Muffins and Midriffs

I’m a little upset that belly shirts are back in style. And not even the loose ones that look like your shirt is missing the bottom half, but the tight ones that no one looks attractive in. Unless you’re rock-solid, you’re going to have an additional muffin top. And if you aren’t ripped, odds are you already have a regular muffin top so now you have two; you have a double-topped muffin. While a literal double-topped muffin sounds delicious, it’s extremely unattractive on anyone.

Change is strange. Things go in and out of style, ideologies develop and evolve. There is always something familiar about change; it can always be tied to something that’s happened previously. But, it always leaves a feeling of newness that is scary for some and exciting for others.

I’ve caught myself wanting change already. I’m trying to mold it into a desire for progression instead, but it’s difficult. Change is easier. When I change something, I get a clean slate. I get rid of whatever I’m unsatisfied with and replace it with something else. Progression requires commitment and investment. I have to take the bad with the good and build on them. The end result will be more stable, but the process is emotional and tedious; I don’t have much patience for either.

I think I’m worried that if I invest in something, I might miss the opportunity to invest in something better. I love the idea of doing something I’m passionate about, but I can’t afford to travel the world playing music and telling people they’re important. So I bounce from one opportunity to the next, trying to find something worth committing my passion to.

How ridiculous is that? What a waste of life. Maybe I’d be a little more excited about what I’m doing if I made a point to invest in the people surrounding me rather than the things or the positions or the opportunities. I’ve been walking into the same building of more than 100 employees every day for nearly six months and I barely know any of them. I’ve been serving the same group of homeless people dinner every Thursday and can’t remember most of their names from week to week.

I have every opportunity to connect to my passions every day and instead I choose laziness. I choose change over progression, moving from one idea to the next. I need to build on the relationships and opportunities that are right in front of me. I guess if I ever want to accomplish passion, I’d better ditch the double-topped muffin and get a real shirt.

Every Girl Has A Post About Dating

I’m having one of those days where I’m feeling really single. You know exactly what I mean; Facebook is full of engagement announcements, wedding plans, and baby pictures. Friend groups are full of couples and there’s always that one other single there, which makes it extra weird because everyone else decides that being the only two single people automatically means you’re perfect for each other. And what is with all the men with dogs and babies walking around Nashville? Seriously, it’s weird how many there are.

It’s silly. I am a strong, beautiful, confident woman with a college degree and drive and ambition. And obviously, humility. Why wouldn’t anyone want to date me? I suppose I’m at that stage that all women hit. Our ovaries are screaming “make babies now!” and parents are asking “when are you finally going to date someone seriously?” Basically, all this leads me to contemplate why I’m so terrible at dating. Here’s what I came up with:

1. Men Have a God Complex

Most of the men who have expressed any interest in me lose it when they figure out I don’t need them. I am a strong, independent young woman. I deal with things rationally and quietly. Now don’t get me wrong, I like to have support in tough times just like everyone else. But it takes a little time to build the trust to get to that level. I won’t lean on you until I know you’re willing to hold the weight. Needing to be needed presents expectations I’m not sure I’m willing to take on.

2. I Have ‘f*** off’ Stamped Across My Forehead

I was completely unaware of this until about a year ago when Ben and Lena were kind enough to point it out. I think it’s limited to the bar/party scene for the most part. I mean can you blame me? I wasn’t exactly the kind of girl who liked to attract a particular kind of attention that was fairly regular in the OU party scene. I can remember a few conversations I had that didn’t last ten minutes before I just said “I’m not going home with you.” I don’t like to waste time.

Buuuut, I shouldn’t just assume that that’s their goal. Not all men are complete douchebags. Unless they’re at the Crystal. Then they most definitely are.

3. I’m too Crude for the Innocent and too Innocent for the Crude

It’s one makes me laugh. People react to me in one of two ways: they think I’m naive and prude, or they think I’m crass and a drunk. Neither and both are true. I’m smack in the middle. I swear fairly regularly and I love tequila and dark beer. I also go to church every Sunday and don’t put out. Someday I’ll find someone to join me. Until then, I’ll sip my bourbon and contemplate the theology of Romans by myself.

4. Jocks are Dumb and Smart Guys are Small

I can’t bring myself to date someone smaller than me. I’ve tried, truly, but I just can’t do it. I like large men with calloused hands and a beautiful jawline. Until they open their mouths to speak. Don’t get me wrong. I have an amazing respect for the good-hearted, blue-collar worker back home. In fact, that’s exactly the kind of guy I’m typically attracted to. But there’s only so much you can learn in the fields and mud of Holmesville, Ohio. Could someone just get the farmer an education so we can live happily ever after?

5. I’m Terrified

I think everyone who knows me read that and went “Aw, she finally figured it out.” When I’m attracted to someone, my first instinct is to do all that I can to reason myself out of it. I’ve pushed good people away because of it, lost dear friends even.

My mom is crying as she reads this, thinking the divorce ruined me and she’ll never have grand-babies. Don’t worry mom, I genuinely believe this isn’t rooted in the divorce. I think it’s more directly connected to attention deficit disorder.

I don’t like to sit still. I love knowing that I can change anything I want about my life at this moment and there’s nothing to hold me back. Well except for student debt, but that’s a whole different rant.

I picked up and moved my entire life to Nashville within about two weeks. And not because I was dreaming about working for personal injury lawyers in Nashville, but because I didn’t have any reason not to! And today, if someone walked up to me and said that they’ll send me to Europe or Australia for the same salary, I would go! Again, the financial thing would be the key factor, but other than that, I wouldn’t hesitate! I want to do exciting things experience different cultures. I’m afraid that seriously dating someone is the first step to depleting any hope for those dreams.

Basically, I just need to find someone to drink tequila and travel the world with me. Or marry rich, that could work too.

What do you think; is there hope for me? Or am I just a silly naive dreamer?

Let’s Dance

You guys… I almost have friends.

The move to Nashville has been challenging. I finally feel settled into my job and have my regular coffee spot. I even found a church that isn’t full of the loud, flashy bull that’s so popular along the Bible Belt. That’s a reasonable accomplishment considering I’ve only been here for three months.

The only problem is that now that the chaos of the change has begun to settle, I have time to breathe. Time to realize how utterly alone I am here.

I’ve never been alone before, not like this. The closest I’ve come was the move to college, three hours from home. Even then, everyone around me was in the same boat. There were 3,000 other freshmen just as lonely and nervous as I was. Here in Nashville, everyone’s established. They all have their circles, their habits, their favorite pastimes. Their lives are full of drama, ups and downs, good and bad relationships, trips to the dog park, routine. They’re home.

I want to feel at home. I can’t wait to get past the awkward stage, being the odd wheel; that one girl who was there.

I’m getting closer! I’ve hung out with two different friend groups on a couple different occasions. I think they’re still pity invites for the most part, but it’s a start. If I can hide the crazy long enough, I might have my in.

It’s funny how relationships develop. People want you to be perfectly normal at first. Then, they’re ready to slowly discover the crazy inside, bit by bit. The crazy up front scares them. I think I’d rather have crazy from the get-go than to never have crazy at all. What a boring person that would be.

I hope the friendships I develop over the next year are with a bunch of crazy people. People who force me to feel ridiculous and try new things. Nothing that will get me tossed in jail for more than 24 hours, just enough to keep me interesting.

I get crazy ideas sometimes; fun, spontaneous things that would make for awesome stories. Then my bank account reminds me to calm down. I’m terrible with my money. I place zero value on it and so I spend it like it’s nothing. I wrote a $100 check to an organization building a well in a small village in Africa… I can’t afford that shit! If my dad knew, he’d lecture me in his little old man voice. The one that’s nearly a whisper and over-annunciated, desperately trying to appear rational and calm as he fights the urge to call me a dumbass and demand control of my bank account.

But I’m fine. I’m paying my bills and saving. Sure, that was $100 I could have knocked off my credit card debt, but I can live with that. I’m still a lot more comfortable than the family in Africa drinking clean water for the first time.

I’m not up for the redistribution of wealth, I’m not a socialist. I just think the world would be a lot better off if the people’s first priority was the people. We love to accuse our government of neglecting the people, yet we do it every day.

I hate thinking about the worthless things I spend money on. I have this app, Mint. It’s a personal budgeting app that gives me monthly updates on how I’ve spent my money. Reading through it the most depressing 5 minutes of my entire month. I spent just over $1500 in April. Now about $1000 of that was spent on legitimate needs: bills, groceries, etc. but the other $500? Dumb stuff! Shopping, restaurants, alcohol, coffee; oh my goodness the coffee. It has it’s own section in my budget summary. Ridiculous!

I should just share my spending habits with you all each week, maybe I’d be embarrassed enough to change them.

So moral of the story is: I need one financially responsible friend who will discourage me from being frivolous, one friend who’s crazy and gets me arrested (but released after no more than 24 hours), and one friend who line dances because I’ve wanted to since I got here.

Any takers?

A Scary Little White Girl

I park my car in an outdoor parking garage about two blocks from downtown Nashville. This weekend was gorgeous so I decided to park and walk around the different shops and cafes. For the past couple weeks I have noticed a box right next to my usual spot that appeared to have a homeless person living in it, but never saw anyone there. Today, as I walked back to my car, there was a man there changing his shirt. As I grew closer I started prepping myself for the request for money and tried to remember how much cash I had on me or if I had any food in my car to give him. I wasn’t at all prepared for what was about to happen. When he saw me his reaction wasn’t to beg or to question me, it was fear.

He went into a panic, “please don’t call the cops, I don’t do drugs, I’m not a drunk, I just need a place to sleep, please don’t run me out” and he just kept going. I was so caught off guard, I started to tear up. I don’t know that I’ve ever witnessed someone in fear, certainly never in fear of me.

My heart broke. Could the world really be that cruel? That the mere sight of a 5’3″ white girl in flip flops strikes fear into a grown man?

I hate how smug we all are in our ignorant little bubbles. We’ve convinced ourselves that someone without a roof over their head deserves to be where they are and that we are completely justified in our slurs of disgust and our lack of compassion.

Let me tell you about my friend James. James is a 40-year-old man who worked in the same factory here in Nashville from the time he was 16 until he was laid off last year due to downsizing. He fed his family and raised his children on his factory job and kept them afloat for about 6 months after he lost it. When his savings ran out, he was evicted. He tried to find another factory job, but was repeatedly turned away due to the terrible arthritis he has in both knees. He was denied disability and was ineligible for welfare. Finally, his wife left him and he moved into a cardboard box under a bridge in west Nashville. I’ve never heard him utter a single complaint. He is always full of joy and it’s contagious.

James worked hard for 24 years and loved and provided for his family with an honest living. He doesn’t deserve to be where he is.

I’m wondering whether to publish this. This same story has been told a million times and we read them and nod our heads and furrow our brows as we pretend to empathize. But nothing changes. We still avoid eye contact with the men on the corner and quicken our pace as we walk by. We might drop a buck in their cup and call it a service. I wish I knew how to stir your heart and call you to action, but I don’t. You have to decide if it’s worth your time.

Seeing someone truly fear me was an awful feeling, but it struck something in me. I’ve never considered the value of joy until seeing someone completely robbed of it. I want so much to give it back to them, but I’m not sure how. The best I can come up with is to love and to beg others to love with me.

Heroin and Small Talk

I’m intrigued and I want to share. I’m sitting in a coffee shop sipping a dark roast that I quite enjoy, but have no idea what it is because I told the barista to surprise me. I’ve been debating whether to go ask. In the middle of my contemplation, a man walks briskly out the glass door, and there are windows around the entirety of the room, so I can still see him. He angrily grabs a paper sack out of the trash, marches past three windows and chucks the bag off the raised deck. I’m obviously witnessing a drug deal.

I bet it’s either cocaine or heroin. Marijuana is too boring and predictable. Is Nashville a big heroin city? Oooo or maybe it’s money. I’m dying to find out. Maybe the other 50 people in the room didn’t notice.

Never mind, as soon as I got the urge to stand up, I realized it’s broad daylight and as I said, there are 50 other people sitting next to the windows; drugs and money are highly unlikely. Also, the man just walked by with three more bags of trash.

I’m so often disappointed with what I think will be exciting and adventurous. I think it’s because I keep looking for things rather than people. The right people make the most boring things exciting and the most simple places adventurous. I hope I’m one of those. I worry at times that my matter-of-fact mindset smothers the fire that others have. But I’ve also seen it ignite them so maybe it just depends on the circumstance.

I want so much to ignite people. I like seeing passion and vision in people and I hate that our culture deems dreams naive. I’d much rather be a naive dreamer than an experienced pessimist.

It’s tricky getting people to believe in themselves without being either creepy or bitchy. I’m either overly encouraging and fluffy, telling them how wonderful they are or I’m like your ninth grade coach who took freshman basketball way too seriously. “OPEN YOUR EYES YOU DIMWIT, YOU KNOW THE PLAY SO GET OFF YOUR ASS AND DO IT!!!” It all depends on the shoes.

This guy sitting next to me in Converse, I’d fluff him. Same with the girl in the sequenced Sperrys. Kind, sweet words, carefully constructed so as not to offend. Now the guy across from me in steel-toe work boots, I’d bitch-slap him for sure. But see that tactic doesn’t actually work; I’d fluff anyone wearing the boots I have on, but I’m definitely the kind of person who needs bitch-slapped. I need to learn that people are much deeper than their shoes. Or that the the first step isn’t to speak encouragement, but to listen.

We’re so eager to be heard, to be accepted, to be loved that we dismiss the fact that everyone else is too.

For example, about 20 minutes ago a man in white pants with long hair slicked back in a bun sat down across from me on the phone. I decided within five minutes, based on his appearance and the conversation he was having about a girl, that he’s a complete douchebag. As I continued to eavesdrop, he started talking about where he is in life at the moment. He just graduated and moved to Nashville where he hangs out with a few different people on a regular basis, but he doesn’t really have and real friends, no buddy that he can randomly call to get together with. He’s lonely. Suddenly, I can relate. Don’t get me wrong, he’s definitely a douchebag, but his douchery is now justified. Listening another ten minutes had a drastic impact on my view of him.

And as luck would have it, as I finished that last sentence, he struck up conversation. We chatted for a while, small talk mostly, but he was very polite and friendly. I didn’t learn much about him, just enough to recognize that life was telling me I need a solid dose of humility. We all just want someone to talk to, we all just need a little company.

We construct an exterior based on what the people around us expect or demand and it’s often an inaccurate portrait of who we really are. Why then, are we so surprised to find that everyone else is doing the same thing? That there’s so much more to a package than the wrapper? I hope I can learn not to judge so quickly based on the surface of the people I meet. The inside might be trash, but hey, it could be drugs or money too.

A Spark of Madness

I’ve always been very well composed. I’m a diffuser, I fix things and situations and attempt to fix people which always ends badly for both parties. I’m slow and steady, the boulder in the middle of rapids.

Boulders are boring.

I’m typically ok with my boringness and I think I still am, at least with most of it. There’s something bugging me though, it’s nagging, trying to get my attention. Dad would say those are called debt collectors. While Sallie Mae calls me more than any of my family, I’m pretty sure thats not it. Mom would probably say it’s my ovaries telling me to get married and have babies. I’m open to that. When that man with the beautiful jawline says goodbye to his huge dog and hops on his Harley to volunteer with the kids in the projects, I’ll be happy to settle down. Ok so I’ll have to adjust my expectations a tad, but I don’t think this is related to any sort of biological clock anyway.

I think it relates back to my need to be challenged. I want to learn more, get in shape, eat healthy, climb rocks, read Thoreau, get a dog, knit a sweater. I think about these things a lot, but always find reasons not to do them. Pinterest and Netflix are also partially responsible. If I actually did everything I’ve pinned, I would be awesome.

I have an idea. I am going to create a list and each week, I have to do one thing on the list. Ready? Here we go…

1. Knit a sweater (there’s probably a YouTube video for that right?)
2. Get a dog (this one legitimately has to wait until I get my own apartment…anyone know a place?)
3. Play music in Nashville…somewhere other than my bedroom.
4. Hike 5 new trails
5. Go white water rafting
6. Learn to rock climb
7. Go rock climbing
8. Visit Jim Beam distillery
9. Visit Jack distillery
10. Visit Andrew Johnson Historic Site
11. Tour Belle Meade Plantation (and winery)
12. Visit Graceland
13. Visit Fort Donelson
14. Read Walden

That’s a good start. Do you have any other ideas?

I hope that nagging never goes away and that my ideas get a little crazier with time. I would hate to become content with a normal life. Time to start building some experiences and shaping this rock into something a little more exciting.

Don’t worry, I’ll tell you all about my many adventures!

We All Like Dummies

I’m sitting at a table at Frothy feeling self conscious. Not super self conscious just a little bit but enough to make me think about why. I have “Facebook Application Development for Dummies” sitting on the table which immediately makes me feel like a dummy. Anyone who looks over here will see the big yellow book and know that I’m a dummy. The topic doesn’t really matter, it could be neuroscience for dummies and you’re still a dummy because you’re the one who needed the book for dummies. They should call them books for future experts. “Facebook Application Development for Future Experts” would make me feel a little better I think.

I like to be around people who are obviously better than me in some capacity (happens fairly often). I enjoy sitting in awe of their abilities, soaking in their knowledge and experience, the things I could never attain simply because I’d never survive med school or be able to ride a bicycle across the country.

I especially love the moment when I realize they’re human. They talk about their challenges and failures which at first only enhance the wonder. Then they trip and fall and I rejoice inside knowing they’re not perfect at everything. Don’t judge me, you do it too. Your heart lifts a bit seeing others mess up, not because you enjoy seeing them fail but because it feels so good to know you’re not the only one.

Naubet screws up. He gets drunk frequently and says incredibly offensive things on a regular basis. He is a nuclear physicist from Kazakhstan, speaks five languages, travels the world, worked for BBC. He’s bat-shit crazy and he’s one of the most dependable and genuine people I’ve ever met.

I have another friend back in Athens who was a poli-sci major. He’s ridiculously intelligent and a physical beast. He mountain bikes everywhere, runs miles and miles, climbs everything, travels the world, his stories are equally amazing. I don’t know a single person who calls him a close friend.

This makes me happy. Not that Poli-Sci doesn’t have friends but that it reveals an amazing truth about people. We don’t want perfection. We don’t want perfect composure and constant success. We want to see weakness, we want to see hurt. We want to know that we’re not alone.

I don’t have much more to say on this one, I just want to ask you to please stop trying so hard to be flawless, we all know it’s a lie and we want desperately to show you our brokenness so that we can all heal. We just want to know and be known.