unaware, sleeping until 1:30, curled up in my own little bubble.

It wasn't until my neighbor called, wanting to know about the fire, that I knew something was different.

And then that bubble popped.

Even though I couldn't smell the smoke, I imagined I could.

Imagined it wafting ahead of the flames.

My parents drove home from their weekend away.

As much as I love my time just to myself, I was so incredibly relieved to have them home.

To no longer be the only person responsible for myself, the cat, our belongings, and our home.

I actually slept, although I know people who didn't, because they had gotten that call, and were packing up their cars and families and heading out.

I have had time to walk through the house, to consider each piece.

Everything holds a memory.

Every little thing makes up my home, my safe place.

Yet I realized yesterday when I was madly dashing around, trying to grab it all, that I didn't need to grab it all.

I need myself and the cat.

End of story.

I would miss it all, but all I really need are my parents and my cat.

Of course there are things I would grab; that I have grabbed.

Of course I'm terrified of this being the last time I'll see all my things.

But at this moment I am safe and so are my family and friends.

And that is all I need.

Two Ways to See

It took a long day of travel to get where we were going. Driving and flying and taxiing. Only to arrive at the hotel and find that our room wouldn't work because....and it just sort of went on and on.

Or at least that's how it felt.

I was exhausted. I wanted to curl up and sleep. But I was also hungry. So we went out to eat.

This tiny little Indian place that was long and very very skinny. With very excellent food.

All through dinner I had been staring at the beautiful lights that didn't match the intricate Indian lanterns. The fun, bright wall colors. The simplicity of plates and glasses and napkins, just waiting to be used.

So when our ice cream arrived, I just had to get out my camera.

And even though they're horrible pictures, dark and grainy and very orange-y, I don't care.

They're perfect.

Because they're what grounded me. Made me feel like I had really arrived.

Suddenly I was dancing down the streets, irritated by my slow parents and the necessity of stopping for cars.

Photography is what I needed to really be present.

***

After just a few short days in the city, I was tired. I was ready to leave.

As amazing as it was, it was constant movement and stimulation.

All I wanted, and needed, was to curl up with a book and just be still.

It was really perfect timing because the next day we took the train out to Long Island.

A beautiful place that reminded me of where my grandparents used to live.

Small towns and strawberry festivals.

It smelled clean.

And as beautiful and photogenic as it was, I didn't take out my camera once. Not once.

I had been with it, behind it, almost constantly during our time in the city.

I needed a break.

I love to be behind the lens. It helps me to see the world in a different way and to see things I never would otherwise.

Yet sometimes I need to leave it behind and let my own eyes take it in. The beauty in my surroundings.

I am so incredibly glad I brought my camera to capture memories and to center my brain. I am so incredibly glad I let it sit in it's bag for the last three days to let my brain calm down, and to let the memories seep into my pores.

Both

Yesterday was a long day. I somehow managed to be awake and packed and out the door by the time I had been waking up for a week. Sleep is a wonderful thing.

I ate another muffin. Really really good blueberry muffins.

I put off calling the hospital, to tell them I wouldn't be able to make it in.

Mostly because I still wanted to believe I would go. Which of course, was completely ridiculous.

A car ride, two trains, a taxi, a looong flight without a movie, and another car ride, and we were home.

Home to our house.

Shriveled orchids and purring kitty.

Comfort and routine and internet that works.

I unpacked at night. When the house is quiet and I'm listening to music on my iPod that is once again fully charged.

I create a scary pile of laundry to add to the already scary pile.

I dig some coins out of my hairbrush.

I flip through the playbills from the shows. I finger the tickets.

I breathe in the salty smell of the sea.

I run my hands over sandy shoes.

I love to travel.

I love going to new places and exploring.

I love being a tourist. Once I can get over the "I look like a total tourist" thing.

And I love coming home.

I love feeling wrapped up by familiar smells and sounds.

I love both.

Leaving

Tomorrow I will wake up at 7 am. About three hours earlier than what I have become accustomed to.

I will double and triple check everything, convinced I have forgotten something. I'm sure I have, but hopefully it won't be something vital. Like my boarding pass or camera. Or underwear.

I will trek through an airport, mourn the loss of the really-good-muffin-place, and settle in for a three hour flight.

I will disembark into a new airport that I have only heard about. I will get on the subway and thank my father for doing so much research.

I am sure I will want to curl up and go to sleep and go out and run around with my camera like a crazy person.

I don't know what to expect. This is a city I have heard so much about, yet I really know nothing about it. I don't know the people. I don't know what it sounds like or smells like.

I only know what it looks like through other people's eyes. I have yet to see it with my own.

I have left much undone, here at home.

My bulletin board is half-full, waiting for me to print out all the pictures of smiling people and laughing faces.

My pictures are a mess. My camera rearranged its numbering system and I lost my editing program.

Yet tomorrow I will get in that plane and let go of it.

Someone else will, literally, be in control. I am there as an observer, to soak it all in. And to do that, I cannot remain attached to here. I can't be focused on my messy room while I'm in the city that never sleeps.

In the Elevator

I stride purposefully toward the elevators. The "up" button is already glowing orange, so I lean against the wall, grateful for even a quick break. Already waiting is a man juggling two full hands of cafeteria food.

We do that little stranger dance where our eyes meet briefly, and then we both look away quickly, each pretending we weren't sizing up the other person.

"These elevators are painfully slow" I say to break the silence.

"Oh, I know," he replies, "I've been here for five weeks."

"Wow" I say. I leave the word hanging in the air, not wanting to pry, but hoping he'll continue.

"Yeah. My wife's pregnant and on bed rest."

"Wow" I say again "When's she due?"

"October" he replies as the middle elevator dings.

We both move forward as the doors open. He gestures with his full hands that I should go ahead. I smile in thanks and enter the small space.

Pressing "6", I ask "Which floor?"

"5" he answers as the doors close and we jerk upward.

"October's a good birthday month." I smile. "Both my mom and I can attest to that."

"I think so too. I'm the third."

We smile at each other over this small coincidence.

"How long are you going to be here?"

"Until October."

"That's a long time to eat hospital food."

"Yes, but it means my wife and baby are getting the care they need. They're in the best place they could be, so I'm more than happy to be here with them, eating hospital food."

The elevator dings and the doors open onto the fifth floor.

"Good luck" I tell the man as he exits, still balancing two more hospital dinners.

The doors slide shut again and I lean against the wall.

I've never met anyone so happy to be in the hospital. Seeing it as a way to keep his family safe and healthy.

I straighten as the elevator arrives at my floor.

I brush back my hair with one hand, checking my badge is still in place and stride out of the open doors, back onto the bustling Surgical Trauma floor at shift change.

***

This was several months ago. Today is October third. I wonder about this man, whether he is holding his precious child, or if he's still patiently waiting next to his wife, eating hospital food.

***

I almost never write with dialog, so I am very aware that all the grammar is far from correct. Hopefully it's still legible, and if you know the rules, I would appreciate it if you shared your knowledge.

Powerful Beyond Measure

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world.

There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine, as children do.

We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.

It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.

As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

-Marianne Williamson

I love this quote. Even when it's not completely true, or doesn't feel true. A lot of times I'm working to convince myself I'm doing okay at this thing called life, and I can't comprehend the 'powerful beyond measure' bit. 

I don't believe in God, yet I love the line 'We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us'. For me, it doesn't necessarily have to be a God that I go to church to worship, or believe that is above us all, with a divine plan. It can be the beauty and perfection and imperfection of nature. The innate power that lives within each of us, allowing us to do and be much more than we ever thought possible. I don't believe we are meant to do anything; I believe in free choice. Yet I still love this line, because we, each of us, has something special within us. And we can chose to use this gift or talent to better the world around us.

I love this quote. For so many reasons. But mostly I love the way these simple words are put together in a way that makes them so powerful and strong. In such a way that I feel like they're speaking right to me.

Ten Years

Ten years.

More than half of my life.

It's always been there.

I don't remember it not being there.

It would have been just a normal day. One that blended into all my other memories of first grade. But it's that outside event that makes that day memorable.

Although really, I think that day only has significance in retrospect, because I was much too young to have any idea what was going on. I just knew that about half our class left. We were all sitting on the floor with the teacher reading to us. The secretary kept coming on over the loudspeaker saying another parent was there to pick up their child. The teacher seemed slightly on edge. Or maybe I'm just making that up. I think all the teachers were glued to the TV during lunch.

On the anniversary in 7th grade we watched documentaries. That was the first time I had really watched any footage or heard any stories. The first time I really thought about it. That I actually gave it time to sink in.

Sitting at that desk as my friends bustled around me, excited for lunch. Tears in my eyes, a heavy lump in my gut. Trying to process, trying to understand.

That, for me, is much more meaningful than the same date, five years earlier.

Since then, I've learned the facts. Statistics. Conspiracy theories. Implications.

Still, every time I open the Wikipedia page on 9/11 (because so many things are linked and connected to that date), I pause.

I take a second out of my busy day to sit. Let it sink in. To remember that 3000 is more than just a number; they were lives.

I look at the images of smoke, flames, rubble, and charred plane bits. And I remember. The lives lost, the wars waged, the lives still in peril, and and same issues that still plague our world. 

What I Did While I Was Gone

I learned my ipod battery doesn't really last six days.
I inverted an umbrella for the first time.
I hung off the side of a cable car.
I scared a seagull.
I walked until my joints ached.
I returned to the crepe place.
I didn't return to the doctor's office.
I discovered a picnic table that I want to come back to and eat a picnic at.
I took pictures.
I got glared at, but mostly saw smiles.
I stood out as a tourist, despite my best efforts.
I bought one scarf.
I got wet feet.
I spent a lot of time in airports.
I got home at 3 am.
I don't think I lost anything.
I still wrote everyday.
I took pictures everyday, more or less.
I missed my cat.
I walked through Chinatown and really stood out as a tourist.
I saw beggers.
I wore eleven pairs of socks.
I stayed a little organized.
I brought back more than I went with.

List of Hate

I am doing a project on Islamic Extremism and Terrorism.

I was on Wikipedia, a page called Terrorism in the United States.

A section on Terrorism Related to Islamic Extremism.

A list of terrorist attacks committed by Islamic extremists on US soil, against US civilians.

It was staggering.

I had heard about so few. But that's not the point.

There is so much hate in the world. So many people feel so strongly that their way is the right way, or that others people's way is wrong, that they feel they have to kill people.

Kill.

I sat at the computer with tears in my eyes.

So shocked and stunned by this list of hate.

I feel like a lot of the time I don't really feel or take time to absorb the news. Because it is constant and never-ending. Bus crashes, bombings, shootings, accidents, murders.

There is so much death and horror every day.

I've learned to not really absorb it, or even think about it.

I feel guilty, so guilty, for not giving those people my time or empathy. Yet I know I would lose my hope and potential for optimism if I let it all come rushing in. Because there is just so much. All the time.

But for some reason, that list hit me.

It came pouring in.

I was horrified.

For no small  part because I don't get it. I can't relate. Not that it's bad to not be able to relate to terrorists, but I just don't know where they're coming from. I have never felt that. I don't have beliefs or convictions so strong that I must create chaos to make other see. I don't hate with a passion that drives me to destruction.

I have opinions and beliefs, but I'm generally not stuck in stone about them. I may not change my mind, but I'll probably listen. But even when I listen to this, I can't relate. I can't relate to people who need to push their beliefs onto others. People who are so convinced that their way, and only their way, is right and true.

Unable to relate, combined with proof of people so different from me, so hateful and destructive, was sort of overwhelming.

I don't know what to do with that information. I can try to learn, to understand, although I think terrorism is, by its very nature, un-intelligible. I don't think I can understand people who blow up buildings to kill and destroy.

Erase Hate

If you have not read The Meaning of Matthew by Judy Shepard, go out and get it and read it. I'll wait.

(Bring a box of tissues.)

The Meaning of Matthew is written by the mom of a man who was murdered because he was gay. It tells Matthew's story, and makes him more than a victim of a hate crime; it makes him a person. It tells of his murder, the time he spent in a coma, his death, the nationwide reaction, and the trials of his two murderers. It is a deeply touching, personal story.

It is very true and honest and open. It does not make Matthew out to be a saint, it makes him a human. It is a wonderful story that makes no effort to mask a mother's grief, yet also talks about how she makes it through. And the most amazing thing is that the family managed to get one good thing out of their son's murder.

They created the Matthew Shepard Foundation. It started when people who had heard about Matthew's murder sent the family money. They used it to create a foundation whose goals are to "erase hate, ensure equality, and put youth first". They team with the Human Rights Campaign as well as other organizations with similar goals.

Reading this book yesterday and this morning actually ties in perfectly with something I've been wanting to say. I didn't know quite how to say it, or whether it would even be worth it, with so many other people saying the same thing. (And now the President.)

But I think it is important to show the church in Florida that intends to burn the Koran (full story here) that it isn't only government officials that don't agree with what they want to do. It is "regular" people like me, who find the act of burning the holy book of any religion or group despicable. The fact that it is Islam's holy book makes the possible ramifications much larger and much more severe.

Countless people from the UN, the US government, Afghanistan, and elsewhere have spoken out strongly against the church and their intent. It puts soldiers' lives at risk who are in Islamic countries, and it will also give the Taliban propoganda to use against the US and to recruit new followers who will be taught that hate and violence are acceptable.

This is morally and ethically wrong, as well as wrong because of the huge and potentially catastrophic consequences for soldiers in the Middle East, attempts to eliminate the Taliban, and relations between the US and Islamic countries, which are already strained, at best.

I was moved by Judy's story, and it encouraged me to speak out against hate. Their message is, in many ways, a simple message.

Strive to have no hate in the world. Work for equality for all people, no matter their sex, race, language, age, medical condition, sexual orientation, faith or belief.

So think about your actions, and how they may be perceived by others. Strive to make your world hate free, so that someday, hopefully soon, our world will be hate free.