Memory Lane Was Killed

My brother and I tried to go for a nostalgic hike today. We were aiming for a trail that was the first southern California trail we ever hiked upon.

We walked and walked.

And searched and searched.

We spent a very long time outside, cutting through dead brush in search of a trail. We even ended up on a leveled area that we surmised to be the location of a future house.

We finally saw it. The Memory Lane of hiking trails, winding up the hill. But there is no way to get to it.

We tried several angles of approach, hoping that the new houses hadn't completely eliminated access to the old haunt. But alas, it was not to be.

So we sat on some rocks instead.

New Year, New Post

Day five of the new year. It's sunny and bright. It is cold for here, though. I wore boots and tights to Mass this morning. I'm still wearing the tights, but now they're covered by sweat pants. The dress has been exchanged for a big hoodie. I've had one cup of coffee. I don't need another cup. I may have one anyway.

The Chargers are playing their first playoff game. I wonder if it will be their last.

It's a new year. A new year. What am I going to do about it?

Breathe.

I'm going to breathe. I'm going to breathe first, and talk second. I'm going to breathe before I act. I'm going to make myself slow down.

Let go.

I'm going to let go of the worry. The stress. The panic. The fretting about what other people think. I'm going to do my job at work, nothing more, nothing less. I'm going to let go of the desire to be perfect - I can't - and now won't - be everyone's perfect girl. 

Jump in.

Pick up both feet off the ground and jump. Don't be scared. Not of myself. Not of other people. I will find that courage that I have somewhere inside.

Lean.

On God. I need to lean on Him. I need to talk to Him more. I need to thank Him more. I need to let Him keep me company. I need to let Him in.  I need to let Him help me... not that He doesn't already, because He does, but I need to see when and how He is helping me and be grateful for it. I need to accept that it's happening, moment to moment.

Happy Sunday, lovelies.

Yet Another Post About Modesty

(I don't mean to beat a dead horse. Really, I don't. It seems that every Catholic/Christian/opinionated woman in the blogosphere has a post or two about modesty. If you're tired of the subject, please, feel free to skip this post. I'm blogging from my heart and only intend to help my fellow women navigate a small aspect of this crazy world. I do not intend to offend anyone or even to defend any particular group of people. I'm simply expressing my thoughts. xoxo)

My dear women,

We've all been there. Stepping out of the shower in front of the mirror that graces the wall of every bathroom. Barely glancing at our reflection. If we do glance there, we immediately bombard ourselves with a litany of insults. I'm fat. My stomach sticks out. My thighs are too big. My breasts are too small. My nose is wide. My forehead is short. We wrap towels tightly around our imperfect bodies and hurry through the motions of getting dressed. Covering up. Hiding our shame.

We wear layers of clothes, all designed to accentuate our good features and hide our bad ones. We arrange and rearrange the combinations to diminish the appearance of imperfections. If we are ashamed of our skin, we hide it.

Sometimes we do this in the name of modesty. We tell ourselves that we shouldn't wear clothes that are too tight because it's immodest. But ask yourself - are you doing it because you find your body beautiful and wonderful or because you are embarrassed by what you see? Are you unwilling to share the secret beauties of your body because they are holy or because you see them as ugly sources of shame?

Modesty is not a cover-up of imperfections because we are ashamed. It does not adjust necklines because we are embarrassed about our cleavage. It does not tug down a skirt because thighs are ugly. Modesty is not intended to hide ugliness. It is intended to veil beauty.

Even if you don't have body-image issues, you can still approach modesty with the wrong attitude. You may recognize the beauty of your feminine body, but you cover it because you're ashamed of the beauty. I know this seems impossible and even contradictory, but I have known women who love their legs, but cover them in baggy pants because they are afraid. Afraid to love themselves. Afraid to lead men to lustful glances. Afraid, afraid, afraid.

But ladies, modesty isn't fear. Modesty is confident. It recognizes beauty and does not fear it. It protects it and honors it, but it does not fear it.

If you carefully measure necklines in finger-widths from your collar bone and conscientiously make sure your shorts extend past your fingertips, make sure you do it with the right attitude. Clothing does not a modest woman make. The attitude adjustments that I am encouraging do not demand a change in your wardrobe. All I am suggesting is that when you put those clothes on, remember that you are beautifully and wonderfully made. Your body is nothing to be ashamed of, nor is it something to be feared. It is your body, given to you by God, to be loved and protected.

Much love, beautiful ladies.

xoxo

 

Reunited & It Feels So Good

Got to meet up with some of the most awesome people in the world yesterday.

 My & my bro. We are so fabulous.

 

 My ladies.

There is nothing that makes me happier than hanging with the people I love. These people really are the best. They're kind, generous, funny, loving, and loyal. They make my heart siiiiiiiiing. Well, ok, maybe that's a little overly dramatic. But they make my heart happy.

Why Twitter is Nerd Heaven

Think about it. Twitter is the greatest invention for nerds that has ever existed. Ok, maybe the second greatest after the invention of television, which allowed nerds to not only read nerdy things, but to see those nerdy things brought to life. Twitter is second only to that. It allows us to take our nerd-dom to a whole new level of obsession.

With a few simple clicks of a few buttons, every nerd is allowed to practically stalk his or her favorite actors, actresses, directors, and writers without feeling guilty about it. Why is twitter guilt-free? Because each and every tweet is put up by the celebrities themselves. The famous people control their twitters so if you know they're going to Chicago to celebrate Thanksgiving with their family (here's looking at you, Chloe Bennet), it isn't because you did some creepy internet stalking that is likely to end with the receipt of a restraining order. It's because she told you she was going.

I've also noticed that while I saw a picture of Neil Patrick Harris's Thanksgiving dinner, I don't feel as connected to him as I do to the actors in actresses in total nerd shows. The Whedonverse members, in particular, are always interactive with their fans, gracious, and grateful for the love. This allows people (me included) to feel they have an actual relationship with these people. It's the ultimate nerd fantasy. Well, not ultimate. It doesn't give us lightsabers or allow us to be beamed up by Mr. Scott. But these people allow us to have relationships with them. We can talk to them. They can talk to us. We can watch them have dance parties at 4:30 in the morning in the make-up trailer. We can exchange puns.

We get to know these people in a non-creepy and authentic way. Well as authentic as social media relationships can be - but it's 1,000,000 times more real and more awesome than reading gossip magazines and looking at photos taken from creeper-cams.

Redefining Feminism

Invisible lines have caused me a lot of problems in my life.

I don't know where they are. I tend to be overly confident in my understanding of them. Consequently, I stumble across and land on my face into the quagmire of the "other side" of the line with frightening frequency.

We walk along a lot of lines in our lives. We have to "toe them," but sometimes we "cross them" to serve a bigger purpose. One line, in particular, has been on my mind a lot recently. What is the line of feminine feminism? I guess, more accurately, the question would be where is the line? What is feminism, even? Not what it has been, but what it should be.

I consider myself a traditionalist. I have traditional values, traditional expectations, and believe in traditional gender roles. I considered myself - until very recently - to be about as far from a feminist as was humanly possible.

But something has changed. I like to think that I am a feminist, with the proper understanding of that word.

Feminism isn't about demeaning men.

Feminism isn't about burning our bras as we yell passionately about our rights.

Feminism isn't about turning women into men.

Feminism came about because it is enormously insulting and demeaning to have a patient refer to you as "your girl" to the doctor. Because hearing that makes you go, "excuse me??? I am nobody's girl."

Feminism came about because it is entirely unfair to be told, "Oh, it's okay, I expect you to make mistakes. You are a woman."

Feminism isn't about making women into these perfect beings who can do no wrong. It's about giving them the respect that is demanded by their human dignity. If I make a mistake, it's not because I'm a woman. It's because I'm human.

True femininity does not consist of skirt wearing, elegant jewelry, and a distaste for getting your hands dirty. 

True feminism does not consist in angry rants and belittling men.

We need to redefine femininity and feminism. We need to retake them and make them real virtues.

Women: don't be ditzes. Don't be angry.

Be strong. Be compassionate. Be intelligent. Be gentle. Be selfless.

Don't attach your self-worth to an ideology that makes you less than you are, traditionalist or feminist. Don't look at the people on the other side of the line between femininity and feminism and condemn them. The truth of the matter is, there shouldn't be a line. No one should have to deny a whole aspect of their personhood. There is nothing unfeminine about independence. There is no reason to be ashamed of gentleness.

Why must we draw lines where there are none? We must redefine those words; we must change expectations.

We must be feminine, feminist women. 


 

Blog Your Heart | November 2013

Thanks, Steph, for starting another one of these up! I've done a couple on my own, but it's been awhile... thanks for the inspiration.

The "rules" (I hate calling things rules. They're more like guidelines, anyway. But I love following rules. Weird, I know), copied, pasted, and edited to be relevant from Stephanie's lovely post.

1. blog whatever is authentic. whatever is truly on your mind and in your heart.
2. It can be serious, silly, short, long. NOTE:no one said it has to be serious. But it should be authentic.
3. No judging allowed no snarky comments, no making fun, no passive agressive digs.If you are going to read the blogs linked below, don't be mean. Nothing here is whining, though I can't help it if you perceive it that way. It's me honestly sharing my feelings. if you feel that it's whining, then you don't have to read. :)
4. If you join in, leave a link to your post. I'll stop by and read and comment. 
5. If you are reading my blog today or if you read any of the blogs linked, please leave a comment.

1. I am so stinking tired of being sick 50% of my life. I know, I know, I should be a "good Catholic" and "offer it up," but if one more person tells me to to that, I am going to punch them. Or put the eye on them. Seriously. How can a statement meant to be helpful sound so darn condescending? STOP IT. Being sick stinks and I don't want to be told what to do about it. Don't tell me to go see a doctor either. Been there, done that. I'm doctored out. When I'm good and ready, I'll go again to try to find the source of my various ailments for the 7213198642916935th time. Back off.

2. Chauvinists give me anxiety attacks. Also anger problems. I wish I could sincerely, authentically blog my heart about this one, but that wouldn't be prudent. ARGH.

3. I'm super excited about redoing my room. Painting is done, including the ceiling and trim. Curtain rod & curtains are up. My books are stacked up off of the shelves and I'm ready to head to IKEA later today. Me and my snotty, wheezy self. It's gonna be fun. My room will be beeeeautiful. Yellow, white, with grey chevrons. Classy.

4. I'm struggling to find a direction for my life currently. When people ask me what I want to do with myself, all I really want to say is "get married and start a family." But society has made that an uncool thing to say. People think I'm kidding. But really... that's all I want to do. I want to have a husband, a home, and babies. I really, earnestly, authentically believe that's what I'm called to do. I just can't find a man willing to hitch his horses to my wagon and go. (Weird metaphor, sorry. But you get my point.)

5. I despise the stigma surrounding mental illness. Getting personal here, I have PTSD. I do. I have my good days, but I also have my really, really bad days. I have my really horribly bad moments. But when I tell people (aside from my PTSD suffering family members and a handful of very close friends) that I have this problem, they laugh. I wish I were kidding, but I'm not. And here I am, a girl who required years of therapy to get to the point where she could acknowledge that she had a problem that wasn't her fault, but was the fault of the men who cruelly abused her for years, and it that it is a real problem, being laughed at because... I don't even know why they laugh at me. Is it because they don't believe PTSD is a real problem? Or that I don't really have it? Or does mental illness make people so uncomfortable that all they can do is laugh because to actually acknowledge it and connect to the sufferer in a real way is too frightening?

6. I am excited for Thanksgiving. I love Thanksgiving. I love cooking. I love food. I love our traditional walk to the neighborhood park between dinner and dessert. I need to get my gratitude on, though. Reading back on this post, I really need to get my gratitude on. Time to be thankful for things.

7. I am obsessed with Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Seriously. OBSESSED. I've watched every episode at least twice. Agent Grant Ward? Dreamy. I love his clean-cut, professional attitude, alongside his deep and fierce loyalty to his team. I love his complexity and his drama that is portrayed so well through a lack of drama. I would like to marry him, please&thank you. And those abs? and pecs? and triceps? meeeeelting.

That's all, folks. xoxo