Let's talk about your heart

 The way we talk about things matters. The metaphors we choose to frame our perspective affect our lives experience. It's a marvel to me.

Take, for instance, your heart. Already a metaphorical organ as the instrument we use to love (a kind of schenectady, no?).

But a common metaphor is that when we love, we give our heart to the person we love. When you think of giving your heart away, what does that heart look like to you? For me, it is small, small enough to fit in my hands in order to be handed over. It also feels light and fragile - easily broken, easily lost. The person to whom I've given my heart then looms even larger, and has awesome power to heart me, and they can break my small, fragile heart. What am I left with in that case? Picking up sharp shards of this delicate thing that is so important to me and so easily broken by another.

Now, if you will indulge me, let's change the metaphor. Your heart, the metaphorical origin of love, is the home of love. It is your love's home. Imagine a sturdy structure with a strong foundation. Imagine the space within, sheltered from life's vagaries, warm and secure. What if, to love someone, you invite them into the home of your heart with you, to share that space? They are a guest, and it's up to you how long they are welcome and how much of your home they can see.

It's still true that a rude guest, or an ungrateful one, can do damage to your heart. They can make a mess or scuff the floor, or maybe even demo some rooms. But you can escort them out, and you can always restore and/or rebuild your home. It remains there for you whatever others' comings and goings may be.

I find this metaphor much more helpful when I think about my heart and about loving someone.

In Full View

So, I belong to a church email listserv. PRoblem, I know. It seems important to these two individuals to have their conversation in full view of all those reading the emails. Why can't they have a private conversation about it? Why do I need to be subjected to this? Group speech was left to deft orators. Now, any schlub can grab an audience. Oy.

The more things change...

You know the rest. You know how I long to do something, anything. I am full of things to say, to write. And yet afraid. So very afraid. To matter, or not to matter.

I find myself obsessively reading social media feeds, trying to find exactly the right sentiment to forward as a post for myself. Instead of just writing my own post.

I have spent years thinking of these hard things. I am woke. Or am waking. I have been waking. I want so much to help others out of bed. These things matter. It matters that I do my own small part, even if I don't do that part perfectly. I am the only one who can do my part. It has gone undone for too long.

I've imagined so many other blogs I could be writing. "But Have you Considered?" a thoughtful progressive's earnest attempts to actually persuade others over, around, and through their blind spots that cause so much pain. "Love Bandwagon," yet another privileged white woman of a certain age reflecting on her experience with polyamory. Because my insights are so different from all the other privileged white women. "That'll preach," a seminary-uneducated individual's attempt to reflect and write words that matter about things that are important. Because my thoughts on scripture, or God, or my Christian obligation, are so much deeper than all those incredibly wonderful clergy's thoughts.

There, there it is again. The fear to show my light. Who cares if other people have had similar insights before? Those were their insights. I've been so grateful to those who have shared their insights. Mine are shareable, too. Mine are worth sharing.

Again, again

I thought about starting a blog.  I knew I'd made attempts in the past.  I went looking for the attempts and found this.

I think about writing, sometimes.  I want to have a voice.  I want to make something instead of endlessly consuming others' somethings.

But I am also afraid.

It helps to know no one is looking.

I am still here.

Just saying.

I Want to Believe

I just saw an advertisement for "Yes Man." The reviews of it I've read mostly comment on how this movie is simply re-treading familiar ground for him. Some go further, saying that the repetition is beginning to look a bit frayed around the edges.

But I liked the premise: a guy who has been saying no to life starts saying yes. Okay, from a certain angle, the wacky antics look a little similar to other, possibly better movies. I still think there's value in that premise, though. Start saying yes.

It doesn't take so long to establish familiar ground to re-tread, particularly at these loaded annual mileposts. And I can't be the only one who also notices the unruly edges around the rituals, formal and informal, that take place.

I mean, it's another year ending, and here I am making a blog post, thinking about resolutions and new beginnings, again. The themes keep coming around. Maybe we walk this ground because there's something new to be found on that old path, some detail we've missed. Maybe if we lift our feet just so this time, something different will rise up to meet us.

Merry Christmas.

One of Those Days

http://www.azcentral.com/community/scottsdale/articles/2008/10/28/20081028abrk-homeinvasion1028.html

Sadly, this happened at my childhood home. Keith and his girlfriend were beat up and we don't yet know what was taken.

And So It Begins...

At least it began for me today.

I ran my first two miles in preparation for the half-marathon. I managed a 10-minute mile pace. Not a bad start. I have big dreams, though. As always.

Miles run: 2
Money raised: $125

Let's Get it Started in Here!

So, in the never-ending quest for self-betterment and grand adventure, I've signed up for Team in Training to run a half marathon over Labor Day weekend. In addition to having to relearn to run distances, I have also committed to raising money to research cures for blood cancers and provide services to people currently suffering from them.

So, I have ANOTHER opportunity to start blogging again to talk about my progress. Yay! There's life in this old blog yet.

You can see my fundraising web site here. I'll be updating that page and this one (well, that's the plan, anyway). Wish me luck!

Miles run: 0
Money raised: 0

The Greatest Political Commentary Piece, EVAH!

Why bother coming up with my own analysis of the campaign when the good folks at Slate are doing it so much better? Please take the time to watch it.

Lunacy! Sheer lunacy!

Have you ever heard of Hannah Montana? Shudder. Her throngs decended on MY block tonight for a concert at the Verizon Center (okay, it's the block on which my organization's office is located, but that's where I spend the majority of my time, so it's MINE!). I literally could not get through the crowd to go to the gym (sadly, also on the same blcok). I had to walk a block around them. I have never seen such a crowd, not even for the Dixie Chicks. Also, they had set up a karaoke thing on the corner. Good traffic flow management, guys.

So, it's a new year, which means I've again resolved to blog more often. I've made a slightly more reasonable weekly resolution, rather than last year's daily. And I just made it (it being a week since the New Year). See how slick I am?

Merry Christmas! Remakes are travesties!

Well, at least the remake of A Miracle on 34th Street is a travesty. It takes all the charm out of the old film and leaves only a mealy-mouthed echo. Blech. It won't really commit to being in its own era, either; it's all soft-camera angles and bland yet retro-ey styling. And then they take the climax and totally rewrite it. So, way to be inspired by a classic film an dthen take all of the good stuff away.

Merry Christmas, anyhow.

A True Parable

I was on the bus yesterday morning, running late as usual. It was crowded, but I did manage to get a seat.

Right across the aisle from me sat a woman with a large handbag. From out of the handbag on her lap she fished a wrapped lifesaver-shaped mint and a pen. I wondered why she needed both, until she used the pen to poke a hole in the wrapper, which was smart. I turned away as she popped the mint in her mouth.

When I turned back, the wrapper from the mint was on the ground right next to her foot. How could she be so callous as to litter? Littering is wrong. Well, maybe she inadvertently dropped it. I knew a way to get her to pick it up.

"Ma'am, you dropped your wrapper."

She chuckled, a bit embarassed, said, "Thank you," and then proceeded to use her foot to sweep the wrapper under her seat, murmuring, "I'll leave that for them."

For a moment, I was awed by her shamelessness. I had pointed out her littering to her (politely), and she proceeded to make it worse! There was no way she had just accidentally dropped that mint wrapper!

I was not until later that I realized I should have simply bent over and picked up the wrapper myself, without a word.

Random Tag!

Yay! A writing prompt! Thanks to the staff at Let's Shall, here are seven random things about me:

1. I am left-handed.
2. I work for the Children's Law Center in Washington, DC.
3. I can parallel park!
4. In my spare time, I like to identify the period and architectural style of DC buildings.
5. My ultimate fantasy would be to purchase a large historic building and restore it in an ecologically sensitive way either into affordable apartments or an Episcopal retreat center (in the latter scenario, I'd be able to preside at services).
6. I know a lot about estate planning.
7. I have a natural talent for lucid dreaming.

I hope I did that right.

Coming out of radio silence

to share the best advice column about therapy, ever.

Favorite excerpted description of therapy:

And I'm not saying to see a therapist in the sense of, Oh, I think you need help, like you're neurotic. That's not it at all. It's more like, you need help the way a person needs firemen! You've got a situation that's out of control and you need backup!

I know you're so shocked your RSS feed popped this up. You can go about your day.

Red, red, where are you?

Thus we go through life finding mysterious and sometimes fleeting satisfaction in encounters with others, much of it occurring beneath the surface. As we go buzzing about our big and important lives, a part of us is always seeking stillness, or strangeness, or the color red.--Cary Tennis, www.salon.com

Is there something wrong with acknowledging this, in saying--Yes, I am seeking that satisfaction. Will you join me here in the search for red?" And yet I find myself frowning, fretting for responses that are not on their way. I feel like I have forgotten the steps to the dance while watching others twirl around me. I reach out my hand and snatch at recently empty air, and sigh that there is no hand grasping for me.

I went skydiving on Saturday.

That's right.

Again Anew

People long so for beginnings. Fortunately, we have endeavored to create many opportunities for them. Easter just happened, and for those who go to church regularly, it signifies a bright new beginning of the church year. It comes at just the right time; I've had more than enough time to screw up my New Year's resolutions, and now need to start anew. For those who are students or have students in their lives, the fall, although gently preparing nature for ending, feels like a starting point because classes begin. I'm sure I'll need that, too.

I have erased several posts from this blog which had become too personal for me. I think I stayed away partially because of what I would find here. I needed to erase them to give myself a chance for another beginning.

I am so grateful that we cycle through so many starting points, because at least for me I need the reminder of the chance for renewal.

Thank You, Jesus

It feels like a miracle, but you are finally reading the blog of a person who has applied to law school. Don't forget to congratulate me excessively just for applying.

I Fall to Pieces

Poor Britney. Really, is there anyone out there who can't understand the impulse to do something a little unexpected? Who hasn't, at least a little, fallen to pieces? I imagine it's easier to fall and more difficult to pick up the pieces with so many people watching.

I certainly can understand the feeling, though. Ash Wednesday surprised me this year. As a somewhat recent convert to the Episcopal faith, perhaps I have the convert's zeal for these kinds of rituals, but I really respond to the observance of Lent. Starting off the season with an evening service makes it feel special and important to me. We are marked with pieces of ash and reminded of our own fractured natures. This season confronts me with the seemingly endless quantity of my neediness, how unwhole I feel.

But thankfully, I am not expected to meet my needs alone, or to create wholeness from just personally limited resources.