Stuff you already know

I forgot to say in my last post, many thanks to everyone who contributed food advice to my desperate cause. You all had a lot of great suggestions, and I still intend to try out most of them. I will keep you updated on my progress. For instance, this morning I ate a banana and a pear. I'm feeling hopeful.

Quickie today, but one that I feel is very important-

A while ago I'd been thinking a lot about the interactions we have with other people, particularly the ones in which we strive to give comfort/advice. Observing my own interactions, as well as those between other people, I noticed a tendency first and foremost to try to soothe the immediate discomforts of others. Obviously this is a noble goal, and no one ought to be blamed for it. But, it seems to me that we often do this kind of soothing at the expense of the soothee's personal growth, which oftentimes requires not validation, but reprimanding. For instance: say a friend comes to you wanting to vent some frustration over a confrontation earlier that day in the supermarket. You listen actively, inserting the proper nods and facial expressions which indicate that you are understanding and sympathizing. Because you want to help this person, you most likely end up validating their frustration, agreeing that so-and-so was wrong to behave this way, and you were right to say this thing and feel this way.

But what if it's a lie?

What if, when you take a step back and look at the situation from an objective point of view, your friend appears to have been the one in the wrong? What if your friend is actually being unreasonable, or a whiny baby? What do you say then, when this person, in all trust, chose you to confide in?

It's hard to say, man. I'm not saying it's right every time to reprimand. There is a time and place for that, and sometimes it's not the time and place. And sometimes you are not the person who should do it. But, I do think it is important to evaluate all these factors before we jump in automatically and seek to patch the wound, to give them what they want instead of what they need. Sometimes the wound is necessary. Sometimes the person needs not to have their feelings confirmed, but to be jolted with a new perspective.

It's like my wise friend Collette once said: "This life is about changing." Indeed it is. How are any of us going to change for the better if our friends keep enabling our flaws, hmm?

I've been thinking about this a lot with regard to the company I keep, as well. I don't think I'm alone in admitting that some of my closest friends are people who happen to be a lot like me. Over time, perhaps not consciously, I have wittled away those who are different from me, who do not share my opinions and whose habits I can make no sense of. I am left with a bunch of quasi-me's. It's terrible egoistic, really. And what is it doing for me? Am I changing all that much when I'm with these people? Or am I rooting myself deeper into the stubborn beliefs and behaviors that we all share? I think we know the answer to this one.

Of course, it's more difficult to make friends with people who are different. We naturally gravitate toward those who we can relate to, and these are the friendships that develop and run most effortlessly. On the other hand, I've seen quite a lot of marriages composed of opposites which appeared to be all the more exciting and wonderful for their differences. So you tell me.

I thought this was going to be a quickie.

A Series of Unfortunate Events That, Mercifully, Led to Tommy Gunn

WARNING: THIS POST IS FOREVER LONG AND WHINY (but there's a hopeful ending, I promise)

Sunday, June 26, 8pm: I am skyping my Jdub (think less evangelical proselyter, more snuggly aviator) when up comes the idea to have me fly out to AL to see Jdub in action. Sounds like a swell plan, no? I hop on the priceline. I plug in the dates. I enter the card information...wait, what? Card information? Wait, I just bought a flight? Ok, I just bought a flight. See you in a few, Jdub.

10pm: Oh, so the ticket I inadvertently just bought happens to be taking place during the worst times possible, like for instance, spanning the four-day period of my first test in Psychological Testing? And it leaves at 7:20am on a weekday? And all my close-enough-to-ask-for-a-ride-to-the-airport friends are out of town? Class dropped, shuttle service booked.

10:15pm: Oh, and the flight I accidentally bought doesn't even go to where Jdub resides, but instead to Atlanta, GA which is four hours away from where he is, which he is unable to reach for another 24 hours after I arrive, due to his strict flying school and flying schedule? Oh, and there are no buses going that route that day? Uh-huh, ok.

10:30pm: Oh, and I can't rent a car to drive there myself because I'm under 25 and they charge exhorbitant fees for that, not to mention they require a credit card which I don't possess, not to mention the base fare for renting a car is actually a million dollars? Uh-huh, yes, ok, going to bed now.

Monday, June 27, 7am: You mean there's not even ONE person looking for a carpool rider from Atlanta to Dothan according to erideshare.com? Oh, and all the people offering their couches to me via couchsurf.com look like they just busted out of the county pedophile unit? All right. And hitchhiking is NOT a good idea, right Ma? All right then, if you say so.

7:30am-10pm: Some stress.

10:30pm: Jdub, really, you don't have to buy a whole nother expensive plane ticket just to get me from Atlanta to Dothan. Really, there must be some other way, that's such a waste of money. No seriously, I can find a way to get there, it's only four hours I've always wanted to explore the deep south by foot ok sounds good, I owe you buddy, see ya then.

Wednesday, June 29, 12pm: That's cool, airplane. That's cool that you disregard the importance of connecting flights and instead feel inclined to taxi on the runway for a hundred years so that even though I run from Terminal F to Terminal B as fast as my little legs can take me, they are already folding in the fold-up stairs when I arrive breathless at the gate. And then it turns out that that's not even my plane, they actually already left (10 minutes early, check out that efficiency!) but luckily the nice lady rebooks me for another flight. And I now have time to use the super-awesome, super-technological, self-sanitizing rotating toilet seat covers native to the O'Hare Airport (thought this narrative could use a little bright spot).

Approx. 7pm: I'm finally here, hooray! Just need to grab my bag and then this hellish adventure will be over, except why are you stopping the baggage conveyor so soon? I haven't gotten my bag yet, you see. Oh, so you don't have it, customer service? And you don't have any idea where it is, huh. Even though I checked it plane-side, right, right. So you'll let me know if it shows up but no guarantees, uh-huh, ok. Yeah sure, I won't sue, what's a tiny glitch like this when here comes Jdub, all sweaty and glowing from the skies!

9pm: Anonymous passenger returns my bag - it was an accident, they say, they look just like each other. Whatever, man. All I have to say is my netflix better still be in there.

For a few days there is peace, and there is bliss.

Monday, July 4, 6pm: Welp, I better go print my boarding passes for tomorrow...

...No boarding pass for Dothan to Atlanta, huh? Now that's odd. I could've sworn it's leaving in less than 24 hours which means I should be able to - oh, we botched the dates? Oh, this flight accidentally got booked for Wednesday instead of tomorrow? Which means I need a way to get to Atlanta to make my Atlanta flight tomorrow, yes. And cause I used the name-your-own-price feature of priceline, my Atlanta flight is absolutely non-cancellable. And people say long-distance relationships are difficult!

6:30pm: Well, I was really hoping to avoid the bus this time, but I guess I have no choice - Jdub is back to being locked into rigid flight schedules and can't spare 8 hours to drive me to Atlanta. Bus ride booked for Atlanta, leaving tonight at 2am. Jdub's friend, let's call him Hank, is recruited to take me to the station in Dothan. Good thing I love travel. Good thing Jdub has some money to burn.

11:00pm: I call Hank to confirm that we are leaving in a little over an hour for the station. Confirmed, back to bed for a few more minutes.

Tuesday, July 5, 12:45am: I call Hank again to make sure he is awake and about ready to come pick me up for our trip to the station. He is.

1:15am: Hank is MIA. I decide not to worry just yet.

1:30am: Where is Hank? You know, I really didn't want to ride that sketchy bus, anyway.

1:45am: Yep, there's no way I'm making this bus tonight.

2am: Dealing with this mess in the morning, goodnight.

9am: Hank calls apologetically, saying he fell asleep shortly after I called him last night. I tell him quite honestly that it's all good, because, have you ever actually ridden greyhound? How about in the middle of the night through the deep south?

9am-1pm: Arrangements, arrangements, money leaving Jdub's credit card, calling and apologizing to boss-doing, buying new bus ticket because the one bought last night can't be transferred, new bus ticket bought, new plane ticket bought, it's freaking hot in here cause the aircon don't work, and we're done.

And that, folks, is how I came to justify myself in plopping down on this Alabama carpet while Jdub is at school, for the purpose of resuming my weeklong Rocky obsession and finding some solace in the Italian Stallion's unimaginative yet comforting aphorisms. Soon Jdub will be home and we will study transmission oil temps till we pass out, and we will do this every day until I leave, for reals this time, next week.

You see, in all the struggle, I have finagled myself another week with my favorite person.

Everything usually does kinda work out, huh?

Dear Foodie Readers of this Blog,

I need your help. As most of you probably know, healthy eating is not one of my strong points, and never has been. My two best friends, bread and ice cream, can attest to this fact. Being no fool to the benefits of a diet high in fruits and vegetables, however, I recently underwent a challenge. My self-imposed challenge was to eat nothing but fruits and vegetables for a week (maybe more!). My friends, I lasted four hours before I decided that no person in their right mind would ever undertake, much less be able to, subsist on this crazy diet of air - I mean produce - for more than one apple. It took four hours.

Dear foodie readers, how can I change my ways? I want to change, I really do, but it seems oh so insurmountable. My biggest obstacle, I think, is my inability to think of produce as actual food. I know, what's wrong with this generation, right? Back in the day, fruits and vegetables were the definition of real food, or so I hear. But seriously. When I eat an orange, I feel like I am eating flavored water. It tastes sweet, sure, but it is no more food to me than gum is. I could eat 2,000 calories worth of raw food and still feel like I was starving, simply because I hadn't bitten into anything with substance that day (actually that's a lie, I would never make it to 2,000 calories, as my short-lived challenge has proven).

I know there's the chips made out of kale, and the mashed "potatoes" made out of cauliflower. And I do take comfort in the possibility of these. But is it enough? Is there a way to eat more fruits and veggies and still enjoy eating? Or do I need to suck it up and accept the fact that a healthy Mish is one who has come to terms with a lifetime of flavored water?

Please help.

Sincerely,
Picky in Provo

Plans

On the right, you will see that I have created a label cloud. It seemed like a bloggy thing to do. And, man, with labels like 'depression' and 'narcissistic', it is little wonder to me that so many of you (all five of you) keep coming back! I sure know how to keep the troops entertained!

Anyway, here's some things I'm thinking about doing with my life if my schooling proves fruitless:

-professional wreck diving
-family history-working
-manatee-saving
-white water raft-guiding
-living somewhere not in this country-ing
-enchiladas
-playing the banjo-ing
-speaking Arabic-ing
-rugby


Now I know what you are thinking. Wreck-diving and raft-guiding sound kind of adventurous and athletic. And rugby? Is she confused? Nope, folks, after years of searching I think I've finally found my inner moxie, and these are the places I want it to take me. Which means that, when that day comes when going out and doing something sounds more appealing than sitting on my bed watching Netflix, I will know exactly what to do. I am growing up, everybody.

If you read the Arabic-speaking part and thought that was kind of bizarre, it's ok. It is to me too. If you read enchiladas and thought maybe that wasn't a very realistic thing to do with your life, then maybe you, too, have a lot of growing up to do.

Now go show some lovin' to your Fa's!

More than words is all you have to do to make it real

A depthy post on the nature of love is far beyond the scope of this blog (and let's face it, far beyond my comprehension). But I will say this: I think it's very easy for us to offer the words "I love you" as just that - an offering; a gift. We often say it in the same way we would give a compliment; a sort of kind gesture from me to you. The gift I give is the way I feel about you. This is not to say that the backing sentiment is phony, but simply that we don't always take pains for our meanings.

The sages of our time often inform us that love has more to do with our actions than our emotions, and while that sounds all noble and good, the thing is that it seems to actually, quite literally be true.

Exhibit A: Some time ago I began to feel uneasy whenever I got to that part in my prayers when I told the Lord that I "loved Him." My subconscious understanding of love being a gift rendered my declaration immediately ridiculous. Who am I to think that I have anything to give that He doesn't already have? The implication of gift-giving is that one must have and one must lack, and this is never the case in our relationship with the Omnipotent God. Even more disturbing, if love is simply a way of feeling about someone, who am I to "feel" towards the Lord as a man feels towards his pet dog, or the mountains, or Beethoven symphonies? The notion implies a sort of evaluation I have over some sort of raw material. To assume that I have any sort of capacity for evaluating the Lord is probably the most outrageous and offensive thing ever.

But alas, the saving grace lies in the fact that I was wrong about love. It is not a gift you give by saying it. It is an explanation for something you're already doing. Ideally, when I tell you I love you, it is a pleasant but unnecessary caption for the illustration of everything I am doing to support, nurture, and care for you. And you see, when we look at it this way, it makes perfect sense to tell the Lord we love Him. We are not so much expressing a sentiment to Him as we are committing ourselves to continue serving him; to act in charity towards Him and all men, because charity is the pure love of Christ.

There, doesn't that just FEEL better?

Of Vice and Virtue

Ok, so perhaps you all DON'T have thoughts on that last issue. That's cool, that's cool, but what about this one?

The other day I was thinking about all the people I respect and admire most, and I noticed that they all seem to have pretty much the same traits in common. These people are kind, selfless, temperate, wise. They are humble and hard-working. These are people whom I consider to be as perfect as mortality allows; people who seem, based on my perception anyway, to be as close to Christ as one gets in this world. I realized that all these people were more or less alike each other, at least more alike than the rest of us baddens. Which made me wonder if this is sort of what Tolstoy was getting at:

Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way (Anna Karenina).

There are a lot of ways to be bad (unhappy), but goodness (happiness) comes in pretty much the same forms - kindness, temperance, wisdom, humility, industriousness. It seems that the closer we get to Christ, the more alike we become - which makes perfect sense because we are, after all, converging into the same thing; that is, Christ Himself.

I was about ready to pat myself on the back for finally solving the mystery of what the heck Leo was talking about, when it occurred to me that perhaps there aren't so many ways to be bad after all. Could one just as easily say that badness is all the same, too? Cruelty, gluttony, foolishness, pride, sloth - are not all our sins some variation of these big'ns?

I know someone's gotta have an opinion on this! Also, 20 points to moi for using 'badden' and 'big'n' in the same post! I'm on an alliteral roll!

Also, I just remembered that my bro Bryce once offered a different interpretation of the Tolstoy quote which I think is also quite insightful. Go here to see it.

The best part about this post is that I got to use the words 'ephemeral' and 'evanescent'

Pride has been on my mind a lot lately. And I'm not even talking about Westview Pride. By some stroke of divine wisdom/punishment, I feel that I've lately become more inclined to notice my own pride in all its many manifestations, which has led me to conclude that I am actually one of the most prideful people as has ever walked the earth. I know, it's so paradoxical right, cause look at me right now! I'm being all humble by acknowledging my faults and stuff, right? Well, maybe I was for a fleeting moment there, but even now I am back to being prideful about what a humble gal I am, and that ephemeral humility is three blocks down the street again. It seems that humility, like the present, is hopelessly evanescent. And yet, it must not be a completely hopeless virtue to strive for, or else I wouldn't feel shame for not having it, would I? There must still be people out there who have learned the secret of how to pin it down for at least longer than a moment. In fact, I'm pretty certain there are, because sometimes you can just tell those kinds of people.

My inability to pin down humility for longer than a millisecond is discouraging, but I have hope yet than I can improve. My wise missionary friend Sorella Jacobson pointed out that perhaps the best plan of attack for eliminating pride is not to tirelessly chase humility, but rather to focus on replacing pride with something that is equally accessible but better, like selfless service. She says our minds are a stage, and that only one act can be played on it at a time, so perhaps it is better to replace one bad act with a good one, and then humility might come as a fringe benefit. I'm still uncertain about this, but I certainly think it's worth a shot.

I know you all have thoughts on this. Let's hear 'em!