Societal Demands & Personal Something-or-Other

Society demands that we be normal. Hence the term, "normal." Don't be abnormal, guys.

It sets up expectations of how we should live. These expectations encompass everything: our clothes, our behavior, our eating habits, our ability to hold a conversation, etc. We are graded by our friends, our family, and Pinterest. (How does the party you threw compare to everyone else's? Just look on Pinterest and find out!) We strive to win. We see that there is a standard by which we are measured. If we fall short of that standard, we are the losers.

Such societal demands affect the personal whatchamacallit. You know, those personal standards. We establish rules for ourselves. We can fail ourselves.

That's an awesome truth about humanity. It's a consequence of our self-awareness & rationality. I can see myself, as I am, and I can also "see myself" as I want to be. I can compare those two realities of me... one presently real, the other hypothetically, futuristically real. 

It's awesome in the strict sense of awesome. It makes your balloon of emotion fill with awe. Ok, that's sappy. It's awesome. It's neat. It's freaking cool that we can do that.

It's also terrifying & can be debilitating.

Human beings are little balls of potential (or big, if you prefer to think of yourself as big). (Technically, we are actual. We wouldn't exist actually if we weren't actual. There is so much more that we can do than what we are currently doing. That's what makes us both actual and potential. Only God is pure actuality. End of philosophy tangent.) We are capable of change.

Motion, or change, requires a direction & an end goal. (Oh, shut up, Newton.) So where is our goal? I don't know about you, but my goal is Heaven. That eternal, glorious, perfect, painless, joyful, thankful, happy life for which Jesus suffered death and then destroyed death so that we could participate in it.

It's perfection.

But I'm not perfect.

I'm aiming for perfection.

But if I only set that far-off goal, I am setting myself up for utter frustration. Because I won't ever be perfect. That's going to require some serious purgatory time. Sigh. So I set myself that goal: Heaven. But in the meantime, I aim for progress. I aim for baby steps.

I can do progress. I can do better than right now.

I can't do perfect. I can change my imperfection, though. I can make it less imperfect.

I may fail. Epically. Ok, I will fail epically. But tripping and falling on your face is less traumatic while attempting a baby step than plummeting into a wide, deep chasm while trying to hurtle a great canyon.

(this post inspired by the above image. that i found on pinterest. hehe.)

Wordless{ish???} Wednesday

"Nobody look at me. I'm too cute."

Happy Easter, all!

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!!!

I'm a Little Feminist

Well...

I've been thinking about writing a post about my feminist inclinations, but Phyllis Schlafly has pushed me over.the.edge. I cannot keep silent about this. I'm pretty positive that this won't be the only response to her rather radical comments about a causal link between income disparity and marriage stability. Just because someone else will be saying it doesn't mean I can keep silent. I'm not that sort of girl.

{For those who haven't read it, here is her op-ed piece without the (righteously) indignant commentary of others.}

First, let me just say:

What the frick frack was that about, ma'am????

Ok, now that I finished with that...

I'm a feminist. I am. It's a label that's tossed around, sometimes as an accusation, sometimes as a commendation. What does it mean, though? What implications does it necessarily have?

Feminism, to my mind, is simply the conviction that women are intelligent and capable. It also means that they are independent. I don't use that word to mean "non-social" and "completely self-sufficient," but simply that women are independent in same way that men are independent.

When you say a man is independent, what do you mean? You mean that he can take care of himself and his needs in a reasonable and expected manner. It doesn't mean he doesn't need a community to help him live a good life. It doesn't mean that he doesn't need a woman for companionship and support. Independence in a man isn't considered to be a bad thing.

So what changes when you transfer that label to a woman? Many traditionalists throw up their hands in despair and say that any woman who considers herself independent is uprooting the foundations of society by casting aside the notion of marriage and family.

That escalated quickly.

A man is allowed to be independent, but to be a woman is to be a dependent? Femininity and dependence aren't the same thing. Masculinity and independence aren't the same thing. Being independent simply means that you aren't a helpless leech that sucks the life and money out of the people around you. It means you have two feet, you can stand on them, and you will stand on them. That's it.

So a woman can be intelligent, capable, and independent. She can view herself as all of these things. This would make her, to my mind, a feminist.

Her values, morality, ideology, etc., are not contingent on this view in a logically necessary manner. Her values, morality, ideology, etc., are prior to - or, at least, separate from - her feminism. They will dictate her reaction to societal injustices, however.

To go all geeky-nerdy on you, Nick Fury, of the Marvel universe, tells Captain America, "S.H.I.E.L.D. takes the world as it is, not as we'd like it to be." This may not seem relevant, but give me a couple hundred words and I'll draw the dotted line for you.

Let's take, for the sake of clarity, although not to start a war on the internets, the case of abortion. Abortion is pushed by many feminists as a way to make women equal to men. How does it do that, exactly? It frees women from the consequences of sex (well, at least the pregnancy consequence - STDs are still problem shared by one and all... yay) so they can continue their lives as planned. Lets leave aside the issues of whether or not you can actually do that (can you really just erase any part of your life like it never happened? Seems unlikely...) and assume for the moment, that you can. Historically, a woman who was impregnated before marriage was a social outcast for the rest of her life. Chew on that for a minute. She was often unable to get work, shunned from all good society, and frequently banned from entering a church.

Where is the man in all this? Off impregnating other women. Or marrying some respectable, "pure and blushing" girl. His life is fine.

That isn't fair, is it?

Taking the world as it is, we can make the men accountable and punish them equally or we make the problem disappear. Clearly, making men accountable wasn't even possible before paternity tests. Even after paternity tests, the stigma associated with out of wedlock pregnancy is heavily prejudiced against women, not to mention that it is ridiculously expensive and complicated to make the man legally responsible in any way. So some feminists "take the world as it is" and formulate a different solution. If there is no pregnancy, there is no societal shame. There are no repercussions on her education or her career. She is able to marry, have a career, have a family, without any "complications." She gets to be equal to men. She gets to walk away, just like he does.

The other alternative that presents itself to a feminist is the one where we take the world "as we'd like it to be." The moral code of society should be dictated by absolute right and wrong, whether or not the world makes that easy and neat.

Like Captain America, this type of feminist resolves to be ethical, moral, and traditional, even at the cost of some messiness. Ok, lots of messiness.

However, choosing the messy doesn't mean we aren't intelligent, capable, independent, self-respecting women. It doesn't mean we don't have ambition, strength, and courage. Hopefully, we won't be literally dying like Cap, but we have to be willing to die to self. We have to be willing to put our selves aside for a greater good. This requires intelligence. It requires the capacity to see and understand and act in a logical, effective, and compassionate manner. 

It is necessary for women to be intelligent, capable, and independent. 

So, Phyllis, I deny your claims of causality between wage gaps and marriage stability. Any self-respecting woman - conservative or otherwise - doesn't get married for economic stability. She gets married because she loves a man. And yeah, I believe in traditional family roles. I believe that a woman should be able to stay home with her kids while the man supports his family in the workforce. I believe this is rooted in the differences between men and women's psychology, anatomy, and emotional makeup. Ideally, in this traditional family, the man will make more money in his career than the woman did in hers because, well, duh - that makes sense. You should keep the higher income earning spouse in the workforce. You're providing for yourselves and your children. You should be fiscally responsible.

Phyllis, I hate to break this to you, but what you said just sounds stupid. (I'm not saying you're stupid - I don't know you well enough to say whether or not you lack intellectual acumen - but this theory of yours is stupid)

If anything, you hurt the credibility of people who believe in traditional family roles. I am a very traditional person. Being lumped in with a group of people that publishes such silly things doesn't help my dialogue with people on the other side of the political fence.

We have to dialogue. It's necessary. We need societal support to survive as a species. Throwing the argumentative equivalent of custard pies in each others' faces isn't a step forward. It isn't even a stand-still. It's a leap and half backwards.

...

"Upon my word, Emma, it would be better to be without sense than to misapply it as you do." ~Mr. Knightley, Jane Austen's Emma.

 

National Sibling Day | Throwback Thursday

Two birds with one stone is how the expression goes, I believe. :)

(the top photo is how I like to see myself - "the picture of sophisticated grace" as Anna says in Frozen - but the bottom picture is closer to reality)

Bridget Problems, North Carolina Edition

(N.B. - I had SO MUCH FUN on this trip. These are just the mandatory mishaps that always happen to me, no matter where I am. But I really had an awesome trip. The people I met (this year and last year) and hung out with were awesome. I loved every single minute. Minus the choking on the blood part. And the asthma attack. But people were very kind and considerate during my mini-disasters. I love these people already.)

Y'all know that I couldn't possibly travel across the country, live on a college campus for four days, and travel back home without some interesting &gross occurrences occurring. And I know that y'all are just dying to hear all about it. So here it goes.

(If you follow me on twitter, you'll have heard about most of these things. I live-tweeted my trip. Here, however, I am not constrained by a 150 character limit. Bahaha.)

Awkward introductions
I arrived at about dinner time on Thursday. I didn't have too much trouble adjusting to the time zone difference because I was pretty wiped out from the trip. Once we got on campus, my brother brought me to his dorm. This was weird. Really weird.

Having attended a college where inter-visitation is strictly prohibited (except in the case of medical emergencies), the whole concept of walking into a guys' dorm was just freaky. I tried to remain inconspicuous, but I started giggling so uncontrollably that I caught the attention of every.single.person. in the hallway.

I was so flustered that when my brother introduced me to one of his residents, I extended my hand and said, "I'm a girl. Nice to meet you."

*facepalm*

Freaking out about stupid stuff
Friday night we went to Walmart. Why? I still don't know. Apparently, it's fun. They do it all the time there. Whatever. When in Rome, right?

So I walked to Walmart. Part of said walk is walking over the freeway on an old set of train tracks.

This turned out to be a bit of a problem for me. 1) I'm scared of fast cars. 2) I'm terrified of heights. Walking on a tall thing above lots and lots of fast cars zooming by was just freaky. Thankfully, I had a brother to whom I could cling. I did a lot of whimpering, nonetheless.

ps - so we walked to Walmart, stood in the liquor aisle for 10 minutes, didn't buy anything, and then walked back. I still don't know why.

Unintended physical consequences
I had encountered some second-hand smoke early on Friday. The stress of the walking over the freeway combined with my already-swollen, blood-blister-coated throat caused me to have a doozy of an asthma attack on Friday night.

I had set out with the intention of finding hot tea and/or booze. I got a walk in the rain and an asthma attack instead.

Klutz attack
When I got back to the apartment where I was staying late Friday night/very early Saturday morning, I was exhausted. The whole wheezy thing + phobia thing doesn't equal a wonderful aid to your energy. I got ready for bed, put my sleeping bag on the couch, and then lay down on top of it. I couldn't bring myself to get back up and get under the sleeping bag.

By a series of pulling and twisting motions, I tried to wiggle myself under it. All I actually managed to do was lift myself up and slide myself off of the couch and on to the floor.

Obsessing over fashion
In my desperate quest for coffee on Saturday morning, I got sopping wet. Pants, hoodie, shirt underneath, etc. I didn't particularly care, but my brother offered to throw my clothes in the dryer and I could wear some of his in the meantime. Pictured below is the outfit he chose for me.

 






















As you can see, it wasn't exactly fashionable. His soccer shorts reached well past my knees, and he gave me one of his dress sweaters. Then he had the audacity to suggest I wear it to lunch. As it was, I had to leave the building, lugging big brown boots on since it was still raining and those were the only shoes I had with me at the moment. It wasn't an attractive look.

Trying to die via normal, every day occurances
So, I mentioned those blood blisters? Those are important here.

Saturday night was the "Black Light Dance." This concept sorta freaked me out in itself. I'm not really a black light dance sort of person. I like my steps. And my propriety. Wiggling is not my thing. In the interest of "expanding my horizons" or "being a good sport," I went in with a tentative, but open mind.

We walked in the doors and you could feel the concussion of the bass in your chest. Like your heart and sternum were smacking into each other. Uncomfortable. But I didn't let it phase me that quickly. I figured if everyone else could handle such concussions, I could, too.

Well, I'm not normal.

After about 10 minutes, I started coughing uncontrollably. Lo and behold, there was blood everywhere. In my mouth, in my throat, in my lungs. Blood everywhere.

After inspecting my throat in a mirror, I discovered that all of those blood blisters that had been lining my esophagus had been systematically popped by the extreme volume of the subwoofer. I was choking on my own blood. Blargh.

Subwoofers are evil.

Weird encounters with nature
It was almost two in the morning. I was walking back from saying goodnight to my brother at his dorm. The apartments where I stayed are on the opposite side of campus, so I had a bit of a walk. I wasn't wearing shoes because it was raining and I needed my shoes to be dry for Mass, which was in nine hours. Since I didn't have any desire to schlep through the mud in my bare feet (not that I don't like mud, but I didn't want to get mud all over the apartment), I stayed on the sidewalk. In the course of this walk, I discovered that there are basically no direct sidewalk paths between one side of campus and the other. They all wind back and forth.

As I made my way across campus in the rather chilly rain, I pulled my hood up. I zoned out a bit, just blindly following the sidewalk (this is, perhaps, why I didn't take a very direct route - I just followed the sidewalk instead of paying terribly close attention), when I suddenly heard a large whooshing noise and felt something heavy land on my head.

I stopped. I was incredibly confused. What was happening here?

Then I felt claw-like things grab my hood and, consequently, a bit of my hair. Whatever it was was getting a good grip.

Then it tried to carry me away. I kid you not. It started pulling on my hood in any upward and backward direction.

It didn't actually get me off the ground because I'm far too heavy for that mysterious animal to carry. It did drag me backwards a bit.

Surprisingly, I didn't scream. Or yell. Or even meep. I felt my face wrinkle in confusion. Internally, I was freaking out, but I guess I was too tired to get that translated to the outside.

After about ten seconds, the mystery animal gave up and left without its snack. I suppose I should be grateful. I'm mostly bemused.

The mandatory HOW...??? moment
I fell in the mud during the early afternoon on Sunday. That story isn't very interesting or original, though. I just slipped and fell. What happened later was pretty interesting, though.

I was waiting outside the basilica for my brother.

It was the magic, golden hour of sunset. My brother was singing for Mass, even though we had already attended Mass in the morning. He was singing a special piece because the choir needed a bass and he is a very bassy bass.

I was perched on the little brick wall that surrounds the front portico of the basilica. I was completely mesmerized by the sunset. And those blossoms. It was so beautiful it hurt.

My arms were hugging my knees to my chest. I was incredibly sleepy. I hadn't slept well the night before and it was so quiet and peaceful sitting there alone.

I put my head down on my knees.

The next thing I remember is lying face down in the pine needles. Some guy, who I didn't know, was standing over me, nudging me with his foot. I looked up at him and he asked, "Did you really just fall off that wall?"

I remember smiling in a rather bemused fashion. "Probably. We haven't met, but that would be a normal thing for me to do."

He gave me a hand up and I found my brother.

"Oh, that was you who fell off the wall? Figures."

Cut & Color

So that last post was intense. Whew.

Here's something frivolous and girly.

I got a haircut and my first ever highlights today!

Here's before:

Here's after:

Before y'all freak out about my blondeness, keep in mind that I was a blondie as a small child. Well, I was blonde, just like this.

When I was 15 or 16, my grandfather commented that my hair had gotten so much darker than it used to be. He didn't say it was good or bad, just that it was darker.

About a month before he died, when I was up saying 'goodbye' to him, he looked at me and said, "Your hair is too dark. It looks better lighter."

So, here you go, Grandpa. You got your blonde grandchild back. :)

(Also, when we got home, Mum said, "Yeah, it does look better lighter. Is that a mean and terrible thing to say?" Bahahaha!)

Psychology, Pride, Suffering

I sat on the floor of his dorm room, struggling to breathe and fighting the urge to cry.

Also fighting the urge to run.

Even now, as I type these words, I can feel my hands going numb. Anxiety makes my heart flutter and sends a tingling sensation into my stomach and down my arms. I'm anxious. I'm scared. Scared to write these words and share them.

Why? Two questions eat at you when you have a secret. The first: do you have the right to share your secret? The second: assuming you do have that right, will people still love you if they do know?

So, you fake nonchalance. You shrug off the serious and assume an attitude of detachment.

But inside, deep down, your stomach is somersaulting.

I sat on that floor. I was alternating between coughing the blood out of my lungs and swallowing it down out of my throat. I didn't have enough air to cry. I didn't have the right to burden this other person with what was inside of me.

I almost told him. Probably three times. I debated whether or not to tell him.

In the end, I decided against it. I poked fun at PTSD and psychology, reinforcing the wall between me and him. If he had any inclination to care about me, I wasn't going to give him a chance to act on it. I was too scared of the rejection that might come. Since I come with a burden, if someone knows about that burden and doesn't want to deal with it, they can't deal with me.

Besides, he was dealing with my physical problems. He had already taken on that burden. When you have a lot of problems, it's hard to see where those problems stop and you begin. They are inexorably intertwined. Rejecting the problem becomes rejecting the person. How could I ask him to deal with a psychological mess in addition to the physical mess he had already shouldered? If I was honest and he didn't handle it well, I'd have to run. I might even run before he had a chance to show me whether or not he was handling it. Could I take that chance?

I couldn't.

So the pretending continued. I laughed and moved on to more intellectual things.

...

But what's at the root of that pretending?

Pride.

Yes, there's fear. Lots of it, too. But fear gets a lot of attention.

The sneaky one is pride.

It's prideful to think you're too messed up for someone else to love you. It's prideful to make yourself untouchable, in both positive or negative things. We commonly view pride as the vice which causes us to be excessively pleased with a particular talent we might possess. Pride can just as easily be identifying excessively with our pain. Nietzsche talks about the pride of the man who suffers - he feels himself somehow elevated above his fellow men because of the suffering he has undergone. He has suffered more than them, so he is set apart from them.

There are two fears that accompany suffering: the first is that your suffering won't be understood and you will, therefore, be rejected. The second is that your suffering will be understood and, thereby, trivialized somehow. If someone is able to understand your suffering, it somehow makes your suffering less acute.

Suffering makes you alone; being alone makes you suffer. If someone were able to intrude on that solitude, it would alter your reality.

So the hand-numbing anxiety kicks in. You shut the door on complete honesty and hide behind abstract academics.

And you blog about it.

And you live another day.

Sweet Caroline...uh

"Oh, flowers are as common here, Miss Fairfax, as people are in London."

THERE WERE SO MANY BLOSSOMING TREES AT THE ABBEY. I DIED.

No, I didn't die. But I took a whole load of pictures.