Old and Stale

My question to my mom before I got married was, “How do we stay fresh?”.  My main fear was becoming old and stale.  It was inevitable, wasn’t it?  Everything in the old creation gradually becomes old, stale, and dies.  The beautiful flowers eventually wither and fall.  My car puts on miles and scratches day after day.  Our clothes grow weary.  Was there any secret?  I didn’t know.  I still don’t know.  But I like the name of this site–Happy Wives Club.  Pretty cute.

So I’ll leave you with a quote from Fawn, since she’s been doing more research on the subject than me– “The best time to love with your whole heart is always now, in this moment, because no breath beyond the current is promised.”

There you have it.  Isn’t so much of the advice in our lives focused on the now?

Life Squared

A lot has happened since I last wrote on here, but it feels weird to blog because I don’t know if anyone reads this anymore.  It’s strange, moving through the years and having people flow in and out of your life with relative ease.  Some go unnoticed, and some do not.  I’m starting a new job on campus, which is nice.  I’ll be editing materials for disabled students, which is definitely up my alley.  I am nervous to begin of course, since it means less hours available for studying, but I’m glad for the income.  It’s been nice being a student again, but every once in awhile it’s nice to at least earn enough to be able to eat out every once in awhile and not feel too bad.  And I need to start saving for you know, life.

As I’ve grown I feel like my posts have become more and more mundane, but I think the subject matter hasn’t really changed.  I think what has changed is possibly the way I react to the subject matter.  I still remember my blog posts from junior high that were full of lots of high-energy stress and excitement over school and people.  Well, look where I am now.  Still in school, and still thinking about people.

A sent me a book about our defining decade, that is, the decade of our twenties.  It was about how to make the most out of our lives now.  Here’s where we are at.  Let’s do this.

16 Habits of Highly Sensitive People

My dear friend and fellow HSP C, sent me the link to this Huffington Post.  Of course I related to all of the points except for the one about team sports.  I quite like team sports, as long as it is the right team.  Yes, right team, like that’s not hard to achieve.

But what I was more intrigued by was the comments.  One comment was:

“As a MH Counselor – I also see a high correlation of high sensitivity in clients with addictions and ADHD – (if they don’t learn to manage it well – addictions serve them as a ‘fix’) ADD’ers are also tactile and sensitive to the texture of clothing, foods, shoes (hate them!) and sheets. Many parents don’t realize this – but its often the root of tantrums. . . same with sound sensitivity.
Glad to see a public article on this!”

So interesting, especially the part about tantrums.  I wonder what this would look like in action.  I know I’m very sensitive to clothing textures, food, and shoes– wow, the shoes thing, this may explain why I like to wear flip-flops in winter and Dee also does the same exact thing.  I also have a tendency to walk around barefooted even in the winter, and I love the texture of smoothies (smooth, duh).  It’s so strange finding out all these oddball things about you are functions of your own not typical brain, except that thousands of other people also share a similar not so typical brain.  I’m not sure what to make of that.  Just yesterday, I received compliments from L for my outfit, and my first reaction was to tell her how the cardigan was made of wool and was quite itchy.  It bothered me very much and so I was often rolling up my sleeves.  In fact, I do that even with comfortable cardigans.  It makes it easier for me to get work done, play piano, feel at ease.  I guess it’s not as random as I thought it was.  Well, is anything really that random?  I wonder if you could un-randomize a dice toss.  Now that would be a fun research topic.  Or maybe just a tedious and frustrating one.  Or both.

There are so many changes happening for me this week.  On Monday I interviewed, and Thursday I got reprimanded by the B, embarrassingly so, and also at the same time he told me my time was extended.  I didn’t know what to make of it, and I wasn’t that thrilled, especially since I was so disappointed in myself and in him for pointing out my mistake.  Of course, being the conniving person he is, he promptly invited me back in to get my opinion on another item, and that left me a little more assured in his confidence in me.  I don’t know.  I’m still disappointed, if I think about it too much.  It’s hard, not to dwell on things, you know?  And then I also applied for school, in LB.  I’ll hear back in a month.  We also interviewed a new girl, V, on Wednesday, and she’s moving in this weekend.  J is leaving for another town too.  The world keeps moving, and March is quickly settling into the scene, and I’m not ready yet.  I don’t know why I’m not ready, but I’m not.  I feel like I want to pause things, get my thoughts together, and spend some time reflecting on everything that has happened.  I want to let all the conflicting feelings take their place upon the stage and leave as quickly as they came, like birds settling gently upon the bough of a tree and then swiftly flying away.

Bridges of Empathy and Understanding

I found one of those old surveys back from 2009 that I did, per cousin’s request, only for her to see.  Remember those?  I have done a lot of them in my history on the internet, and I’m always amused when I read them again.  Sometimes, because I realize how much I haven’t changed, and other times, more so recently, because I realize I have.

And it gives me mixed feelings.  One line that I mentioned in one is that “we are all cut from the same piece of cardboard”.  And while part of me still believes that to some extent, the other part of me realizes that there are some things at a fundamental level that I cannot fathom being or doing.  That maybe the cardboard is more varied than I initially thought.  The kind of cruelty that exists in humanity is hard to understand.  It makes my stomach churn and my heart heavy.  What happened?  What do I do with this information that I somewhat wish I did not know?  I used to feel that as humans, we were really more alike than we thought we were, and that much of the conflict in the world came from misunderstanding.  But now, there are some things that are truly alien to me, simply beyond my understanding.  Is the bridge too long?  Maybe some just cannot be built.  What would words be worth?  What if they were words of life?

Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and talk to some of these people who experienced dynamic salvations– John Newton, for example.  A slave trader who, even after his conversion, did not give up slave trading until years later when he encountered severe illness.  I wish I could sit with them and talk to them and ask them, “What happened?  What led you to write Amazing Grace?”

“Oh you know, you know, you know”

“I’d never ask you to change” – Bruno Mars

So many sweet, sappy, couples these days.  And so it then follows that it must be true, that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  I realized how wrong that sounds (I sure have a habit of saying things seriously and accidentally implying something negative).  My point is, isn’t it funny (read: amazing) how our eyes can create perfection out of imperfection, beauty out of broken?  It makes me warm and fuzzy inside.  Sort of.  Cause I’m not so sure it’s too warm and fuzzy in there.

Speaking of couples.  M, who I traditionally referred to as “spouse-y” in our high school days, tells me she wants me to “pursue her”.  So she asks if I can hangout over the weekend and I go, “I don’t know.. text me..” and she goes “No that’s passive! *laugh*”  And I go, “Oh right, I’ll pursue you!”  Dear friends.

I’ve reached a sort of plateau it seems.  And I’m okay with that, sort of (because I’m never really okay with a plateau).  For now.  I’ve been debating my next step and so far have reached no conclusions.  I’m afraid to take the next leap of faith.  My ground has felt like sinking sand for so long, I’m still not sure what solid feels like.  Solid maybe sounds like this though:

Give yourself to love the Lord.  No other way is so prevailing, so safe, and so full of enjoyment.  Just love Him.  Do not care for anything else.


It’s hard to decide what to do with them.  Sometimes, they’re legitimate, but for what reason I cannot pinpoint.  Like today when I discussed with D about a process that she wanted to change– I wasn’t too keen on her idea but I couldn’t verbalize my feeling, so eventually I went with her process since her argument won me over.  Later in the afternoon though, R told me he had talked to D and they wanted to not do that because of x, y, z, to which I nodded.  It was as if he verbalized in a logical fashion what my feelings had told me.  Yes, that’s right!  I knew there was something to it.  But I didn’t tell him that.

Then there are the times when I hesitate behind the wheel.  A yellow light, an unprotected left-hand turn, a parallel parking job where I can’t quite figure out how close I am to the car behind me.  And sometimes in that second of thought, I realize I should have gone.  I shouldn’t have hesitated.  I guess that’s what that book Blink was about, but I’m still not so sure about the theory.  In these decisions, I would be told to not wait for my hesitation.  I hesitate to go, I should have gone.  I hesitate to change my procedure, I should not have changed.  But is this always the case?  After all, a book was made from it, so who knows what other juicy details were left out that perhaps did not add to the topic?

Then there are the hesitations to do what I am not accustomed to doing.  Taking charge, settling with an imperfect situation because time won’t allow, verbalizing a previous hesitation that I had kept to myself.  These are the ones, that when overthrown, seem positive, or at least, growth-oriented, if not positive.  To dive across my hesitation forces me out of my comfort zone, into a realm of the unknown, and I come to find that the situations are not as dreadful as I make them out to be.  Sure, they aren’t entirely comfortable, but life is ever changing anyway.  The hesitation to speak at a microphone, the hesitation to hug a friend, the hesitation to pray, these are hesitations better plowed through, challenged, and triumphed over.

I sat at my desk today and finished the rest of Anne of Avonlea.  It leaves me in a dreamlike state, looking at the world through a poetical frame.  Soon the bare wall is my canvas to paint on, with hurts here and there from old pins, scrapes from past residents.  It stands ever open for beautification, love, company.  An old friend, ever sturdy, ever stable, sometimes forgotten in its self-effacing radiance.