it's been awhile... life happens

here i am again... re-living my life in south mpls, riding my bike down those same old roads- avoiding the same old potholes, waiting in the cold for the same late busses... and yet it's not quite the same.  i'm not quite the same.  

i was asked today to describe something good that's happened to me recently and i immediately thought of how i was once again living here in minneapolis, amidst close friends, amidst familiarity.  the more i divulged however, the more i began talking about difficulties and differences and struggles i face.  it's like, in one way i am at home in this great city, at home in the people and places, at home in the feel and size and smell.  in other ways though, i'm not at home in myself.  the last time i lived here, i knew who i was and what i was doing and pursued certain values and lifestyles.  while talking today, i realized that i was in such a rush to get back here, not necessarily so i could hang out in all the familiar spots and ride down these same roads, but so i could once again be that confident young woman living on the corner of chicago and lake.  i wanted to believe in things strongly again, to support community and development and grassroots efforts.  i wanted to live on next to nothing and be content, to drink tea while having long conversations deep into the night about life and love and purpose.  i wanted to re-experience my life before, to try and tap back into those things that felt so comfortable and natural, to shape my life again into what it was the last time i lived here.  but i haven't.  not yet.  not yet.

i've been sad the past few days.  sad because i haven't felt like i had much of a purpose, like i had very little usefulness in what i could do or things i did.  i'm not sure if that makes any sense, maybe i've taken too many philosophy classes and now i have this overwhelming urge to establish my Self (capital S)... but i felt sad nonetheless... alienated as Marx would say from the work of my hands, from the whole and complete process of creating.  

but the wallowing time is done.  proactive liz is ready and willing to make positive steps forward- to single out what was so influential about my life then and try to implement it into my life now.  being in mpls helps keep things familiar, i know the city and its resources and many of its people... but it's only a part.  i need to be intentional about seeking out the rest.  step one for me is, as it has always been, to make a list.

my list of important activities that i will try and figure out how to pursue more actively is as follows:

1. blog blog blog... 'nuf said

2. climb at midwest: participate in classes, go solo or with carl at least once a week

3. read something.  anything.  something other than the onion, crosswords, sudoku... find an actual book and read cover to cover, no stopping mid way to switch books (as i have switched nearly 10 times this last year)

4.  sew more.  patch clothes that need patching, create clothes that have been waiting to be created these past 23 years and are collecting mothballs in the back of my closet.

5. compost.  winter compost is not best for beginning, but it can be done.  get garbage can to compost in and start with fall leaves and overwhelming amount of coffee grounds.

6. keep biking to work through winter. bus is okay but only if reading or on the phone with family member- but try to bike at least half of the commutes each week.

7. be more intentional about contact with family, friends, etc- use facebook! call each family member at least once a week to check in. just suck it up and do it.  i enjoy it when it's done, it's just hard to get going.

8.  hoop.  basement is good winter location, hoop a few times a week, with music, alone if necessary, just dance and let loose and have fun. no tricks necessary.

9.  practice more kiswahili.  bit ambitious here, but we'll throw it in just for fun. 

gol. seems i should find myself a task-master to ensure these very positive steps get taken... anyone looking for a job where they nicely yet firmly force someone to do something they already want to do but just simply cant find the motivation for? let me know if you are... appears there's a job opening.

random strangers...

and now for something different. working in a public place has given me me ample opportunity to encounter differing sorts of people. i'm talking about more than just people from different races, classes and genders, more than just people from different walks of life... minoring in reconciliation studies has given me plenty of those kinds of experiences. what i'm talking about is deeper, more subtle, more unique. i'm talking about the sorts of differences we all have: quirks, idiosyncrasies, mannerisms.

working in a public grocery store has made me more aware of each persons' own uniqueness in a way no anthropology course ever could. i see people on their to and from work, i see them on saturday morning before they're showered and shaved, i see them drunk on a friday night and after happy hour. i see what they eat, how they shop, on good days and bad, when the sun is shining and when the sky has been cloudy for weeks on end.

and so, realizing that i should make the most of this anthropological experience (and also for a bit of fun), i thought i'd start to share with you some of my random stranger stories. tonight, it's an update on the infamous banana lady, since i knowingly left you hanging last time.

banana lady update: what i thought was a meaningful connection over her youthful eccentricity has become nothing more than a glance or two in my direction. poor sweet banana lady, you tried in vain to convince me that we had a secret 'banana room' where we kept all the good bananas fresh and green (but not too green)- you tried to sway me into showing you this secret room and letting you fill your cart to the brim with only the most perfect of all bananas- you tried your hardest to connect with me over this secret and i failed you. i am sorry, banana lady, but the day was long and my list of duties for the night was long. i am sorry, banana lady, for letting you down and breaking our secret bond. i promise to find this secret banana-holding room and make you a spare key so that you can enter and shop to your heart's content.

exisentially muddled me

i spent a good couple of hours online tonight, looking at old photos of friends, past lives, past selves and wondering to my self "is this really my life?"... or i guess more accurately, "was that really my life? did all those magical things really take place?"

i find myself now, stretched out on my couch in the back room of my chicago apartment, surrounded by a sea of financial papers that are once again delayed, my mind and heart swarming with questions. is post-college-life supposed to be just one big mess of existential crises or am i just making it out to be that way?

a good friend and old roommate came to visit me this past weekend. he saw my new city, new lifestyle, met my new boyfriend. and we had a wonderful time- in part, reminiscing about the past- in part, talking about the future... sharing our new selves with each other and remembering why we are friends. but having him here, a glimmering reflection of my past mixed into my new life, has made me stop and think.

is life just a series of moments, pinpoints marking out each of our paths. a few moments ago i was living in minneapolis with a house full of dirty hippies and catfish and music and scarf-dancing and tea. before then, i was the only girl in a 5-way clique of nerdy yet wonderful guy friends that sat around listening to records for hours, drinking tea and talking about how the music made us feel. and now, what now?

i feel like i'm once again floundering around, trying to figure out who i am and how to be.

is this perpetual state of self-consciousness going to be with me forever? or is it just in these moments of transition, in unsettled-ness, that confusion sets in?

i've been trying hard to get out of my head- realizing that once again, change is inevitable and that once again, no amount of analyzing on my part can adequately prepare me for all the questioning it brings. i've been spending my time socializing (over-socializing some days), making friends, exploring the city, picking up new (and old) hobbies. i've been enjoying my current pinpoint of a life, the moments that make up this season. i've made close friends, learned more about myself, and even managed to instill a touch of discipline.

but after spending hours on facebook, reliving old lives through the 373 photos added by others, i find that i can no longer keep those questions at bay... i see that i've spent this year struggling to recapture glimpses of myself, of things i like, ideals i support, people i enjoy. i'm working at connecting those moments to these moments, those pinpoints to these, trying to create some semblance of a whole life.

maybe that's why i have such a desire to travel. i can put a mark on each place that feels like home- whether that be because of the people or the history or whatever- and i can drive from one to another to another with the aim of bringing them all together somehow in my mind.

this soul's craving

what is it about close friends that makes my soul leap forward with excitement and hope and life one minute of the day and then almost immediately after, pull all those emotions inward- barricading itself against loss and loneliness and pain?

this week has been a social roller coaster (if that term can ever be used in a respectable manner... all cheesiness aside).  i spent the first part of it here in chicago, learning what it means for me to actually be friends with my co-workers.  i did my best to say yes to each and every invitation to hang out when i wasn't at work, causing me to loose much sleep in the process, but ending with me staring around the room at Kae's during a random "after work" gathering and thinking -both to myself and out loud... (and we can thank the monsterously large wine glass for the out loud part)- thinking how these people are no longer just the hodgepodge of characters i spend hours with stocking shelves and teasing customers behind their backs... these people are my friends- honest to goodness friends that i look forward to hanging out with, friends i can see myself calling mid-day to talk about life outside of hawaiian shirts and three bells.  it only took 8 months but they finally cracked through my ruddy exterior and quiet demeanor. (nice job guys!)

sidenote: 8 months may seem like a rather long time for those of you that don't know me well, so let me give a brief explanation.  i'm quiet around people i don't know- awkward always- constantly in my head, questioning whether the sarcasm i just showed was picked up on or whether i'll be the topic of conversation in the breakroom for my lack of social skills .  i also function almost always at a different level than the norm.  that's not to come across as elitest or stuck up... but the truth is, i'm always thinking and always self-aware, therefore, in order for me to feel an actual connection with someone, they need to show that they think too and that sometimes they think about what makes them who they are.  (in philosophic terms, we refer to this as the Self).  because i'm like this, i could very easily have regular conversation with a person for years on end without actually considering them a friend- to me, friendship needs to happen at that deeper, soul-level, where Self meets Self.

all that to say that last week (with the assistance of our monthly wine tasting at work) i finally felt comfortable with my co-worker friends.  i felt free to be myself and confident that they would like it.  they did.  my Self was exposed.

immediately following the whirlwind week of socializing with new friends, i took a trip up to minneapolis to visit with some of the people i consider most like home.  the interconnectedness i felt with these people as we hugged or laughed, talked or danced was unreal.  my heart leapt in excitement- life pumping through my veins.  i was and still am completely myself with these beautiful friends- i'm myself and i'm loved deeply.

but so much socializing has made me question... how can i open myself up to many different people at once?  how can i willingly befriend this group of co-workers when i already see my time here drawing to a close?  i've been successful thus far in keeping my distance- being friendly enough without actually letting people in.  life has taught me that as soon as people are let in something happens- jobs happen, atlantic oceans happen, boyfriends happen- and they're almost immediately removed, leaving me in a vulnerable and lonely state.  i can understand logically why this happens: at this age in life, we have no permanent ties to anything and therefore feel free to attach ourselves to jobs or internships which will take us across the world- we prefer one city to another- we follow family or a boy or girlfriend who is most likely attached to his or her job or internship.  it makes sense when you think about how the world works... but it doesn't make sense in terms of our souls' state.  we should be clinging to these people that make us feel normal and beloved.  we should spend time cultivating relationships not just with whoever is thrown in your path but also with the people you spent the last few years learning how to pee in front of.  

and so, returning to chicago has proved to be a rather sober event.  not just because i miss my minnesota friends and wish for more time with them.  it's been sober because it's caused me to question my attachment to these new friends here... how can i leave this life that's taken me so long to finally begin?  what are the chances i'll ever even see these people after i quit and move in a few weeks?  what's the point in continuing to let them in if i know in a short while they'll remain as small holes in my heart?

i joke about starting a commune with all my closest friends so that we can live together, support each other, help each other with large life events that come our way... i joke about it because deep down i feel it's the only place i'll finally be able to breathe free- put down roots- embrace the terror of commitment.  in my mind, communes can be seen as secluding themselves from the larger society (which isn't all that bad sometimes), or they can be seen as embracing community-togetherness-tough and unconditional love.  my soul craves the latter.  my soul longs to be able to love without hesitation, to show itself fully and be known by others.  i crave all the life that friendship brings without any of the pain.  maybe that's unrealistic- especially in this quarter-life phase, but i crave it nonetheless.  

not me

i've spent a considerable amount of time searching for good blogs to subscribe to and have come across a trend in bloggers of varied demographics... it's the "i'm going to blog about how i should blog more often" syndrome and i refuse to be apart of it.  not only are these blogs not interesting to read, but they make known the pathetic nature of a person unable to discipline themselves over and over again in one select area of their life.  

with that said, i am not going to apologize to my one or two readers for failing to follow through on my "i'll post every day this week" promise.  and i will not offer any justification for why i failed.  i will, however, refrain from making similar promises in the future so as to avoid these somewhat awkward and unnecessary explanations.

tip-toe-like steps

in an attempt to bring myself out of this current state of "post-graduation stupidity" i have spent the last week trying to focus more attention on my dedication and follow-through abilities.  it seems that without the presence of a professor, or more accurately- a transcript, i don't have much success completing the things i set out to do (or want to learn to do).  and i'm pretty sure its because of this lack of motivation and initiative that i'm wallowing in all things simplistic.  

these very small steps toward full-humanity are as follows:

1.  i spent saturday afternoon reclaiming my deck from the hazardous remains of winter.  i repotted most of my plants, swept, brought out the deck chairs, re-situated my plants to afford best light to all, dusted down old tv-stand-turned-coffee-table, and hung my green swag lamp back on it's hook.

2.  i started shane claiborne's new(-er) book Jesus for President.  i have to admit, that i kinda forced myself to start this one.  there's something about fame and popularity that truly repels me- as soon as something or someone becomes widely known and appreciated, i'm no longer interested.  so even though i really liked shane's first book, his cult-like following and widespread speaking tour has made me uninterested to hear anything else he has to say.  also, this would be the first blatantly christian book i've read in months and i wasn't all that excited to get trapped back into the jargon and subtle mind-games i've been successfully avoiding.  and finally, part of me has been avoiding this book because most of my reading is done in public places and even though i've been taught to evangelize to those around me- i just can't see myself whipping out jesus for president while riding the bus or in the breakroom at work.  

the book has been a pleasant surprise, however... that's why i'm including it in this list of positive steps taken.  shane's interpretation of the bible and politics is as radical as ever and i find it refreshing to imagine another sort of faith and another sort of God.  it's also helping ease me back into the global community- reminding me why it's good to consume less and share more- giving validation to the parts of my life that are backwards and upside-down and inside-out.  and if nothing else, the book it just plain pretty.  if you haven't already seen it, it has drawings and photos and cut-n-paste art all over each page-notes are scribbled in sideways and images of plants take over the binding.  it makes me happy just to look at... and i make sure to hide the cover when in public.

3.  i've started a novel... writing one, that is.  with my lack of follow-through, i have no idea whether this will ever get finished.  but i hope it does.  my sister is helping to write a script for a movie she's working on and has gotten in the habit of calling me so we can talk things out and decide on the most appropriate dialogue and how to convey proper character development etc etc.  well, analyzing characters and organizing plot lines has got me daydreaming up stories of my own and creating mini scenarios and plots and dialogue.  (sidenote: as it turns out... all that smutty teen-drama tv i've been watching has paid off in that now i know what NOT to do).  more on this to come, so far it's still all in my head and needs to be organized and then written... i also need to consider which age-group i'm aiming this at- it seems teen requires certain restrictions while adult seems overly sexualized... any suggestions?

4.  i made myself a collapsable-hoop so that my hooping-practice will no longer be limited by location.  similarly, i've successfully broken onto my apartment's rooftop and have plans to convert it into liz's hooping arena as it has plenty of space, a nice view, and few onlookers (excepting the periodic L train full of passengers..)

thank you to all of you that responded with ideas on what to read and watch...(namely ally and becca :o) i will definitely take those suggestions.  (sidenote: becca, what's that book you lent kansas city michael that you love so much? i've been daydreaming about it for months, imagining it could give me the kind of spiritual hug your amma is known for).

my list is still quite long, but progress always frees up more space to add something new... like how to make my own clothing patterns so i can stop giving vogue all my money.  i've also re-added blogging toward the top of the list.  i'm a bit fearful that this too may fade to the background and be forgotten or over-looked... my brief absence recently could be a foreshadowing.  so to keep that from happening, i'm going to attempt the un-thinkable.  blog every day this week... even if i don't have anything brilliant or witty to say... so bear with me- and if you're out there and want to drop me an encouraging "someone's actually reading this" comment... it'd be greatly appreciated :o)

final note:  i've been meaning to tell you about this woman who comes into work that we call the banana lady.  but it's late and i don't have much energy to go into detail about who she is or why we unashamedly label her with the banana lady title, but i thought i should mention that we've (her and i) have started to establish a sort of friendship as of late.  she smiles at me when we see each other in the store and something in her eyes lets me believe we have a secret bond that none of my other co-workers are aware of.  ...so crazy banana lady, if you're out there and reading this... hello, and i'm glad you come to work multiple times in the same day to purchase obscene amounts of bananas (and only bananas), and i'm glad that you do silly things like walk around the store with a banana on your head or bring in obscure "banana-containers" to carefully transport your prized purchase back home.  you make my day and i'm glad that people like you exist.

my post-college decent into stupidity

i'm pretty sure i'm getting more and more stupid each day.  it's as though my four years of college education (preceded by 13 years of formal education via public school) were the peak of my intellectual stimulation and since graduation i've begun a rapid decent into stupidity.  

for example: while in college, i regularly found myself reading 4-5 books at a time (mostly a mixture of some densely written philosophy text, a bit of applied philosophy- usually ethics, some refreshingly light novel about reconciliation, a standard anthropology text and almost always something to aid in one's spiritual formation).  lately, however, i find even just one book difficult to get through and have resorted to reading a chapter here from mindlessly shallow book number one and then skipping to a chapter from similarly mindless and shallow book number two.  

example two:  while in college, i sought out ways to engage my intellect outside of class, engaging mindfully in culture through critiques of music and movies.  i enjoyed entertainment that made me think and that commented on our society at large and similarly enjoyed discussing these various movies and albums with friends over tea or the forbidden glass of wine.  these days, i can't seem to get enough of the mindless "chick-flicks"... i've even resorted to watching certain ones over and over again- each time hoping to find some redeeming value to thus justify my behavior- and each time failing miserably to do so.  on a similar note, i've become addicted to watching smutty tv-dramas online.  the beauty (and detriment) of online tv is that if you look hard enough, you can find just about every episode of every popular tv show and then watch an entire series from pilot to series finale in just over a month.  so far, i've completed multiple embarrassing shows and am on the hunt for my next mindless distraction.

example three:  while in college, i lived my life aware of how it affected others and how i as an individual was connected with the larger global community.  i co-lead a group of student-activists in pursuit to better educate our campus of world events and global issues,  and strove to be more mindful of the resources i used.  today, however, i catch myself letting the faucet run as i brush my teeth, or mindlessly unroll the toilet paper until half the roll is sitting in my lap read for use.  our neighborhood doesn't have a recycling program and so i've gotten lazy and now see just about everything as trash, and consider my 5 minutes of BBC headlines a day to be sufficient in staying up to date with world news.  

it's been nearly a year since graduation... 365 days of unraveling.  but as spring arrives and appropriately sparks feelings of hope, motivation and excitement, i am ready to shed my slothful-wintery state and begin anew.  my brain and body have had enough time to recover from the intensity of formalized academia and are ready to be exercised once again.  time to limit my intake of mind-numbing crap and reintegrate thoughtful, productive forms of entertainment.  

i may need some help getting started though.  do you have any book suggestions?  right now i'm big into memoir, but feel i need to branch out beyond this field and try my hand at some other forms of writing.  my friend mel always seems to have good suggestions- so in the off chance that no one responds.... :o)  (please respond, if you're out there).  

also, any good movies out there now?  i feel like i've been living under a rock for the last year and don't have any idea what's out and what's good... something about old men seems to ring a bell and maybe one called "there will be blood"... but i'm not sure what either of these are about.  i should probably shoot my former prof. postema an email and see what he has lined up for this year's film forum as he has impeccable taste regarding film.  

and on to music... help.  that's it.  that's all i need to say.

okay, i think i've adequately fulfilled my blogging quota for the day, now for sleep.

... one last minute comment relating to work, thank you to the man who efficiently went through my check out isle this afternoon with little to no delays.  it was kind of you to have the forethought to have your money ready and available for me to collect, and even more kind that you helped to bag your own groceries... sidenote:  for those of you that may shop at trader joe's and don't know the rules... you're supposed to bag your own groceries- i've seen 75 year old women successfully manage to put away multiple bags worth as i finish scanning everything leaving you with no excuse.  it's just plain rude to stand by and idly watch as i unload an entire grocery cart (or two!) onto the small check-out counter and then struggle to fit your newly purchased items into two double-paper bags- evenly balanced of course so you don't topple over on your way out to catch a cab.  just thought i'd let you know.

goodnight now and sweet dreams from my part of the world.

blogging as a replacement for tv

the at&t repair man, victor,  came by today to fix our internet connection.  it seems the majority of our exterior wiring was all mixed up, wires touching in places they shouldn't be and barely connected where they ought.  it's only been down for two days and my obvious dependence on this highly evolved technology has left me feeling somewhat uncomfortable.  i've survived without internet (and without other seemingly necessary things like pickles, shampoo, properly flushing toilets) for considerably longer periods of time throughout my life, what is it about this season that makes me feel so dependent upon technology?  

it's as though technology is the only thing keeping me connected to the world, either with the handful of soul-mates living on the other side of the planet or with the close friends and family i have scattered across the states.  even more-so, it's as though the technology of blogging has helped me feel better connected with my self, more challenged to articulate and therefore better able to understand my own thought processes.  

it felt silly at first, admitting to myself (and to you) the vast number of times i thought about blogging while our internet was down.  but if someone as respectable as jenell can admit to being obsessed with blogging, then at least i'm in good company.  the truth is, i'm constantly blogging in my head.  have you ever watched scrubs?  well, i feel like JD (or Dr. Dorian) with his "floating-head-doctor."  JD is constantly floating off into his own world where he narrates his life in order to better understand his experiences.  i feel like i have my own "floating-head-blogger" as my mind escapes real life to imagine what i would say if i were to blog about it.  not sure what i mean?  well, imagine me sitting on the bus, staring aimlessly out the window, or better yet, standing at the register at work, mindlessly scanning bottles of wine and bags of frozen peas.  i appear to be on auto-drive, like those broomsticks from fantasia that keep filling the well with bucket after bucket of water, only for me, it's groceries, and while my mind may seem to be blank, it's actually racing with ideas about proper sentence structure and which amusing anecdote would fit better in this particular scenario.  i can't help it.  not only am i bagging cart after cart of groceries, all done at an increasing pace as the crescendo to fantasia builds in the background, but my imagination also picks up speed as it jumps from one idea to another, following a crazy rabbit trail of thoughts that even i can't understand.  most days i feel insane.  

is this the life of a writer? always living in one's head?  or is this just me?  seems i've been living in my head for some time now... maybe blogging is my way of getting outside myself, (not totally since i'm still writing about myself), but taking my inner thoughts and putting them out for the world (okay i guess world may be going a bit too far... how about for the small handful of readers... mostly consisting of friends who i've begged to read this so i can be assured of some semblance of an audience...).  maybe blogging will help calm the chaos and provide a bit of structure to the wandering imagination.  or maybe i'll just meander through these rabbit trails of thoughts, taking you along for the ride. 

engaging my multi-faceted self

i've spent the afternoon reading over jenell's (one of my previous professors) archived blogs and have discovered that she's a lot like me... or rather, she was a lot like me in the fall of 2004.  i identify with her thick layers of cynicism intermixed with her struggle to understand deep feelings of pain and disappointment; i appreciate her delight in finding an outlet for herself, a way that she can better communicate both her intellectual musings and her random thoughts throughout the day; i am struck by her honesty and desire that i could be so bold.  

i used to have a pretty strong distaste for blogs, similar to what most people feel about memoirs... who would want to read about someone's reflections on their own life?  seems a bit self-centered to write only about me and my life.  but i've  recently discovered a love for the memoir style of writing... at least, for those that are done well- those that not only tell stories from a person's life, but that also point to the human experience as a whole, those that use the act of storytelling to better connect the audience with either an experience or a particular insight.  and similarly, i've come to enjoy the sphere of blogging as a sort of unedited and immediate kind of memoir.  i especially enjoy the way reading jenell's archived blogs helps me understand myself with all my confusion and grief, and helps me rethink how i can find hope and strength in god from this state of being.

in one of her early postings, jenell talks about how she appreciates blogging for the voice that it allows women to carry- how it humanizes a person, allowing them to put forth both intellect and emotion, both seriousness and humor, both the rational and irrational.  she herself writes both about the loss of her triplet sons during childbirth and also about the daily lives of her cats.  

and so i'm excited to participate, excited to discover an avenue through which i can engage my multi-faceted self, excited to explore my truest voice in the midst of such a confusing stage of life.  and i'm excited to have you along for the ride... whomever you may be.  

little black dress

I don’t own a single article of clothing that’s black.  No little black dress that’s supposedly every young woman’s necessity, no lacey black tank-top perfect for a night at the clubs, not even a black t-shirt.  Normally, this sort of discovery would be like noticing that I also don’t own anything pink; it’s a color that doesn’t fit my personal tastes, and I since I don’t usually have any need for black clothing, or fancy clothing for that matter the fact that I don’t own a single article of black clothing doesn’t phase me.  But tonight, my lack of appropriate “going out” clothing actually hindered me from seeing a good friend on her last night in town.

 

I’ve been friends with Bethany Anne Murphy ever since her mom and my mom co-chaperoned our monthly Brownies meetings after school during our first grade year.  We both wore glasses back then and both had the option of being called Beth- two very solidifying marks of good friend potential to a first-grader.  I remember playing flashlight-tag in her large and slightly wooded back-yard when we were young and faking an attack of the mosquito bites so I could hide indoors where it was light and I wasn’t alone.

 

It wasn’t until junior high, however, that Beth and I really became close.  My entire group of friends from elementary school had just started experimenting with high-school parties, drinking, some minor drugs and boys, leaving innocent me to fend for myself and find a new clique.  Bethy was there, ready to accept me into her posse of girls in which she was the obvious ringleader.  She welcomed me in with open arms and gave me a group of friends with whom I could experience the typical, awkward phases of junior high at a slower and to me, more enjoyable pace.

 

I found myself longing for those friends again later, after entering high-school, after Bethy moved out of state, and after our seemingly tight-knit group began to disband.  Boyfriends took over, popularity constantly pressured us, and life was no longer easy to understand.

 

I only recently reconnected with Beth, as we are both college graduates living in the city and trying to figure out where life will take us next.  Even though our degrees and experiences have led us down different paths- her to a job in a law firm, meeting in a glass high-rise in the center of downtown and me to a part-time gig in a unique grocery store with a full-time DJ as a boss- we’ve still been able to reconnect over our love for travel, different cultures, and our fond memories of growing up together.

 

But tonight our differences in lifestyle and routine became apparent.  Bethy is leaving the country to teach English in Thailand for 7 months and as a going-away bash, organized a night out on the town for all her friends currently living in the area, mojitos and Salsa dancing at a pretentious club just north of the river.  Excited for the opportunity to get dressed up and thrilled by the idea of going out with girlfriends, I spent a good portion of my evening preparing myself for the night ahead.  Legs were shaved, eye-liner applied, jean mini-skirt was taken out of storage.  After assembling what I thought was a fun ensemble and checking myself in the full-length mirror one last time, I felt ready.  Granted, my fun ensemble consisted of a flashy orange tank-top, jean mini-skirt, fishnet stockings, knee-socks and moccasins, but I felt sexy in my own way, confident that one could still dress like themselves and manage to enjoy an evening out on the town, or wherever they found themselves.

 

My cell phone rang just as I was about to leave.  It was Beth.  She felt she ought to call and let me know that not only did this club have a pretty steep cover, but there was a strictly enforced dress code as well.  “Just don’t wear any jeans or anything, okay?”  I looked down at my skirt trying to decipher whether a jean mini was considered “jeans.”  “How about a jean skirt?” I asked, figuring I’d leave the moccasins out of this one.  Beth paused for a minute, but even in her silence I could tell the answer was no.  “Why don’t you just put on a black skirt or pants, just to be safe” she replied.  Dang, the moccasins were surely out. 

 

After tearing through every article of clothing I owned, I realized to my own disbelief that I didn’t own anything appropriate for such a club, no slinky skirt or sexy tank-top, no heels or black pants or anything silk, satin, or bejeweled.  My wardrobe consists entirely of jeans, corduroy, flowy peasant skirts and cotton-polyester-blend t-shirts. 

 

My thoughts drifted back to my life in Minnesota.  My friends and I went out to clubs almost every night of the week, and somehow managed to enjoy Minneapolis’ night-life without ever once needing a little black dress.  I felt nostalgic for that time and longed to be surrounded by people who shared my taste in clothing.  I looked at my once perfect outfit, which was now lying in a heap on the closet floor and was immediately angry at the aforementioned, pretentious club just north of the river.  How dare that club- those bouncers and bartenders and club-goers, how dare they tell me I’m not good enough to enter, that I don’t fit the bill.  Of course I don’t fit in there, I know it and they know it.  But who’s to say that just because I don’t own anything black that I can’t come dance and share in my friend’s last night in town?

 

Angry and once again motivated to find something, anything “appropriate” to wear, I looked at my closet again.  I put on outfit after outfit, but nothing made me look “normal.”  And so, after much deliberation, and many wardrobe changes, I was defeated, forced to give in and stay home, upset that I’d be missing out on what should have been an incredible night, and even more upset that I once again allowed the elite, the popular crowd, the black-clothing-wearing-club-going-downtown-working masses make me feel inadequate. 

 

I put my original outfit back on, admiring myself in the mirror for a while and smiling at my funky style.  This is me world, you can take it or leave it, but you should know in case you decide it’s not up to some standard, that this chic is one hell of a dancer. 

daily reminders of home

There’s a man who lives in a field just a few blocks from my apartment.  I see him every day on my way to work and am always torn between feelings of joy, heartache, and a touch of envy. 

 

I’m joyous because I find the sight so utterly beautiful.  This man has turned a barren plot of land into a home simply by bringing to it his constant presence.  He has embodied the true meaning of home by filling his lot with family and friends, surrounding a fire together at night, sharing stories, sharing lives, all without the modern entanglements of tv and radio, indoor plumbing and clocks. 

 

I lived in Kenya for a year, and while there visited a friend’s home in Litein, a small, outlaying town of Kericho in the western region of the country. 

 

In this home, dinner lasted long into the night, the whole family sitting, relaxed, in the living room on couches and on the beautiful area rug at the center of the room.  Candles lit the night as our hands served for utensils: uniting each of us with one another, and uniting our bodies with their source of nourishment.  Conversation was easy, free flowing; laughter was consistent and song danced on the tips our tongues. 

 

Somehow I felt bonded to these people, as though this were my own family, as though I belonged in this foreign land with its melodic language and dark skinned people.  We were one.

 

Upon returning to the states, I have tried for such a night, such a connection with other people, yet only experiencing glimpses of it here and there, like in Michigan one night with my American family.

 

We vacation together once a year at the end of the summer, the whole lot of us.  We wait until the heat of august gets too impossible, ‘til the pressure of another school year is upon us, and we escape to a friends cabin on a small lake in western Michigan.  It’s more of a house than a cabin really.  Close family friends recently turned their three very rustic cabins into one very large house.  What used to house a very tight 10 now comfortably sleeps our 25; bathrooms that once followed the “if it’s yellow let it mellow”-rule, now have multiple sinks, large mirrors, updated plumbing and 3 full showers. 

 

This last year it rained nearly every day of our trip, causing aunts and uncles, cousins, sisters, nieces, nephews and our grandma- the matriarch of us all, to be stuck indoors for the majority of our week.  On one particular night, there was a storm so powerful that it blacked out the entire town.  Nothing was visible as our eyes searched the dark night for signs of power, signs of life.  The silence that overtook our normally boisterous house was eerie at first as we became even more isolated in our now small shelter.  We felt as though we were the last people on the planet, which for those who know my family is a scary thought.

 

But something happened that night, with the TV acting as nothing more than an elevated candle stand.  Preexisting family patterns seemed to fade as toddlers now had no bed-time, as poker became an all-ages, all-genders game, as smokers couldn’t isolate themselves out by the fire and non-smokers had no reason to pass judgment.  We stayed up late, laughing over cards, talking over glasses of wine, hovering close to candles and flashlights, all wanting the night to go on and on.

 

In my own imagination, the man I see living in a field experiences such beauty, peace and community each night as the sun sets and his only reminder of this modern society is the street lamp flickering a soft orange glow overhead.

 

But part of me knows that can’t be true.  I’ve taken enough sociology classes and understand too much of urban structures and systems to see my daydreams about this man’s life as nothing more than naïve and idealistic. 

 

I know those lots are empty from abandonment.  The gentrification happening around the hospital and around the university just blocks north have pushed previous inhabitants further south.

 

I know the city would rather have a string of empty lots to deal with than blocks and blocks of abandoned houses and buildings, where crime can breed and taxes go unpaid.

 

And I know the high rate of prostitution and drug dealing that happens within my idealized field of empty lots, reminding me that the “friends and family” which surround this man’s campfire each night are probably not singing songs and playing cards.

 

Being reminded of the systemic injustice that plagues our cities, that’s continued to push the poor further south and further out toward the suburbs, hurts my soul.  I don’t know where to put that kind of pain or how to process the knowledge that this man is probably not living outside because he wants to commune with nature and re-experience the simplistic lifestyle we humans were intended for.  Bur rather, he’s living outside because he can’t afford to live inside.

 

No matter how intangible the concept of home may be at the intellectual level, at the material level four walls and a roof cost money, they cost a constant stream of money coming in and require a lot of social capital to obtain.

 

Still, I can’t help but distinguish this man from the myriad of other homeless men I encounter on the streets downtown, those that smile politely reminding little ol’ white-girl me that they’re not going to rob me but just need a buck or two- those that ask me if I want a shoe shine or if I’ve ever been a model.  Those men truly seem to fit the notion of homeless to me as they walk the streets, carrying everything they own in a stolen shopping cart or bundled up in a soiled blanket.

 

But the man in the open field has a home, his plot of land with boxes and crates lining his boarders, cars parked in the street out front, a fire roaring in a trash can at the center of his lot. 

 

Why hasn’t he expanded? I wonder as I view his home from the train.  Why does he continue to abide by plot lines, by previous city ordinances?  He could inhabit the whole block, or the whole field for that matter.  He could widen his boarders and live on an acreage if he wanted, and acreage in the middle of the city.  But then he’d be just like the men downtown that see the entire city streets as their domain, wandering where they will, carrying everything the own with them each day.  By sticking to a few structures, this man seems to be destroying so many more.  Its as though he’s saying, “screw the system.”  “Screw the system that tells me land should cost money, and those who say I don’t deserve to be settled, to build a home because the minimum wage is too low for me to afford one.”

 

He’s reminding us, reminding me, as the train passes by his home on my way to and from work each day, what home is really about.  I go to work to make money, and that money is applied directly to the apartment I live in, so that I can continue living down town and going to work each day.  He reminds me daily of the dangerous cycle I’ve entered into.  

retail.

I worked a mid-shift today.  In the glorious world of retail, a mid-shift means I neither opened the store nor closed it at the end of the day.  What mid-shift also means is that my entire seven hour work day will be spent surrounded by customers, dodging their “can you help me” eyes, picking up their lipstick-stained demo cups.  It also means that I need to wake up at a decent hour, forfeit my afternoon of productive TV watching, and return home before diner- even before the Late Show.  Offices will still be buzzing with activity as I hop the train and settle in for my 45minute commute around the loop and headed south.  Rail maintenance will not have started yet, TV watching can be put off for after dark, and for once, I will be on the same time schedule as the rest of the city.