I've been eating a lot of peanut butter and jelly lately. We've been under "lockdown" here in NYC - unofficially for two weeks, officially for one week. Since the state mandate of "shelter in place", I've been slathering peanut butter and jelly (actually, Polaner's All Fruit - strawberry) on a thick piece of challah bread and devouring that daily. There's some strange comfort in this ritual at a time when all sense of time seems to be lost and every day is the same yet not.
I'm not sure why I've been drawn to this particular "quarantine comfort food" as I've been calling it. PB&J was not particularly a childhood staple for us. But there is something strangely soothing - maybe even falsely nostalgic - in this simple joy of sweetness that conjures innocence and delight.
These days, it seems to be the little things that provide comfort in the face of overwhelming information and horrific stats. A cup of coffee drunk in the eerie quietness of each morning in a city that is never quiet. Text messages from friends. A short walk outside and seeing budding blossoms on bare tree branches. A cold beer to accompany a home cooked dinner.
From the news, the COVID-19 situation in NYC looks terrifying. Friends and family from around the world have been sending messages and checking in to make sure we're all right. On the ground, the sickness and death feel so close yet also removed. We know the virus is here. By now, almost all of us know someone who has been diagnosed. And yet, confined within the walls of our home, the terror seems to lurk outside - elsewhere - hanging over the city like an ominous dark cloud, present but not quite palpable. Daily, we hear siren roars that are magnified in the surrounding silence, punctuating our hours with more frequency than what feels normal (or is that just in my mind?). Each siren accompanied by a thousand silent prayers.
I am struggling with how to live with this sense of collective grief. I am not so sad for myself - I have been immensely grateful for our continued health, sustained work, and daily provisions. Life may be inconvenienced personally but it hasn't been detrimental. But this greater sense of those who are suffering, whether from the virus or from conditions resulting in the virus' societal impact, the heaviness of the burdens carried by those in this city, country and even world.... the realization that we will not go back to the world we knew.... the severity of Loss is hard to bear. How do we share in this collective grief but not allow it to consume? How do we make space for the mourning that is happening and is to come? This virus has not only revealed but further stressed the existing cracks in our systems and infrastructure - the injustices and inequity brought to harsh light by this merciless invisible enemy. In some ways, the virus discriminates against no one. And yet in our responses and defenses, those with resources and privilege are much more equipped to fight with less risk in losing the battle.
And yet.
Somehow in all this, there's also a sense of Divine Disturbance. Perhaps underlying all this is also a struggle to bring balance again. In a world where we have acted destructively in our relationships with one another, creation, and the Creator, this pandemic also feels like a backlash against our selfish ways, just-a-matter-of-time consequences of our greed and indifference. Stripping us of all things that distract, entice, and consume us, we are left with the simplest things - focusing on basic necessities while staring our mortality in the face daily: pondering life and death, forced to be in waiting, control absolutely ripped out of our hands.
To be in the season of Lent while death and decay surround us feels highly appropriate. This is the most memorable Lent I've ever experienced as I grapple with the reality of death while crying in prayer each day. There is either more to all this or there is nothing. There is either hope or we fall in despair. There is either a Love Supreme or there is brutal meaninglessness.
Even as I draw tangible immediate comfort from my peanut butter and jelly spread, I know my heart longs for ultimate comfort. That in the midst of this, there is a way still - and that way, regardless of how scary the world feels - remains steadfast, confident, and sure.
Showing posts with label reflections. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reflections. Show all posts
Monday, March 30, 2020
Sunday, September 22, 2019
to prune or not to prune
Over Labor Day weekend, we visited my parents and I was surprised to see the state of their peach tree. The branches, heavy with too many peaches, were bent over and hung to the ground with the tops of their branches brushing against the grass. It was at once comical and tragic. We spent a good part of an afternoon picking the bad peaches off the trees but there was still a considerable amount of peaches weighing the boughs down. I tried persuading my mom to pick off more peaches, but she was reluctant to lose the peaches that looked more promising.
After doing some online research and getting advice from a friend who's grown peach trees, I learned that some preventative measures can be taken before a tree gets to this state:
1) Pruning: cutting and trimming branches and buds
2) Thinning: proactively and preventatively picking off peaches as they are growing to space them out more
If neither measure is taken, then the result is what you see with my parents' tree: a fruitful but useless (and tired...and nutrients depleted) tree.
I can relate to that peach tree. More often than not, I am so focused on being productive, on staying busy, on doing too much because I'm unwilling to let go of all the good things. The result is that I'm tired, cranky, feeling depleted and producing half-ass fruit. Without taking time to actively prune or thin in my life, I too can bear a lot of fruit but at the expense of my well-being. And the fruit produced is not as good had I pruned and thinned.
I'm currently reading Necessary Endings by Dr. Henry Cloud and it's been reinforcing these notions of pruning and thinning in my life.
"Pruning is a process of proactive endings." (Cloud) In his book, Cloud notes that pruning purposefully cuts off branches and buds that fall into these three categories:
1. Healthy buds or branches that are not the best ones
2. Sick branches that are not going to get well
3. Dead branches that are taking space needed for the healthy ones to thrive
Life is a series of seasons and rhythms - whether I like it or not, endings are a natural part of that. I can either proactively prepare for, consider, and even initiate endings, or I can be in denial or even fight against endings. But the endings will happen anyway - with or without me kicking and screaming all the way. I've lived too many seasons like this overburdened peach tree - with all the good intentions in the world but none of the decisive action required to prune and thin towards health and sustainability. So in turning over a new leaf (haha, pun intended), this is a season that I'm challenging myself to practice pruning - in obligations, commitments and relationships.
Do you prune? How do you feel about pruning?
Sunday, August 25, 2019
Look to the trees
The world is literally on fire.
Daily, it seems as if the world is crumbling and we are destroying one another, tearing at each other's throats even as we tear ourselves apart. Is this the rest of life as we know it? Or is this a reality - and has always been a reality - that we only soberly realize and acknowledge the farther we edge into adulthood? That to grow old is to grow weary, to sink slowly into these tired bodies in this tired world.
When I grow weary, I find myself staring at trees. I need to go anywhere with greenery, with tall quiet trees that do nothing but stretch into the sky with their invisible roots anchoring them as they have done before I arrived and will continue to do long after I depart. I find solace in considering the trees. There they stand, silent and stoic except for the occasional gentle rustle with the right breeze. Their branches bend with the wind, they sway in the storms, they shed all their leaves and stand naked for months only to push through the pain of growing buds and blossoms to be swathed in leaves when summer comes. Year after year, season after season, they endure. Even when the earth is scorched and they are burned, somehow, some of the trees persevere. And survive.
* * * * *
I wrote this poem a couple of years ago and revisit when I find myself worrying and overthinking everything.
Daily, it seems as if the world is crumbling and we are destroying one another, tearing at each other's throats even as we tear ourselves apart. Is this the rest of life as we know it? Or is this a reality - and has always been a reality - that we only soberly realize and acknowledge the farther we edge into adulthood? That to grow old is to grow weary, to sink slowly into these tired bodies in this tired world.
When I grow weary, I find myself staring at trees. I need to go anywhere with greenery, with tall quiet trees that do nothing but stretch into the sky with their invisible roots anchoring them as they have done before I arrived and will continue to do long after I depart. I find solace in considering the trees. There they stand, silent and stoic except for the occasional gentle rustle with the right breeze. Their branches bend with the wind, they sway in the storms, they shed all their leaves and stand naked for months only to push through the pain of growing buds and blossoms to be swathed in leaves when summer comes. Year after year, season after season, they endure. Even when the earth is scorched and they are burned, somehow, some of the trees persevere. And survive.
* * * * *
I wrote this poem a couple of years ago and revisit when I find myself worrying and overthinking everything.
And all the trees of the field will clap their hands
How do the trees know to grow with such grace
The way they splay and bend and stretch
Dancing to the pulse of unheard strains
In perfect time and syncopation
Tuesday, July 30, 2019
existential crises
What's your favorite season to have an existential crisis?
Summer's mine, hands down.
I think it's because it feels so unexpected in the summer....you're eating ice cream, swimming in the ocean, drinking on a rooftop, strolling in the park... and all of a sudden you're contemplating the point of it all - what is life, anyway? - and realizing that the sea of people surrounding you, enjoying sunshine and loved ones - every single person will die someday.
So summery, right?
I find having an existential crisis on the most beautiful of days, in the season filled with the most sunlight, strangely comforting. It's as if somehow, all this beauty - painfully wonderful beauty - is at once reality and not. That to be fully present is to also embrace the fleetingness of it all - that all we know is what we know, but it's not all there is. It's sobering, even as I feel drunk with the sweet languidness of these days, thick as the humid air that drips off my skin.
I've seen an increased frequency of existential crises this past year, due to a couple of factors. One, I turned 40. I know 40 is the new 30, blah blah blah, but there's a perspective shift that comes (maybe it's connected to my slowing metabolism and slightly tilting hormones?) with rounding the fourth decade of life. I'm officially over FOMO. I feel at home in my skin and the spots, wrinkles, and extra pounds that it comes with. I care less about where and who I will be someday but more concerned with where and who I am right now.
Two, I celebrated one year of marriage. Being married has expanded my heart in ways I never imagined. The love overwhelms me - which is also frightening. How is my heart capable of loving someone so much - and what is the depth of this vulnerability? What do you do with all this love, especially with our inevitable mortality?
The older I get, the less I know. The more I question. But what I do know - it feels more sure. And I feel ever more grateful - even when thinking about death on a beautiful summer day.
Summer's mine, hands down.
I think it's because it feels so unexpected in the summer....you're eating ice cream, swimming in the ocean, drinking on a rooftop, strolling in the park... and all of a sudden you're contemplating the point of it all - what is life, anyway? - and realizing that the sea of people surrounding you, enjoying sunshine and loved ones - every single person will die someday.
So summery, right?
I find having an existential crisis on the most beautiful of days, in the season filled with the most sunlight, strangely comforting. It's as if somehow, all this beauty - painfully wonderful beauty - is at once reality and not. That to be fully present is to also embrace the fleetingness of it all - that all we know is what we know, but it's not all there is. It's sobering, even as I feel drunk with the sweet languidness of these days, thick as the humid air that drips off my skin.
I've seen an increased frequency of existential crises this past year, due to a couple of factors. One, I turned 40. I know 40 is the new 30, blah blah blah, but there's a perspective shift that comes (maybe it's connected to my slowing metabolism and slightly tilting hormones?) with rounding the fourth decade of life. I'm officially over FOMO. I feel at home in my skin and the spots, wrinkles, and extra pounds that it comes with. I care less about where and who I will be someday but more concerned with where and who I am right now.
Two, I celebrated one year of marriage. Being married has expanded my heart in ways I never imagined. The love overwhelms me - which is also frightening. How is my heart capable of loving someone so much - and what is the depth of this vulnerability? What do you do with all this love, especially with our inevitable mortality?
The older I get, the less I know. The more I question. But what I do know - it feels more sure. And I feel ever more grateful - even when thinking about death on a beautiful summer day.
Sunday, June 2, 2019
Skin
My husband is watching "When They See Us", based on the actual case of the Central Park Five, in the living room. I started watching it with him, but I got so overwhelmed by feelings of rage, sadness, injustice, and pain that I had to leave the room. I feel like a coward sometimes when I'm unable to watch certain things because the feelings of pain become too strong. I've been highly emphatic since I was a child - it doesn't take much for me to step inside someone else's skin and take on the emotions they may be experiencing. Just the other day, I met with my spiritual director and we were discussing my struggles with empathy; I'm grateful that I have a high level of empathy but it certainly feels like a blessing and a curse. There's no way for me to dial down, let along turn off, the emotion overload, particularly when it comes to suffering. I don't know how not to feel the suffering of others.
The issue of race is particularly unnerving. I grew up in a small, rural town that was predominantly white. To be an immigrant and minority impressed upon me the importance of not just fitting in but acceptance; to succeed, I needed to - no, I must - be part of the dominant culture. I remember being vulnerable, being on guard, learning to fend for myself and for my family by mastering English. That was the greatest defense and offense - to have a voice, to speak up, to explain, to challenge. Language was my greatest weapon.
In my desire to be accepted, I always envisioned myself marrying an American - a white American at that. Becoming fully acculturated by marrying into the dominant culture. God has a sense of humor, however, and I ended up falling in love and marrying a non-American - and an immigrant at that. A beautiful, brown man whose first language is not English.
I've noticed all those dormant feelings of protectiveness reawakening during this first year of marriage: that little child warrior in me who had grown accustomed to explaining things to my parents, serving as the translator, yelling at those who had wrongly assumed they could bully my parents because they didn't speak English fluently. My husband is a grown man who is very adept at taking care of himself. But I can't help but feel those guardian tendencies, particularly as he navigates a land where he will be perceived a certain way by the color of his skin, a perception he may not be accustomed to having grown up in a different place - a place where he is the dominant and not the minority. Just thinking about it makes me want to protect him somehow from arrows that may be wrongfully flung at him.
How different this world would be if we knew more deeply what it means to step inside someone else's skin? How differently would we make laws and policies, construct systems of justice? How differently would we debate topics like gun reform, abortion, and civil rights? How differently would our public conversations be shaped if we focused less on "My rights" and more on "Your pain"?
The issue of race is particularly unnerving. I grew up in a small, rural town that was predominantly white. To be an immigrant and minority impressed upon me the importance of not just fitting in but acceptance; to succeed, I needed to - no, I must - be part of the dominant culture. I remember being vulnerable, being on guard, learning to fend for myself and for my family by mastering English. That was the greatest defense and offense - to have a voice, to speak up, to explain, to challenge. Language was my greatest weapon.
In my desire to be accepted, I always envisioned myself marrying an American - a white American at that. Becoming fully acculturated by marrying into the dominant culture. God has a sense of humor, however, and I ended up falling in love and marrying a non-American - and an immigrant at that. A beautiful, brown man whose first language is not English.
I've noticed all those dormant feelings of protectiveness reawakening during this first year of marriage: that little child warrior in me who had grown accustomed to explaining things to my parents, serving as the translator, yelling at those who had wrongly assumed they could bully my parents because they didn't speak English fluently. My husband is a grown man who is very adept at taking care of himself. But I can't help but feel those guardian tendencies, particularly as he navigates a land where he will be perceived a certain way by the color of his skin, a perception he may not be accustomed to having grown up in a different place - a place where he is the dominant and not the minority. Just thinking about it makes me want to protect him somehow from arrows that may be wrongfully flung at him.
How different this world would be if we knew more deeply what it means to step inside someone else's skin? How differently would we make laws and policies, construct systems of justice? How differently would we debate topics like gun reform, abortion, and civil rights? How differently would our public conversations be shaped if we focused less on "My rights" and more on "Your pain"?
Sunday, May 12, 2019
mother's day
Seven months ago, I found out I was pregnant. Six months ago, almost to the day, I found out I had a missed miscarriage.
It suddenly dawned on me today that if the pregnancy had endured, I would be celebrating my first Mother's Day and preparing for the arrival of a little one in one month's time.
That's a lot of stuff to be feeling. The pregnancy was not planned and I confess that my husband and I were both very surprised - shocked even - when that pregnancy test quickly flashed positive. The next few weeks were filled with a lot of conversations, tears, and prayers as we wrestled with news that was both jarring and wonderful. We had finally turned the corner emotionally and accepted - even embraced - the fact that we were going to be parents sooner than we would have liked when my gynecologist could not locate a heartbeat at my check-up. The emotional rollercoaster took yet another turn.
I must confess that in many ways, I am relieved I'm not having a baby right now. I hope that doesn't sound terrible - it's just honest. I do find myself wondering what our child would have looked like. When I see a little boy with caramel skin and curly hair and almond-shaped eyes, I wonder if that's how our son (my husband was already solidly convinced it was going to be a boy) would have turned out. I wouldn't pinpoint any of my residual feelings to grief, anger, or bitterness. If anything, it's closer to curiosity.
Sunday, April 21, 2019
four years
It's been four years since I updated this blog - actually, four years, 2 months and 27 days. I almost forgot this blog still exists. So much life has happened in these past four plus years.... I graduated with a master's degree. I have my own place in NYC. I got married. I entered my 40's. I have made this city a home.
So why am I picking this up again? Life is moving much faster than I would like, and there's something about writing and processing on paper that helps me to pump the brakes a bit. Pause, reflect, listen. Sit with my emotions and let them just be, allowing myself to feel every curve and edge.
Perhaps it's also that today, l feel a range of emotions more acutely. Celebrating and remembering the resurrection of Christ on this Easter Sunday. Mourning and deeply hurting with the hundreds of innocent lives destroyed by vicious bomb attacks in Sri Lanka. Grieving and aching with friends as another friend departs our world via the ruthless vehicle of cancer.
Some days, it's hard to swallow the bittersweetness of it all. I am deliriously happy and grateful, my heart is full when I recount the ways I've been blessed in unexpected ways these past few years. But all this is so fleeting, we are surrounded by pain and death, and the violence of a world turned onto itself is more often than not unbearable.
I know the desire for control is futile, and it's ultimately not what I want. I'm not even sure if I want to know everything - omniscience seems more detrimental than not with my mortal limitations. Perhaps all I want is to faithfully make sense of it all - to take each step with more faith than fear, to honestly wrestle, to ask questions, to hold with open hands.
So, after a four-year hiatus, an attempt to pick up a discipline of reflection and writing again. Maybe with a little more wisdom, definitely with a lot more questions.
So why am I picking this up again? Life is moving much faster than I would like, and there's something about writing and processing on paper that helps me to pump the brakes a bit. Pause, reflect, listen. Sit with my emotions and let them just be, allowing myself to feel every curve and edge.
Perhaps it's also that today, l feel a range of emotions more acutely. Celebrating and remembering the resurrection of Christ on this Easter Sunday. Mourning and deeply hurting with the hundreds of innocent lives destroyed by vicious bomb attacks in Sri Lanka. Grieving and aching with friends as another friend departs our world via the ruthless vehicle of cancer.
Some days, it's hard to swallow the bittersweetness of it all. I am deliriously happy and grateful, my heart is full when I recount the ways I've been blessed in unexpected ways these past few years. But all this is so fleeting, we are surrounded by pain and death, and the violence of a world turned onto itself is more often than not unbearable.
I know the desire for control is futile, and it's ultimately not what I want. I'm not even sure if I want to know everything - omniscience seems more detrimental than not with my mortal limitations. Perhaps all I want is to faithfully make sense of it all - to take each step with more faith than fear, to honestly wrestle, to ask questions, to hold with open hands.
So, after a four-year hiatus, an attempt to pick up a discipline of reflection and writing again. Maybe with a little more wisdom, definitely with a lot more questions.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
wisdom for the ages
just celebrated 36 years on this planet. THIRTY. SIX. YEARS.
and what wisdom have i gained from this span of time? the following basically sums it up:
1) Everything is a sh**show. You just have to decide which sh**show you can put up with.
2) People are idiots. Myself included.
3) There's nothing more satisfying than a drawer full of clean underwear.
that's it. that's all i got.
here's to more wisdom to come.
cups of coffee: 2
mood: goodness gracious
and what wisdom have i gained from this span of time? the following basically sums it up:
1) Everything is a sh**show. You just have to decide which sh**show you can put up with.
2) People are idiots. Myself included.
3) There's nothing more satisfying than a drawer full of clean underwear.
that's it. that's all i got.
here's to more wisdom to come.
cups of coffee: 2
mood: goodness gracious
Thursday, July 10, 2014
consider the lilies
Consider the lilies of the field,
the blue banks of camas
opening into acres of sky along the road.
Would the longing to lie down
and be washed by that beauty
abate if you knew their usefulness,
how the natives ground their bulbs
for flour, how the settlers' hogs
uprooted them, grunting in gleeful
oblivion as the flowers fell?
And you - what of your rushed
and useful life? Imagine setting it all down -
papers, plans, appointments, everything -
leaving only a note: "Gone
to the fields to be lovely. Be back
when I'm through with blooming."
Even now, unneeded and uneaten,
the camas lilies gaze out above the grass
from their tender blue eyes.
Even in sleep your life will shine.
Make no mistake. Of course
your work will always matter.
Yet Solomon in all his glory
was not arrayed like one of these.
- Lynn Ungar, Camas Lilies
transitions. new chapters. moving on and growing up. all the while, considering the lilies.
cups of coffee: 1 hot, 1 iced
mood: content
the blue banks of camas
opening into acres of sky along the road.
Would the longing to lie down
and be washed by that beauty
abate if you knew their usefulness,
how the natives ground their bulbs
for flour, how the settlers' hogs
uprooted them, grunting in gleeful
oblivion as the flowers fell?
And you - what of your rushed
and useful life? Imagine setting it all down -
papers, plans, appointments, everything -
leaving only a note: "Gone
to the fields to be lovely. Be back
when I'm through with blooming."
Even now, unneeded and uneaten,
the camas lilies gaze out above the grass
from their tender blue eyes.
Even in sleep your life will shine.
Make no mistake. Of course
your work will always matter.
Yet Solomon in all his glory
was not arrayed like one of these.
- Lynn Ungar, Camas Lilies
transitions. new chapters. moving on and growing up. all the while, considering the lilies.
cups of coffee: 1 hot, 1 iced
mood: content
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
bit of a recap
happy (belated) new year!
almost six months since my last post, feels like a lost cause trying to catch up. life has been nothing short of busy, breathless, sometimes frenetic but always interesting. it's hard to imagine that less than three years ago, i moved to nyc knowing only a handful of friends and carrying nothing but a few suitcases and a whole lotta hope. my, how the good Lord has blessed me again and again with open doors and timely provisions. grateful doesn't even begin to describe it.
in short, in the last six months:
- work has challenged and pushed me in all sorts of ways and directions. i've been privileged to manage art projects that have been featured on npr, in nytimes, wall street journal....
- i've been settling down slowly but surely at redeemer presbyterian as my home church here. putting down roots is not easy in a city as fast-paced, transient and commitment-cautious as new york, but i'm forcing myself.
- along those lines, i'm figuring out what it means to really live here. grad school didn't feel like real life here - now it's starting to feel like real life. but finding rhythms and patterns is tough - it feels like the pace and volume of work often leave very little margin. and there's always something to do and someone to catch up with. even my "off" days can feel very much "on."
- i started dating this really great guy. i've never been so happy....and i'm turning into a sap. :)
for a better snapshot of the last few months, here are actual snapshots.....
(all photos taken by author, not to be used or reproduced without permission)
almost six months since my last post, feels like a lost cause trying to catch up. life has been nothing short of busy, breathless, sometimes frenetic but always interesting. it's hard to imagine that less than three years ago, i moved to nyc knowing only a handful of friends and carrying nothing but a few suitcases and a whole lotta hope. my, how the good Lord has blessed me again and again with open doors and timely provisions. grateful doesn't even begin to describe it.
in short, in the last six months:
- work has challenged and pushed me in all sorts of ways and directions. i've been privileged to manage art projects that have been featured on npr, in nytimes, wall street journal....
- i've been settling down slowly but surely at redeemer presbyterian as my home church here. putting down roots is not easy in a city as fast-paced, transient and commitment-cautious as new york, but i'm forcing myself.
- along those lines, i'm figuring out what it means to really live here. grad school didn't feel like real life here - now it's starting to feel like real life. but finding rhythms and patterns is tough - it feels like the pace and volume of work often leave very little margin. and there's always something to do and someone to catch up with. even my "off" days can feel very much "on."
- i started dating this really great guy. i've never been so happy....and i'm turning into a sap. :)
for a better snapshot of the last few months, here are actual snapshots.....
(all photos taken by author, not to be used or reproduced without permission)
cups of coffee: 2
mood: joy
Monday, September 2, 2013
men vs. boys
mindy kaling's book is a delight: funny yet surprisingly profound at certain turns. i loved the chapter on 'men and boys', finding myself resonating with some of her revelations and confessions. here's a great excerpt:
Until I was thirty, I only dated boys, as far as I can tell. I'll tell you why. Men scared the shit out of me.
Men know what they want. Men make concrete plans. Men own alarm clocks. Men sleep on a mattress that isn't on the floor. Men tip generously. Men buy new shampoo instead of adding water to a nearly empty bottle of shampoo. Men go to the dentist. Men make reservations. Men go in for a kiss without giving you some long preamble about how they're thinking of kissing you. Men wear clothes that have never been worn by anyone else before. (Okay, maybe men aren't exactly like this. this is what I've cobbled together from the handful of men I know or know of, ranging from Heathcliff Huxtable to Theodore Roosevelt to my dad.) Men know what they want and they don't let you in on their inner monologue, and that is scary.
Because what I was used to was boys.
Boys are adorable. Boys trail off their sentences in an appealing way. Boys bring a knapsack to work. Boys get haircuts from their roommate, who "totally knows how to cut hair." Boys can pack up their whole life in a duffel bag and move to Brooklyn for a gig if they need to. Boys have "gigs." Boys are broke. And when they do have money, they spend it on a trip to Colorado to see a music festival. Boys don't know how to adjust their conversation when they're talking to their friends or to your parents. They put parents on the same level as their peers and roll their eyes when your dad makes a terrible pun. Boys let your parents pay for dinner when you all go out. It's assumed.
Boys are wonderful in a lot of ways. They make amazing, memorable, homemade gifts. They're impulsive. Boys can talk for hours with you in a diner at three in the morning because they don't have regular work hours. But they suck to date when you turn thirty.
- Mindy Kaling, Is Everyone Hanging Out With Me? (And Other Concerns)
my mantra now that i'm comfortably situated in my mid-30's: "date men, not boys."
cups of coffee: 3
mood: relaxed
Until I was thirty, I only dated boys, as far as I can tell. I'll tell you why. Men scared the shit out of me.
Men know what they want. Men make concrete plans. Men own alarm clocks. Men sleep on a mattress that isn't on the floor. Men tip generously. Men buy new shampoo instead of adding water to a nearly empty bottle of shampoo. Men go to the dentist. Men make reservations. Men go in for a kiss without giving you some long preamble about how they're thinking of kissing you. Men wear clothes that have never been worn by anyone else before. (Okay, maybe men aren't exactly like this. this is what I've cobbled together from the handful of men I know or know of, ranging from Heathcliff Huxtable to Theodore Roosevelt to my dad.) Men know what they want and they don't let you in on their inner monologue, and that is scary.
Because what I was used to was boys.
Boys are adorable. Boys trail off their sentences in an appealing way. Boys bring a knapsack to work. Boys get haircuts from their roommate, who "totally knows how to cut hair." Boys can pack up their whole life in a duffel bag and move to Brooklyn for a gig if they need to. Boys have "gigs." Boys are broke. And when they do have money, they spend it on a trip to Colorado to see a music festival. Boys don't know how to adjust their conversation when they're talking to their friends or to your parents. They put parents on the same level as their peers and roll their eyes when your dad makes a terrible pun. Boys let your parents pay for dinner when you all go out. It's assumed.
Boys are wonderful in a lot of ways. They make amazing, memorable, homemade gifts. They're impulsive. Boys can talk for hours with you in a diner at three in the morning because they don't have regular work hours. But they suck to date when you turn thirty.
- Mindy Kaling, Is Everyone Hanging Out With Me? (And Other Concerns)
my mantra now that i'm comfortably situated in my mid-30's: "date men, not boys."
cups of coffee: 3
mood: relaxed
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
happenstance?
two friends ran the boston marathon on monday, both slated to finish around 3 pm when the explosives went off. one friend planned on pushing his two young sons in a jogging stroller to the finish line, but ended up running slower than anticipated and was two miles away when the explosions occurred. another friend was running bandit and tracking his run with his phone, which he lost around mile 14, so he stopped. these seemingly small, and perhaps even irritable gestures at the time became merciful acts of protection in retrospect.
for many people, circumstances did not work out to their physical protection on monday. a delayed minute or two there, running faster or slower, deciding to watch the race or not that day, caused them their life or their limbs. choices that seemed insignificant ended up monumental.
we can call it many things: happenstance, coincidence, fate, luck. but at the end of the day, we are struck by this hard realization that our independent actions are actually not so independent after all - we are woven into a greater tapestry, and our action and inaction affect others and vice versa. what we think we have control over is frighteningly uncontrollable.
every moment matters - let us be conscious of that. but let us not live in fear but in faith. for those who subscribe to belief in a Higher Power, one that is sovereign and loving, we are able to walk through the moments of our lives with confidence. we ultimately have no control, but a God who is all-powerful and gracious does. and even in times of darkness and devastation, we can cling to the knowledge that in Christ, this is a God who entered that darkness and suffered as well. He did not shy from persecution and death but plunged right into the heart of it and emerged victorious from the tomb. this is a God who does not avoid suffering but chose to endure it. most importantly, He triumphed, giving us a way to triumph as well.
this is my consolation as i continue to grieve with those who grieve in boston and around the world. we cannot ignore the reality of pain and suffering, but we also need not be crushed by it. we do not know how our actions will play out or how our days will unfold, but if we can trust in a greater glory and a higher hope, then we know that all things - even when they are very, very awful - can still work out for good.
cups of coffee: 1
mood: mourning
for many people, circumstances did not work out to their physical protection on monday. a delayed minute or two there, running faster or slower, deciding to watch the race or not that day, caused them their life or their limbs. choices that seemed insignificant ended up monumental.
we can call it many things: happenstance, coincidence, fate, luck. but at the end of the day, we are struck by this hard realization that our independent actions are actually not so independent after all - we are woven into a greater tapestry, and our action and inaction affect others and vice versa. what we think we have control over is frighteningly uncontrollable.
every moment matters - let us be conscious of that. but let us not live in fear but in faith. for those who subscribe to belief in a Higher Power, one that is sovereign and loving, we are able to walk through the moments of our lives with confidence. we ultimately have no control, but a God who is all-powerful and gracious does. and even in times of darkness and devastation, we can cling to the knowledge that in Christ, this is a God who entered that darkness and suffered as well. He did not shy from persecution and death but plunged right into the heart of it and emerged victorious from the tomb. this is a God who does not avoid suffering but chose to endure it. most importantly, He triumphed, giving us a way to triumph as well.
this is my consolation as i continue to grieve with those who grieve in boston and around the world. we cannot ignore the reality of pain and suffering, but we also need not be crushed by it. we do not know how our actions will play out or how our days will unfold, but if we can trust in a greater glory and a higher hope, then we know that all things - even when they are very, very awful - can still work out for good.
cups of coffee: 1
mood: mourning
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
boston love
you are a city that's been so good to me - you took me in as a young adult, as i tried out my fledgling wings and learned to stand on my own two feet. you gave me my first true experience of community, from lifelong friends to a church that i still call home. you challenged me, encouraged me, showed me beauty in acts of human flourishing. you still hold for me pockets of quiet retreat, old haunts that i'm always happy to stomp around.
yesterday, someone decided to perform an act so horrendous, so atrocious, attempting to gut the joy out of one of your most cherished traditions on a day that celebrates not just you but our nation. o, boston, my heart is heavy for you. i grieve with you as you grieve the loss of loved ones. i demand justice be laid with a strong arm on the perpetrators. i seek comfort and solace for those who are hurt and frightened.
but you are resilient, boston. you are a tough city and you always have been. most of all, there is a God who is sovereign and merciful, and He is ever present to heal the wounded and bind the brokenhearted. He has not forgotten you, even in this present darkness, and He will bring forth your light again.
mood: sad
yesterday, someone decided to perform an act so horrendous, so atrocious, attempting to gut the joy out of one of your most cherished traditions on a day that celebrates not just you but our nation. o, boston, my heart is heavy for you. i grieve with you as you grieve the loss of loved ones. i demand justice be laid with a strong arm on the perpetrators. i seek comfort and solace for those who are hurt and frightened.
but you are resilient, boston. you are a tough city and you always have been. most of all, there is a God who is sovereign and merciful, and He is ever present to heal the wounded and bind the brokenhearted. He has not forgotten you, even in this present darkness, and He will bring forth your light again.
Copley Square, photo taken by Eva
Museum of Fine Arts, photo taken by Eva
cups of coffee: 1
mood: sad
Saturday, December 15, 2012
christmas mourning
28 dead, including the gunman. 20 of those killed - children between the ages of 5 and 10.
it's impossible to escape the images and stories permeating the media from the sandy hook elementary school shooting. beneath all the confusion, bewilderment, anger and deep sadness, there is the overwhelming "why?" - a helpless question with a resounding silence in response.
my own heart has been aching incessantly since the news broke, and with each new piece of information, my heart breaks a bit more. imagining the fear of these children, especially those that were shot at close range....this is not the world they should know. this is not the way things ought to be.
the juxtaposition of the holiday season makes all this seem even less tolerable....in this time of celebration and excited anticipation for feasting and gifts with family and friends, this atrocity is even more jarring. how can we even think about christmas at a time such as this?
but strip away the sentimentality with which we've come to adorn this holiday. take away the tinsel and the christmas cheer, tear down the lights and put away the cookies. think instead on the historical event that launched the establishment of this holiday. ponder the incarnation, the claim that God himself, clothed in human flesh, entered this world as a baby.
recall the infanticide that accompanied the birth of Christ - the slaughter of innocents ordered by a troubled tyrant fearful of a prophecy. imagine the howls and wails that must have filled that night. recount the fleeing of mary, joseph and the babe, running for their lives in the cover of night as Jesus experienced his entrance into this world as a refugee. and then remember the life of the Son of Man himself: the scorn, rejection, betrayal, torture, and ultimately, a wrongful execution.
the heart of the incarnation is a desperate cry for help that was answered. we may not always have the answers we want when terrible things happen, but if the incarnation is indeed true, then God came down to dwell with us in the midst of our pain and suffering. He entered this world of brokenness and devastation, not to observe as a spectator, but to participate fully and to experience it himself, to the point of death. and then if the resurrection is true, He triumphed over the grave. He defeated the powers of fear and darkness and promised that someday, we will experience victory as well and all these experiences of sorrow and grief will be reversed. He made good not just possible but definite even in the face of evil.
the knowledge of this may not alleviate present pain and grief. there is still this need for mourning as we cry for the loss of innocent lives and weep for injustice. but these atrocities also point us straight to the tension of mankind's depravity and desperate desire for a better world. and if the incarnation is true, then victory is not just possible but promised. even as we labor against existing injustices and strive, sometimes successfully and sometimes not, to improve the conditions of this world for all its inhabitants, there is the promise of this world to come in which justice will reign and goodness will prevail.
and so our hearts long, even as they break with grief and boil with anger. we long......
cups of coffee: 2
mood: grieving
it's impossible to escape the images and stories permeating the media from the sandy hook elementary school shooting. beneath all the confusion, bewilderment, anger and deep sadness, there is the overwhelming "why?" - a helpless question with a resounding silence in response.
my own heart has been aching incessantly since the news broke, and with each new piece of information, my heart breaks a bit more. imagining the fear of these children, especially those that were shot at close range....this is not the world they should know. this is not the way things ought to be.
the juxtaposition of the holiday season makes all this seem even less tolerable....in this time of celebration and excited anticipation for feasting and gifts with family and friends, this atrocity is even more jarring. how can we even think about christmas at a time such as this?
but strip away the sentimentality with which we've come to adorn this holiday. take away the tinsel and the christmas cheer, tear down the lights and put away the cookies. think instead on the historical event that launched the establishment of this holiday. ponder the incarnation, the claim that God himself, clothed in human flesh, entered this world as a baby.
recall the infanticide that accompanied the birth of Christ - the slaughter of innocents ordered by a troubled tyrant fearful of a prophecy. imagine the howls and wails that must have filled that night. recount the fleeing of mary, joseph and the babe, running for their lives in the cover of night as Jesus experienced his entrance into this world as a refugee. and then remember the life of the Son of Man himself: the scorn, rejection, betrayal, torture, and ultimately, a wrongful execution.
the heart of the incarnation is a desperate cry for help that was answered. we may not always have the answers we want when terrible things happen, but if the incarnation is indeed true, then God came down to dwell with us in the midst of our pain and suffering. He entered this world of brokenness and devastation, not to observe as a spectator, but to participate fully and to experience it himself, to the point of death. and then if the resurrection is true, He triumphed over the grave. He defeated the powers of fear and darkness and promised that someday, we will experience victory as well and all these experiences of sorrow and grief will be reversed. He made good not just possible but definite even in the face of evil.
the knowledge of this may not alleviate present pain and grief. there is still this need for mourning as we cry for the loss of innocent lives and weep for injustice. but these atrocities also point us straight to the tension of mankind's depravity and desperate desire for a better world. and if the incarnation is true, then victory is not just possible but promised. even as we labor against existing injustices and strive, sometimes successfully and sometimes not, to improve the conditions of this world for all its inhabitants, there is the promise of this world to come in which justice will reign and goodness will prevail.
and so our hearts long, even as they break with grief and boil with anger. we long......
cups of coffee: 2
mood: grieving
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
perspective
i am tired. my brain is fried, my body is both jittery from caffeine and completely wiped from lack of sleep. i am living, breathing and even dreaming of the overwhelming amount of work that stands between me and relative freedom this summer. two more weeks. and i am grouchy.
but then.
i remember the wonderful privilege i have to live in what is inarguably the greatest city in the world. i remember that it is a gift to have the physical, mental and financial capacities to attend graduate school. i remember the amazing group of friends i have here, all that i'm learning - both good and hard, and the ways the Lord has provided again and again, beyond abundance. i count all my blessings and then some. and i am truly, truly thankful.
cups of coffee: a bazillion
mood: persevere, persevere.....
but then.
i remember the wonderful privilege i have to live in what is inarguably the greatest city in the world. i remember that it is a gift to have the physical, mental and financial capacities to attend graduate school. i remember the amazing group of friends i have here, all that i'm learning - both good and hard, and the ways the Lord has provided again and again, beyond abundance. i count all my blessings and then some. and i am truly, truly thankful.
cups of coffee: a bazillion
mood: persevere, persevere.....
Sunday, April 8, 2012
rejoice!
"Oh death, where is your victory?
Oh death, where is your sting?" (1 Corinthians 15:55)
"For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery." (Galatians 5:1)
rejoice, rejoice! rejoice, o my soul, for the LORD God has granted you unending favor in His Son. rejoice for you are no longer under fear or condemnation but have been set free. rejoice for given to you is all hope and power, and set before you is all glory and grace. rejoice for your cup overflows continually, and upon you shines the fullness of a love supreme.
Oh death, where is your sting?" (1 Corinthians 15:55)
"For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery." (Galatians 5:1)
rejoice, rejoice! rejoice, o my soul, for the LORD God has granted you unending favor in His Son. rejoice for you are no longer under fear or condemnation but have been set free. rejoice for given to you is all hope and power, and set before you is all glory and grace. rejoice for your cup overflows continually, and upon you shines the fullness of a love supreme.
hot cross buns served at my church's wonderful easter service this morning
**********
a few images from a wonderful excursion to boston last weekend: crashing my brother's field trip with some of his high school students. thanks for letting me tag along, pete!
my favorite brother :)
the crew
papa duck and his little ducklings
cups of coffee: 2
mood: hooray!
Saturday, April 7, 2012
be still
another great devotional, perfect on this day between good friday and easter, between utter despair and mind-blowing hope.
from streams in the desert:
“Their strength is to sit still.” (Isa. 30:7) KJV.
In order really to know God, inward stillness is absolutely necessary. I remember when I first learned this. A time of great emergency had risen in my life, when every part of my being seemed to throb with anxiety, and when the necessity for immediate and vigorous action seemed overpowering; and yet circumstances were such that I could do nothing, and the person who could, would not stir.
For a little while it seemed as if I must fly to pieces with the inward turmoil, when suddenly the still small voice whispered in the depths of my soul, “Be still, and know that I am God.” The word was with power, and I hearkened. I composed my body to perfect stillness, and I constrained my troubled spirit into quietness, and looked up and waited; and then I did “know” that it was God, God even in the very emergency and in my helplessness to meet it; and I rested in Him. It was an experience that I would not have missed for worlds; and I may add also, that out of this stillness seemed to arise a power to deal with the emergency, that very soon brought it to a successful issue. I learned then effectually that my “strength was to sit still.” –Hannah Whitall Smith
There is a perfect passivity which is not indolence. It is a living stillness born of trust. Quiet tension is not trust. It is simply compressed anxiety.
Not in the tumult of the rending storm,
Not in the earthquake or devouring flame;
But in the hush that could all fear transform,
The still, small whisper to the prophet came.
0 Soul, keep silence on the mount of God,
Though cares and needs throb around thee like a sea;
From supplications and desires unshod,
Be still, and hear what God shall say to thee.
All fellowship hath interludes of rest,
New strength maturing in each poise of power;
The sweetest Alleluias of the blest
Are silent, for the space of half an hour.
0 rest, in utter quietude of soul,
Abandon words, leave prayer and praise awhile;
Let thy whole being, hushed in His control,
Learn the full meaning of His voice and smile.
Not as an athlete wrestling for a crown,
Not taking Heaven by violence of will;
But with thy Father as a child sit down,
And know the bliss that follows His “Be Still!”
–Mary Rowles Jarvis
for in stillness there is strength, in rest there is restoration....
cups of coffee: 1 1/2
mood: o happy day!
from streams in the desert:
“Their strength is to sit still.” (Isa. 30:7) KJV.
In order really to know God, inward stillness is absolutely necessary. I remember when I first learned this. A time of great emergency had risen in my life, when every part of my being seemed to throb with anxiety, and when the necessity for immediate and vigorous action seemed overpowering; and yet circumstances were such that I could do nothing, and the person who could, would not stir.
For a little while it seemed as if I must fly to pieces with the inward turmoil, when suddenly the still small voice whispered in the depths of my soul, “Be still, and know that I am God.” The word was with power, and I hearkened. I composed my body to perfect stillness, and I constrained my troubled spirit into quietness, and looked up and waited; and then I did “know” that it was God, God even in the very emergency and in my helplessness to meet it; and I rested in Him. It was an experience that I would not have missed for worlds; and I may add also, that out of this stillness seemed to arise a power to deal with the emergency, that very soon brought it to a successful issue. I learned then effectually that my “strength was to sit still.” –Hannah Whitall Smith
There is a perfect passivity which is not indolence. It is a living stillness born of trust. Quiet tension is not trust. It is simply compressed anxiety.
Not in the tumult of the rending storm,
Not in the earthquake or devouring flame;
But in the hush that could all fear transform,
The still, small whisper to the prophet came.
0 Soul, keep silence on the mount of God,
Though cares and needs throb around thee like a sea;
From supplications and desires unshod,
Be still, and hear what God shall say to thee.
All fellowship hath interludes of rest,
New strength maturing in each poise of power;
The sweetest Alleluias of the blest
Are silent, for the space of half an hour.
0 rest, in utter quietude of soul,
Abandon words, leave prayer and praise awhile;
Let thy whole being, hushed in His control,
Learn the full meaning of His voice and smile.
Not as an athlete wrestling for a crown,
Not taking Heaven by violence of will;
But with thy Father as a child sit down,
And know the bliss that follows His “Be Still!”
–Mary Rowles Jarvis
for in stillness there is strength, in rest there is restoration....
cups of coffee: 1 1/2
mood: o happy day!
Thursday, March 22, 2012
timing
my devotional today, from streams in the desert:
“And when forty years were expired, there appeared to him in the wilderness of Mount Sinai an angel of the Lord in a flame of fire in a bush, saying, I have seen the affliction of my people which is in Egypt, and I have heard their groaning, and am come down to deliver them. And now come, I will send thee into Egypt” (Acts 7:30, 32, 34).
That was a long wait in preparation for a great mission. When God delays, He is not inactive. He is getting ready His instruments, He is ripening our powers; and at the appointed moment we shall arise equal to our task. Even Jesus of Nazareth was thirty years in privacy, growing in wisdom before He began His work. –Dr. Jowett
God is never in a hurry but spends years with those He expects to greatly use. He never thinks the days of preparation too long or too dull.
The hardest ingredient in suffering is often time. A short, sharp pang is easily borne, but when a sorrow drags its weary way through long, monotonous years, and day after day returns with the same dull routine of hopeless agony, the heart loses its strength, and without the grace of God, is sure to sink into the very sullenness of despair. Joseph’s was a long trial, and God often has to burn His lessons into the depths of our being by the fires of protracted pain. “He shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver,” but He knows how long, and like a true goldsmith He stops the fires the moment He sees His image in the glowing metal. We may not see now the outcome of the beautiful plan which God is hiding in the shadow of His hand; it yet may be long concealed; but faith may be sure that He is sitting on the throne, calmly waiting the hour when, with adoring rapture, we shall say, “All things have worked together for good.” Like Joseph, let us be more careful to learn all the lessons in the school of sorrow than we are anxious for the hour of deliverance. There is a “need-be” for every lesson, and when we are ready, our deliverance will surely come, and we shall find that we could not have stood in our place of higher service without the very things that were taught us in the ordeal. God is educating us for the future, for higher service and nobler blessings; and if we have the qualities that fit us for a throne, nothing can keep us from it when God’s time has come. Don’t steal tomorrow out of God’s hands. Give God time to speak to you and reveal His will. He is never too late; learn to wait.
–Selected
“He never comes too late; He knoweth what is best;
Vex not thyself in vain; until He cometh–REST.”
Do not run impetuously before the Lord; learn to wait His time: the minute-hand as well as the hour-hand must point the exact moment for action.
hmmmm. timing is everything.
cups of coffee: 3(!)
mood: quiet, quiet
“And when forty years were expired, there appeared to him in the wilderness of Mount Sinai an angel of the Lord in a flame of fire in a bush, saying, I have seen the affliction of my people which is in Egypt, and I have heard their groaning, and am come down to deliver them. And now come, I will send thee into Egypt” (Acts 7:30, 32, 34).
That was a long wait in preparation for a great mission. When God delays, He is not inactive. He is getting ready His instruments, He is ripening our powers; and at the appointed moment we shall arise equal to our task. Even Jesus of Nazareth was thirty years in privacy, growing in wisdom before He began His work. –Dr. Jowett
God is never in a hurry but spends years with those He expects to greatly use. He never thinks the days of preparation too long or too dull.
The hardest ingredient in suffering is often time. A short, sharp pang is easily borne, but when a sorrow drags its weary way through long, monotonous years, and day after day returns with the same dull routine of hopeless agony, the heart loses its strength, and without the grace of God, is sure to sink into the very sullenness of despair. Joseph’s was a long trial, and God often has to burn His lessons into the depths of our being by the fires of protracted pain. “He shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver,” but He knows how long, and like a true goldsmith He stops the fires the moment He sees His image in the glowing metal. We may not see now the outcome of the beautiful plan which God is hiding in the shadow of His hand; it yet may be long concealed; but faith may be sure that He is sitting on the throne, calmly waiting the hour when, with adoring rapture, we shall say, “All things have worked together for good.” Like Joseph, let us be more careful to learn all the lessons in the school of sorrow than we are anxious for the hour of deliverance. There is a “need-be” for every lesson, and when we are ready, our deliverance will surely come, and we shall find that we could not have stood in our place of higher service without the very things that were taught us in the ordeal. God is educating us for the future, for higher service and nobler blessings; and if we have the qualities that fit us for a throne, nothing can keep us from it when God’s time has come. Don’t steal tomorrow out of God’s hands. Give God time to speak to you and reveal His will. He is never too late; learn to wait.
–Selected
“He never comes too late; He knoweth what is best;
Vex not thyself in vain; until He cometh–REST.”
Do not run impetuously before the Lord; learn to wait His time: the minute-hand as well as the hour-hand must point the exact moment for action.
hmmmm. timing is everything.
cups of coffee: 3(!)
mood: quiet, quiet
Monday, March 19, 2012
rounding the bend
this year for lent, i decided to give up alcohol, dating and chocolate. now that we're rounding the bend into the second half of lent, the cravings and itch i once felt have settled (more or less) into a compliant new mode of operating. i'd be lying if i said i didn't miss all three things, but it also holds true that i feel great without them.
lent is one of my favorite seasons: i love inflicting a certain sense of self-deprivation, testing my will, meditating on the suffering Christ endured on mankind's behalf, and rejoicing in the wholeness and satisfaction i can experience in Christ. it's a relief to name and abstain from certain default coping mechanisms and crutches. it's freeing to break cold turkey from old patterns and seek to replace them with new patterns.
a couple of years ago i discovered this great online lent devotional website, and i've been using it ever since. today's reflection talks about new life and God's renewal of all things. what a wonderful reminder as we pass the halfway mark of lent: the woe and darkness felt at the beginning of this season is moving into hope and gladness. the light is near, joy is tangible and all things new are rearing their heads.
You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
you have loosed my sackcloth
and clothed me with gladness,
that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.
O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!
(Psalm 30:11-12)
cups of coffee: working on 1 right now
mood: hopeful
lent is one of my favorite seasons: i love inflicting a certain sense of self-deprivation, testing my will, meditating on the suffering Christ endured on mankind's behalf, and rejoicing in the wholeness and satisfaction i can experience in Christ. it's a relief to name and abstain from certain default coping mechanisms and crutches. it's freeing to break cold turkey from old patterns and seek to replace them with new patterns.
a couple of years ago i discovered this great online lent devotional website, and i've been using it ever since. today's reflection talks about new life and God's renewal of all things. what a wonderful reminder as we pass the halfway mark of lent: the woe and darkness felt at the beginning of this season is moving into hope and gladness. the light is near, joy is tangible and all things new are rearing their heads.
You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
you have loosed my sackcloth
and clothed me with gladness,
that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.
O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!
(Psalm 30:11-12)
cups of coffee: working on 1 right now
mood: hopeful
Sunday, January 8, 2012
respite and reunions
there’s a popular adage in chinese that goes something like this when translated into english: “if the old doesn’t go, the new can’t come.” this saying especially resonated these past couple of weeks as 2011 eased into 2012. it wasn’t just celebrating the ringing in of a new year for me; it was also a time of deep reflection and realization that a long and significant chapter of my life had closed and i was fully in the midst of a new and exciting, though uncertain, phase of life.
my first semester of grad school finished in a flurry of paper-writing and presentations sustained by a never-ending stream of caffeine. my body and soul gave one of the biggest sighs of relief the day i turned in my last project and winter break officially kicked off. the turning of the year was accompanied by fantastic reunions all around. i flew down to north carolina during the last week of december for three glorious days with my best friends from college. the last time all four of us gathered together was seven years ago, at the wedding of one of the girls. she now has two sons – one five years old, the other just turned one. it was a blessed gift to see old friends and to slip into conversations and laughter as if we had never been separated. it was also amazing to see that though time, distance and different life experiences had shaped us, our worldviews had formed in similar ways and our dialogues were charged with the excitement and passion of shared convictions. we first met as college girls carrying a certain naïveté and expectations of what the world should be. i’m proud to say that we are now older, wiser, and though challenged by some of the things life has tossed at us, we still carry in our hearts plenty of joy and hope and not an ounce of cynicism. i’d also like to think we are more beautiful (definitely more fashionable) now in our early 30’s than we were in our 20’s! ;)
while in north carolina, i also had the opportunity to visit some dear friends who also recently moved back to the states from china. to sit in their living room, drink coffee and play with their kids felt like we were still in their living room in shanghai, as if no time and distance had passed.
i chose to spend my first new year’s in new york by getting out of new york and traveling instead to boston. i stayed with my friend hanneke and we hosted a fabulous dinner party at her apartment. it was a lovely evening of good food, wine and even a little cavorting under a disco ball. fresh from reminiscing with my college girlfriends in north carolina, being back in boston also stirred for me memories of my college days. it’s astounding to think i graduated from university over 11 years ago…
and now 2012 has set off with a gentle start. this past week, justin and lauren, with whom i worked closely in shanghai, came up to new york to see a musical on broadway and stayed overnight at my place. they had moved back to the states this past summer as well, and to catch up with them was absolute joy. we were able to process a lot of similar feelings and thoughts about leaving china and resettling back into america and embarking on new chapters.
i sense a quieter timbre in my approach to this new year. the past nine years, i jumped into the new year with much gusto, buzzing with activity and bursting with a million and one ideas for the months ahead. part of it was due to my work at the gallery and involvement with the arts community – there was always so much to do. but in this new place and in this new role as a graduate student, i find that my main focus is on school and apart from that, i haven’t found other causes or groups that i am committed to. there is also a sense of weariness, a desire and maybe even a need to experience a long respite. i left shanghai tottering on the verge of burnout, and there’s a part of me thankful not to be serving in any sort of leadership capacity currently. various leadership opportunities have been offered to me in the past couple of months, but i have politely declined, wanting to shrug off the mantle of responsibility awhile longer. it’s a strange tension: as much as i want to shy away from serving as a leader of any sort, i miss it as well. i miss being part of a project or cause that i am passionate about, i miss mobilizing people and working together with a team to make something happen. my life here, though packed, feels strangely hollow in a way. there is this great veneer of busyness but beneath it all, i am still craving for something more substantial to do.
attending school full-time and working part-time, however, leaves little room for many involvements. there is also the reality that i am still becoming acquainted with a new city and getting to know new circles of friends. it may be awhile before i connect with like-minded folks with shared vision to undertake a project together.
people here often ask me if i miss shanghai. it’s not an easy response. i don’t miss the masses, the pushing and shoving, the cultural nuances and expectations that i eventually learned but never appreciated. i don’t miss the traffic or the pollution. i don’t even miss china and everything that has to do with china. i do miss the food a lot. what i miss most is the amazing community i took for granted. i miss the expatriate friends who were adventurous enough to move to a foreign land to obey a calling or pursue a dream. i miss the creativity and tenacity shared by so many who flocked to that massive city to carve out a more meaningful life. i miss the spirit of entrepreneurship and ingenuity that pervaded shanghai. i miss the love, genuine concern, and encouragement as expressed by those in my circles of friends, chinese and non-chinese, who grew as close as family. i miss laboring with others under a shared vision to engage culture and participate in the transformation of a city.
but i guess if the old doesn’t go, the new can’t come, even if i don’t quite know what the new is yet.
cups of coffee: 1
mood: refreshed
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