Writing with comfort movies

An essay on writing, in conjunction with movies or shows that bring us comfort.

A couple years ago, I decided to have a super-familiar movie (familiar to me) playing on silent in the background while I write. I try to write every night, and the two elements go together now: my laptop, and my projector and a projector screen that covers almost an entire wall of my home.

Not sure why I started doing this, but my best guess is that the film on silent helps me stay grounded in the present moment. Kind of like mindfulness, or identifying things in the room you can see, hear, etc. I write memoir, and when I’m writing about serious things, I need something outside of myself to look at as a reminder that I’m still here in present day. I used to just get lost in my words, but I didn’t like how absorbed I got sometimes. A few of you who also write have shared this happens to you too; feeling dizzy or shaky, floating away, and somehow also claustrophobic. It felt too strange for me, and living by myself now, I didn’t like feeling that way.

I switch up the films, of course. Predictably, Hitchcock's “The Birds” is on the short list. So is “The Way, Way Back” with Toni Collette and Allison Janney. Sandra Bullock’s “Unforgiven” is in rotation, and the more recent “NYAD.” Each of them has a quirky, unexpected connection to my life, and seeing each of them many times, I could write a dissertation on any of them. But for the purposes of my nightly writing which can feel so vulnerable, they provide a familiar backdrop, a silent soundtrack (?) to hold the space for me. In the case of the projector screen, literally holding up one of the walls so I don't feel the room is caving in on me.

Double Jeopardy is a movie I have probably seen 200x in the past 25 years since it came out, many of these times on silent as I write. I have loved Ashley Judd ever since I was 17 years old, practically a lifelong love. We’ve interacted a bit over social media, but mostly I just admire her from afar: her philanthropy, her volunteer work, and her acting career. She has largely chosen films that portray compassionate characters, and strong women who may have gotten knocked down a few times but keep standing up and fighting back. She is a huge advocate for children, animals, mental health, and women. Her memoir is STUNNING: meaningful, compassionate, inspiring. She was pivotal in the MeToo movement re: Harvey (another great movie? "She Said."). With that kind of advocacy and altruism, no wonder I feel better when she’s in my living room as I'm writing about serious themes.

Writing, and maybe especially writing memoir (although I haven’t written much fiction) can cause us to go through not just an emotional and mental shift, but also a physical one. As we relive these experiences and put them onto the computer screen or on paper, we may feel the same sensations we felt when the event originally happened. Our heart rate may go up, we may feel anxious, we may start crying or smiling or laughing. We may talk to the people we are writing about. When I was writing about Vinnie, I would say, “Oh, Vinnie. You’re a good boy,” every time I recalled something cute or funny that he did, even though he wasn’t physically present. It felt right to talk to him as I was absorbed in our story.

This movie takes place in a few locations, but starts in the Pacific Northwest on Whidbey Island. I think of this movie every time I visit Whidbey. I love seeing the greenery of the PNW and the scenes with the ferry boats. I love that the movie centers around love, around the love and protection she has for her son, that drives the story forward. I first saw this movie when I was a teenager, after I’d already decided that I loved Ashley Judd. It is definitely one of my comfort movies, and now it helps me when I write.

Thanks for reading. Feel free to share your comfort media below. I love hearing how these types of media can feel so familiar and safe to us.

Love you all.

Sophomore dorm, abdomen surgery, theme songs, and David Bowie

3 short David Bowie anecdotes

I never fell deeply in love with David Bowie, like I fell in love with Storm Large or Of Monsters and Men or Joni Mitchell.

But I love David Bowie. His music is amazing, definitely a part of my life, and I mostly love him because he was weird and quirky and awesome.

Anecdote #1
During my sophomore year of high school, I moved in to the Alpha dorms at Western Washington University in Bellingham. My roommate had already secured on the wall a huge painting that she had done; it was David Bowie's face. He had red hair, and his head was probably 4 feet tall, almost the entire size of the canvas.

At the time, I had heard of David Bowie, liked his music, but had no idea the music I liked was David Bowie's. This is so typical of the music in my life; I listen to the radio, listen to Pandora, go to bars and clubs, and have my favorite songs. But it is not often that I know who the musicians are that sing my favorite songs. So was the case with Bowie; I love his music, but only recently discovered that it was his music.

All during my sophomore year of college, David Bowie's face looked down over my roommate and me as we studied, watched movies, slept... He was like a 3rd roommate, a constant presence, a work of beauty that I both loved and was in awe of, a painting that could have been sold for hundreds of dollars and was just sitting in a college dorm room by an undiscovered artist, my roommate Nina. That year with Bowie gave me a greater appreciation for the man, and formed a connection that I wouldn't have had with him otherwise.

Anecdote #2
Several years ago, I had a minor abdomen surgery. It was only about 45 minutes, and when I awoke in my hospital room, everything was foggy. I barely remember what the nurse said to me. But I do remember one thing she said:

"And if it feels like it's under pressure, let the doctor know."

Without skipping a beat, and while I was still coming out of anesthesia, I said, "Under pressure. David Bowie." It was like I was answering a trivia question. I'm pretty sure I fell back asleep afterwards, thinking my work there was done. Even under anesthesia, I know who is responsible for "Under Pressure."

Anecdote #3
Some of us have theme songs. Little tunes we hum to ourselves, full songs that we sing over and over again in the shower, things that rattle around in our head. My theme song, the one I find myself humming during my week, prompting me through my day, is a Bowie song. I'm not sure why it's my theme song; I don't know why those 7 notes of the chorus resonate with me, run through my head when I run or do housework. But they do. His songs are very catchy, and for years, maybe decades, one of his songs has been a part of me.


That's the funny thing, though. Even though I wouldn't have said I was a die-hard fan of Bowie's, even though I never saw him perform live or never met him or even gave much thought to him on a day to day basis, he still was a presence in my life, and will continue to be so. He is still my theme song, I talked about him while still under anesthesia, and he watched over me my entire sophomore year of college. Somehow, we are all connected on this earth, we reach people and touch people without ever knowing it, we impact each other in interesting and amazing ways on a daily basis. And each of us, rock stars and fans and family members and managers and teachers and students and neighbors, is a valuable part of this world, a world that is all about connection and relationships. And with the loss of Bowie, I was reminded of how each of us is so valuable and important, more than we will ever know.

The Dream Visits

Do you ever dream about those who have passed away? I love seeing my loved ones again, and somehow, when I wake up, I feel like some healing has taken place with my grief.

Ever since Ati passed away in 2008, I have dreamt about her probably at least a dozen times. The tone and the content of the dreams have varied over the years, but in every single dream, she has always been so warm and affectionate, just like she was before she passed away.

While she has remained unchanged between the two locations, life and after-life, I have changed. When she was here, I joked with her, thought up ways to make her laugh, learned funny words and songs in Farsi to surprise her with, tickled her, teased her, and generally acted like a kid who was learning what it was like to be loved by someone so loving, so maternal, and so affectionate, and not only loved but loved unconditionally. I was giddy with her; I was silly and innocent and child-like, just like a little kid is who knows she is loved always. And then we would have these wonderful, mature, adult conversations, and I loved those just as much, because it meant that Ati saw me as an adult and a peer and her equal, someone she could trust with stories of her life, with her hopes for the
future, and with struggles in her life. We had a great relationship and understanding of the importance we had in each other's lives.

But now, in my dreams, I am different. As much as I love seeing her, I am usually heartbroken. I go from crying to hugging her to asking her, "But why aren't you here anymore?" I have such a longing within me for her to be with me, not just in my dreams but physically present in my life. I see her in my dreams and I immediately burst into tears, just because I have missed her so much these past 7 years. She was someone I had waited for my whole life; she filled something in my life that I had lacked since I was a young kid, before I even started going to school. And our time together was so brief.

Last night, I dreamt her as she would be in 2015 were she still here. At this time, she would have been 64 years old, instead of the 57 years old when she passed away. I dreamt that her hair had turned gray, and it was this soft, fluffy gray that suited her very well. Her face had a few more wrinkles, and she looked like a grandmother, which, in a matter of days, she would have been as her daughter is currently 8 months pregnant. This is the first time in my dreams that she has appeared as she would have been at age 64; usually, she visits me in her 50's, the last time I saw her.

When I awoke, I was sobbing. My dog Vinnie was lying next to me, maybe there to comfort me or
maybe just used to me crying and vocalizing during my dream state. And as I tried so desperately to return to the dream, or at least to let it linger in my thoughts instead of drifting away like morning clouds, I realized that in a way, Ati had moved on. Wherever she is, whatever she is doing, she is not the 57-year old woman who passed away from cancer. She is doing what she is doing, visiting people in dreams and loving me and preparing to be a grandmother, although a bit more distant than we would prefer. It is 2015, and as much as I would like it to be 2008 to be able to see her again, or for there to be a cure for cancer that would save her, it is 2015. And as the years go by, as I process my life around me, I heal a little bit more from the grief of losing her.

A couple years after she passed away, she visited me in a dream, and all she wanted to do was talk about Alfred Hitchcock's movies. This is something we did when she was alive; Ati went to college in Los Angeles in the 1970's, and loved the Hollywood scene. She got 2 master's degrees in the arts (graphic design and photography), and loved anything that had to do with art and movies and music. And she was particularly fascinated by Alfred Hitchcock. She didn't necessarily think he was a good guy, but was intrigued by the stories of his directing style. Tippy Hendron was of particular interest to her, and how her career was affected by Hitchcock. In this dream, I was again heartbroken, but Ati just hugged me and chatted about Hitchcock. She was not there bemoan why she passed away; she just wanted to have a conversation with me like we used to have in Canada, sitting on her couch and discussing everything Hollywood. That dream affected me too; she had moved on, and was continuing the relationship where we left off. Why couldn't I?

I wish that I could just enjoy the dreams, talk with her, maybe ask her how she is doing in the after-life rather than crying every time I see her. I would like to tell her that I am gay, although she must already know. I would like to tell her about her soon-to-be grandson, and tell her about the baby shower that we had a couple months ago. I would like to ask her what she thinks for a name for her grandson. I would like to say, "Hey, thanks for visiting me. It is so good to see you." Because that's all it is; I am so happy to see her each time because I have really missed her. And instead of sobbing each and every time, maybe it is time to move on and just enjoy these visits with my very good friend.

Childhood dreams

When I was a young child, I had 3 main dreams, or goals:

1. I wanted to live to be 100 years old. That seemed like success to me. 
2. I wanted to live in a mansion and invite my grandparents to move in. Living in a mansion seemed like success, and of course I wanted my grandparents to be there!
3. I wanted to go to Africa. The details around this dream are a little fuzzy, but it was something I needed to do.

Then life happens, and we grow up, and we lose some of our naivete. We still want to be able to dream as children do, but some things may not seem as important, or as attainable, as they were in our early youth.

My current goals:
1. I want to be closer to God.
2. I clearly do NOT want to live in a mansion; rather, get rid of almost all my "stuff" and live as sparsely as possible.
3. To keep going to Africa.

I think it's okay for our childhood dreams to change. It doesn't mean that we are giving up, or that we are resigning ourselves to something else. Conditions change, we get a different view of the world, and many times, it is a smarter, more mature view of what is really going on.


Jesus does ask us to enter into the kingdom of heaven as a little child. And if we can keep that mindset, even as our childhood goals change, that is the important part. To be open and accepting, easy to mold and to change, we are like children even in our adulthood.

When God doesn't return your calls

God is my best friend. He's my buddy, my Father, my Mother, my family, my Soul, my Life... He's everything. And right now we're not talking. Or, rather, I'm not talking to Him. I'm sure He's still trying to talk to me. Which would make it appear that the title of this blog is all wrong. But I beg to differ. While God may be trying to talk to me, He is not talking in a language that I can understand. I feel that I have been calling Him for months, wanting an answer, and He is not giving me an answer. I don't even care if the answer is "No," although a "Yes" would be much more favorable. He is just not giving me an answer at all. He is flat-out ignoring the question, and running me around on a wild goose chase. So in that sense, He is not answering my calls. And so we're not talking at the moment.

It's not a conscious decision to not talk to God. I just feel frustrated at the moment, and not willing to put everything down and go to Him. I'm tired. I'm sad. I'm angry. And while I know that God is the best decision, the best choice, the best of everything, I find it difficult to even think about Him right now.

I've never ever ever before in my life not talked to God. He's always been there for me, ever since I was 5 years old. That's the first time I remember having an independent relationship with Him, apart from going to Sunday School with my family when I was much younger. In Sunday School, it was more of a group thing, a social thing, than a relationship that I could foster and develop on my own time. And the first time I started an independent connection with Him was the single greatest day of my life. He knew I needed Him, even when I didn't, but as soon as the relationship started, I knew that it was important, and I knew that I was happy. It was like there was this friend, this "guy," that I could talk to anytime I wanted, night or day, 3pm or 3am, and He was always there. And there was a promise there, a promise that He would always take care of me and protect me and listen to me.

I DO remember being angry with God before. I was 8 or 9 years old, and I was having an especially difficult time with a person in my life. The relationship between this person and myself was starting to take its toll. The difficult times were lingering, and I was young and innocent and scared. And angry. I remember that one day, while sitting by myself, I started talking to God. Or yelling at God, but I prefer to use the verb "talking." :) "What is going on?" I said. "This is ridiculous. Why does this keep happening?" I started to cry, not tears of sadness but tears of anger. I was so angry with God. Not with the person that seemed to be causing some strife in my life, but with God. Why was He letting this happen? He was supposed to be protecting me, caring for me, acting like my best friend. Where was He? What was He thinking? Well, the tough times continued for a bit longer, but after that one outburst, I don't ever remember being angry at God again. Until now, of course.

I am so grateful to God for everything He has done for me. I'm so grateful for the gifts in my life, the blessings, the love, the joy, the happiness, the rainbows and balloons... I'm sooo grateful. And on a daily basis, I really DO feel grateful. I feel that I am so incredibly blessed, and that my cup runneth over. Many days, I feel like there's been some sort of mistake. I feel that I have won the lottery on friends, or on family, or on the number of gifts in my life, and I didn't even buy a ticket... I feel that somehow, through some oversight by an angel or by God Himself, I have been given far more than I deserve. These are the days I post ridiculously sweet, sacharin, sentimental posts on Facebook. But I can't help it. I know that I have been blessed, and I'm bursting with so much love and joy and positive energy that I can't seem to contain it. I have to express my gratitude or I will explode.

And then there's now. I AM grateful for what is in my life. The gifts, most definitely the people, the joy. But I am also pretty upset. Why? you ask. Well, I would need another 20 pages to explain why. But the intricate yet boring details of the "why" don't really matter. What matters is that I'm struggling right now and I don't feel that God is hearing me. I don't feel like God is really giving it His all... I feel like saying, "You are 'the Great I Am,' for Pete's sake. Put some effort into this!" Well, that's probably disrespectful, blasphemous, sacreligious, but there you have it.

And for the first time ever, not only are we not talking, but I'm starting to doubt that there is a God. Does he indeed exist? He's always been there for me, I know this. But I really don't feel Him right now. And I feel that a lot of things that happen, in my life and in other people's lives, are just examples of senseless suffering. What is the purpose here? What is going on? I'm really trying to sift out my thoughts, trying to figure out why things happened in my life the way they happened, and why things are happening now. I know this post must sound ridiculous without details of what's happening, but let's just focus on the overarching theme right now (Hint: It's "God"), and then I can post this post without exposing too much for the moment. I can give 1 personal story, though.

I'm pretty sensitive. I've recently been aware of how sensitive I am, through a series of recent events. One evening, I stepped on a snail. When I realized what I had done, I was crushed... almost as much as the snail (that's a joke, a play on words... nevermind). I knelt down next to him, and when I realized it was too late, I considered what I might do next. I saw his snail friend next to him, and I debated, for a good 60 seconds or so, whether I should move his friend to the side of the walkway to protect him, or whether he could figure it out on his own and I should leave him next to his friend so he could grieve. Finally I came to my senses and moved the little alive guy over. Another example: I was swimming a few days earlier, and kept seeing bees in the water. One bee seemed to still be alive, and so I scooped him out of the water and tossed him up onto the ledge of the pool. He still seemed to be struggling, so I blew a steady stream of air over his back and wings to get rid of some of the water. After a few seconds, he seemed okay and he flew away. I'm sure tons of people do things like this. I just feel that for me, I have way to much emotional capital invested in these little guys. If the bee had drowned, if someone had walked by and stepped on the snail as I was deciding what to do with him, I would have felt so guilty. I would be disproportionately affected by these things. So... here comes the tie-in with God. Knowing what kind of a person I am, as He made me, why would He place me in an abrasive, rough situation as a young child? I don't understand why God would put me in such a situation. He knows me, my soul and my heart and my tenderness and my sensitivity. He knows that I love people and animals and everything on this earth, and that I grieve over any loss, whether it's a person or an animal or a flower. It's not like the abrasive situation I was in when I was younger made me tough or insensitive or strong against these things. I'm still tender to a fault, affected by things that have nothing to do with me and nothing to do with my life.

In the book The Secret Life of Bees, there is a character named May who feels everything so strongly. She can't listen to the news anymore, she can't be in the same room if her family members are arguing with one another, she can't handle the stress or the emotional effects of experiencing anything sad or tense in her life. I feel like that sometimes; I feel like I can't handle some types of loss. Yesterday I was crying over a news story I read, about an Ethiopian couple that passed away in Dallas on Wednesday. I didn't know these people, I had no connection to them, but I couldn't stop crying. And it just seemed so unfair... This couple had just returned home from working a 16-hour shift at their restaurant, only to pass away later that night. They have this 1-year-old child who is fine, but who now doesn't have parents. This couple came from Ethiopia to America to improve their quality of life, to give their children better opportunities, a better life. As I was reading this story, I couldn't help but think, "They would have been better off if they'd stayed in Ethiopia." I don't understand stuff like this. Why did it happen? These people were working hard, they were feeding people which is a total language of love... I don't get it. And I don't understand why God would allow that to happen. There have been many instances, thousands probably, where a gun didn't go off. Where a tire blew out and the car never made it to its destination. Where a killer had a change of heart halfway to his victims' house. Why not in this instance? Why was the gun allowed to fire, the car to continue running, the suspect to stay focused on his goal?

2015: I still don't understand why things happen. But I realize that it is not from God, that He is not the creator of anything negative or bad. He is all good, and is only the cause of good.

Grief - 1 year later

In the year since I found out a dear friend passed away, I have written probably a dozen blog posts about her. In that year, I feel that I have gained a lot of insights into life and death, grieving and loss, and the love and gratitude that continues after someone passes on. To mark the year, here is one more post, with even more of the seemingly endless revelations that we have when we seek the Truth, when we ask for guidance and comfort, and when we are so full of love for someone that we realize that our grief is just unexpressed love, desperate to make that connection with those we've lost.

A year ago I called a friend overseas, and found out that she had unexpectedly passed away. What happened over the next few months was somewhat normal in our society but very strange to me as I had never experienced anything like it before. I began having physical, visceral reactions to the loss, time after time after time, long after I thought the initial shock and intensity of the grief should have worn off. I would be walking home, or cooking dinner, or in the middle of church, and would suddenly start crying. Many times I had to sit down because my legs felt weak and apt to collapse under me. Over these few months since the news, I talked with a friend who was with me at the time I found out. And each time I talked with her, I said, "I feel like I should be healed of this grief by now, but I'm not. I am having such a hard time." She always responded so lovingly, patiently, and reminded me that we never really stopped missing that person. The grief would become easier to manage, it wouldn't physically knock us down forever, but that we would always miss those who went on before us. Because of course we would always miss them; our love for them didn't stop just because they passed away, and, as mentioned above, the grief is just the inability to express love, or to receive love, in the way that we did when they were still here on Earth with us.

Another dear friend said to me, "Your good is not all wrapped up in that person." This was so helpful for me to hear, as I realized that I felt something essential to my identity was lost when they passed away. They saw my good, they validated my worthiness, they listened as I shared my pain. Because they were one of only a very small number of people who saw the most vulnerable sides of me, when they passed away, I suddenly didn't feel validated anymore. The inner circle, my village, shrank by 1 person. I felt debilitated. But when I came to realize that I was still the same person, still worthy, and that my goodness didn't die, I felt a bit more like I was standing on my own 2 feet.

Just because, I am going to use an analogy here. Let's say I am given a beautiful painting, or even that I painted it myself. The painting is full of vibrant colors, textures, tones... There is a richness, a beauty that is indescribable. And then let's say the painting is destroyed in a fire. I remember what the painting looked like, I can talk about the painting to friends and family, but the painting is not there anymore. The physical proof of its existence, the actual manifestation of everything involved in the painting, is gone. It's maddening to want to see the painting again, to want to show someone how amazingly beautiful the depth of it is, and to not be able to. And no amount of wanting or grieving is going to bring the painting back.

I know that the grief lessens, either through time, or through moments of healing, or a little bit of both. Sometimes it lessens because we realize that even after the person is physically gone, we can still feel their love or their presence in our lives. Last year, the night before I found out my friend had passed, I was having a hard time sleeping. I was feeling panicky for some reason, not able to relax. Suddenly, I remembered a conversation that she and I had had a few months earlier when I was again feeling anxious. During the earlier conversation, she talked me through some breathing exercises, keeping a firm but kind tone of voice. As I was remembering this past conversation, I started breathing more evenly, I remembered all of the love that was in that conversation, and I felt her presence right then. Of course, at the time of my remembering, she had passed on, but I didn't know that yet. A wonderful example of feeling someone's love whether they are still here with us or not.

One thing that has been amazingly helpful has been the opportunity to talk with my friends about her. It allows me to share a part of that relationship, that connection that I feel I have lost in some way. When we share our feelings or stories with another person, it  keeps that love that was present in the relationship still so present in our lives, and somehow seems to expand the love beyond the original relationship.

But still, there are so many moments where I think, "Is this grief ever going to lessen? Will I ever be able to hear "King and Lionheart" again without feeling like someone is ripping my heart out? More importantly, will I ever be able to speak Persian again?"

The Problem With Perfectionism

I have thought so much about this topic that I'm sure I've blogged about it before. And if you Google "The Problem With Perfection," you get 62 million results. So obviously, this is not a new concept. Perfectionism seems like such a lovely thing, something to strive for, yet 62 million links on Google paint a different picture. Huh.

At any given point, on any given day, I can rattle off at least 107 things that I've done in the past 24 hours that I'm not happy with. Conversations I've messed up, people I've offended, ways I've acted that eat away at me, messages I've sent that I now regret... I have a meticulous, detail-oriented process in place every second of my life that collects and catalogs every single one of my mistakes, all to be used against me at a later date when I'm feeling a little too confident about my self-worth or lovability.

But all of this is just not true: we are all worthy and lovable, despite making millions of mistakes in this lifetime. And this cataloging process is such a waste of time and energy. And it's incredibly self-centered. I think about all the other things I could be thinking about, OTHER PEOPLE for example, and wonder why I spend so much irreplaceable time focusing on my shortcomings.

Part of that, of course, is to try to improve myself, to prevent myself from making mistakes and falling short of my expectations of myself. But part of it is ignorance, thinking that I have to do something, be someone, to be worthy, and that if I make 1 mistake, I've ruined it all. Typing this out, I can see how ridiculous this sounds. But honestly, this is how my brain worked for decades.

Many of you know that I went on a transformative retreat for 27 days. It was an amazing experience, and definitely one of the most life-changing things I have ever done. During this time, I learned to love myself. I learned to embrace myself, shortcomings and all. And I learned techniques that will help me make less of the mistakes I used to make that I agonized over.

However, since coming back from the retreat, I have made some mistakes. Big, huge mistakes, things I did even during the first week I got back. The fact that I messed up so enormously almost knocked me off my feet; I was a changed person, I was new and improved! What was going on?

And then I realized, once again, that I wasn't perfect. I was still going to make mistakes, I was still human, and it was still all okay. At the retreat, the people there warned us that this was a process, a journey. It didn't mean that because we were there for 27 days, we would miraculously live out the rest of our days without problems or strife. We just had a better handle on things that came our way, and ways in which to reduce the problems that we ourselves created. They also warned us that people may have expectations of how we were going to be once we got home. They may have their own expectations of our newfound "perfection." The people I worked with at the retreat reiterated the fact that, yes, a lot of good work had been done, but that this was a starting point for continued work into the future. And they also said that it may require some conversations with people in our lives, whether they be spouses, children, parents, friends, or coworkers, to let them know what we had experienced, and their role in this. Sometimes, when we've had people in our lives who are so used to us talking and acting and being 1 way, it is hard to imagine a great change to take place. We tend to see our friends and family through filters of our past experiences with them. This is how we form relationships and become close with people: if every day was like the first day you met someone, you would never feel that sense of familiarity and closeness with them. However, it also makes it hard to accept changes in people, and sometimes it can prevent the changed person from embracing the changes if they constantly have to swim upstream against past-existing elements of their character.

We are human, and we all make mistakes. We hope that the mistakes we make don't do too much damage, and don't hurt the people around us, or ourselves. But sometimes, unfortunately, we do hurt the people around us. I know I've hurt people, and I know that in my life I will continue to make mistakes. Hopefully I won't make the same ones. And through it all, I will always seek and strive to be better.

Necessary Goodbyes

This past summer I said goodbye, purposefully, to 2 friends - to 2 friendships that I'd thought
I'd have for life.

I have never willingly said goodbye to a friend or a relationship in its entirety;  I've broken up with romantic partners before, but we have always remained friends if they have been willing to. Part of the reason for that is that generally the break ups are amicable; another reason for that is that even if something uncomfortable happened, if I've felt wronged in some way, I am generally a pretty forgiving person. I believe people get 2nd, 3rd, 4th chances, and even if we have been unable to continue the relationship in the same form, I don't give up on them as people. One of my favorite quotes comes from Audrey Hepburn:

"People have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone."

I have been incredibly blessed to have great friends and a supportive  network of people in my life. However, there have been several relationships over the course of my life that have been harmful to me, and even those I've kept. Again, Audrey Hepburn.

But something happened this summer. I reached the tipping point, the moment where something all too familiar occured and I said, "Enough." I think this has been the result of the years, the decades,
of "living while female," a dangerous sport that I know at least half of my friends are familiar with;
the concept of living in a world where rape culture and objectification are just par for the course.
This "living while female" is a lifestyle, not an anomalous occurence that a few unlucky women have to experience. And even though I'm writing about a couple of experiences that happened this summer and have somehow come to the decision to end these friendships, it has not been isolated to this summer. As a female, this experience is a daily reality and has been for me for decades. I don't expect it to change, but somehow the way I respond to it did; my response this summer has been unlike any response previously in my life.

The first friendship I closed the door on was with a man my age, someone I met randomnly but with whom I had a lot in common with. We spent tons of time together, in person and in communication through phone and through social media. For my own personal reasons, including the fact that I suspected this person may be somewhat homophobic, I did not disclose my sexuality to him.

However, from the first week we met, it became clear that he wanted more out of the relationship than I did, and I repeatedly told him that I was not nterested in dating him, and really no one for that matter. I explained that I was single and I loved being single, and we could remain friends but it would not go further than that. I was encouraged to give it a shot, to give him a shot, to give dating a shot. I declined, repeatedly. There was no question about my interest; I made it very clear that I was interested in being friends, but that's all I could offer.

Many people are probably wondering why I continued being this person's friend. At this point in the friendship, he wasn't doing anything inappropriate. Sure, he sent me an article about women who enjoy being single and how they found a partner when they least expected it. I thanked him for sending it to me and said that I was not going to be dating anyone anytime soon. It crossed my mind a few times to just tell him that I am gay, but it wasn't really his business anyway; my intentions were clear, and I had no need or obligation to expand on them if I didn't want to. Besides, for reasons I will not go into here, I didn't feel comfortable coming out to him as gay. He was still a relatively new friend, and I hadn't built up enough trust yet for that kind of disclosure. (Nevermind the fact that it was all over Facebook 2 years ago, so he could have discovered it himself if he scrolled back far enough.) But I didn't end the friendship because we both enjoyed each other's company, and I wasn't doing anything to lead him on, and if he wanted to hang out with me knowing that I was not going to date him, then that was his choice. He is a 33-year-old adult and can make that decision on his own, just as I can make the same decision about whom to hang out with. I just made sure I was clear about my intentions, and the rest was on him.

Then came the night that ended it for me. We'd made plans to hang out, and 2 hours after we were supposed to get together, he showed up at my house. He said he'd had to pick someone up at the airport and got delayed. That was fine; it was a Friday night, my birthday weekend, and I was pretty relaxed.

He also brought an entire bottle of vodka. I gave him a cup and he poured himself about half a shot, took 1 sip, and said that was enough. Then I noticed that he appeared already drunk. That was confirmed when he said he'd had a couple drinks with the person he picked up at the airport. He also said he didn't drink much and was already pretty wasted.

He started talking about how much he liked me, and how he wished we could date. I again told him that that was not an option, and that this conversation was getting boring for me; we'd had it over and over again for months. I explained he was a good friend, and that was all.

My friend appeared to become frustrated, and grabbed his keys to leave. I suggested he wait until he seemed less drunk and able to drive home safely, as he lived over 10 miles away. He insisted that he was fine, and I repeated that it might be better to wait. I told him that I had a guest room with a large bed, blankets, and pillows if he would like. I knew at this point that if he got into his car, he would most likely get into an accident, or quite possibly get a DUI. I didn't want him to be on the road and potentially kill himself or others because he was intoxicated.

After some back and forth, my friend decided to spend the night. And then a couple hours later, after I had gone to bed and had fallen asleep, he sexually assaulted me. It was not rape, but I am sure that if I hadn't woken up when I did, that would have occurred. I woke up to something so inappropriate and uncomfortable, and was partly shocked and partly angry. In my sleepy state, it was hard to fully understand what was happening, but then it became clear and I was so upset. My friend eventually left, having sobered up by that point, which made me even angrier as he wasn't even able to blame his actions on being drunk. He was well aware of what he was doing.

The next day, he texted. No apology, no explanation. Just an inquiry on how I was doing. Just a casual hello. And a question about getting together for my birthday.

I responded with 2 words: "No thanks." And then I repeated the word "No" several times in response to his repeated messages. Maybe he hadn't taken my previous "No's" seriously when I told him I didn't want to date him, when I told him I didn't want to sleep with him, and when I told him that I didn't want to marry him. So I kept saying, "No" and nothing else. I thought about calling the police, but did not. I thought about calling the person he is staying with, rent-free, and decided against it. I just needed to think about what to do. All I decided on was that I could not hang out with this person again. This was a very new idea for me; I have been mistreated in the past by a few different people in my life, and never before have I decided that the relationship was over. I don't know if I just didn't think I was good enough, or that I didn't deserve to be treated well, but for some reason I had never before walked out of a relationship. I felt so used and degraded, and like an object that he had wanted that was not available, and so he decided to take it anyway. What started as a night where I probably saved his life and maybe the lives of others, and probably saved him from a DUI and a fine and potential jail time, ended with him thanking me by sexually assaulting me. I was so angry.

A few days later, after many more messages and attempts to contact me, I told him why I was upset. Maybe he didn't remember? Maybe he was still drunk when it happened, even hours after drinking, and really had no idea what he'd done?

So I told him. And his response was, "I'm sorry that you're upset. We all do things in life, we make mistakes, and we forgive each other. That's life."

This made me so angry as well. This was not an apology! It was an explanation of why his behavior was okay and why I needed to forgive him. Why was it my job to forgive him for this? And if I did forgive him, which at this point I think I have, why did I need to interact with him, talk with him, be continually bothered with messages and attempts at conversation? He crossed the line, and broke that trust, and there should have been no doubt in his mind from my repeated declarations that I did not want to date him.

A couple weeks later, I received yet more messages from him. And I just told him that I was not able to talk with him anymore. That we wanted different things, that he had hurt me. I didn't want to talk with him anymore.

He still sends me messages from time to time. I ignore them, and will continue to do so, until I figure out what I am going to do next, whether it is go to the police or just again ask him to not talk to me again. Every time I get his messages, I feel irritated, like he hasn't listened to me, that he still hasn't listened to what I want or need or don't want or need. I want him to listen to me without me having to go to the police, and I don't understand why he doesn't comprehend that I don't want him in my life anymore.

Fear of Flying

I just returned from another trip to California, which marks my eighth plane trip in a little over a year. Which also marks the period of time in my life where I have flown the most. I love traveling. 

But...

As has happened after every trip in the last year, seemingly unexplainably, I pledged that I would never fly again. That that was the absolutely-no-doubt-about-it-I’m-serious-this-time-and-I-mean-it last time I would ever board an airplane. Great Britain? I’m taking a boat. Hawaii? There are cruises for that. My beloved California? Road trip.

This is a very recent fear in my life; it developed a couple of years ago, most definitely not a life-long affliction. I love to travel; traveling means vacations, it means new experiences, new countries, trips to Disneyland, expeditions to the beach. It means memories of the job I had in college at a kids’ summer camp in New York, which changed my life (and is the reason I became a teacher, became interested in the Middle East, and have a non-profit organization assisting orphanages in Ethiopia). Traveling means making the world a much smaller, more accessible place; but at the same time, opening our horizons and realizing how small a world we live in if we don’t travel. I caught the travel bug early, and I still carry it around, as this very expensive disease that I don’t mind that I have because the benefits far exceed the cost.

Since this last trip, which ended 3 days ago, I have been thinking about why I have been recently scared of flying. I have probably been on an airplane about 200 times: several trips each year of my life, different legs of a single trip, in small planes from which people skydive, from which they see the Nazca lines, five-person planes, 300-person planes, on and on and on. And I've never had a bad experience in terms of the actual flight or the experience in the air. Sure, there has been turbulence, both slight and significant. And yes, I did actually get sick while spinning this way and that in the small plane above Peru. There was that one time when I was 7 where I was terrified because my ears felt like they were going to explode, and the nice gentleman sitting across the aisle from me took one look at my face and told me to yawn a bunch of times to pop my ears. But other than that, I haven’t had any less-than-pleasant experiences while flying. So why this sudden fear?

When I was a senior in high school in the year 2000, I had a couple of strange dreams, that one could argue were premonitions or just coincidences. I dreamt that a building was on fire, some office or complex next to me. The next day, as I was at work at an espresso stand in Everett, the bread company, Gai’s Bakery I think it was, went up in flames. I stood watching from the espresso stand as several fire trucks pulled in and got to work at putting out the fire. The second dream was a bit scarier: I was on an airplane, and it was going down. People were crying, the flight attendants were running around, and I was just sitting there, not quite sure what to do. The next day, a plane went down in California, and I just listened to the news, not sure what to think, not sure what to do just as I’d been unsure what to do on the plane in my dream the previous night. And then I thought, “Geez. I should have said something. I should have told someone about my dream as soon as I woke up, warned someone, something.” A silly thought? Yes. But you know what else is a silly thought? Keeping hundreds of thousands of pounds of metal, people, luggage up in the air… with what? A few engines? Aerodynamic wings? Science? It’s hundreds of thousands of pounds of metal, floating through clouds, people. It doesn’t make sense.

But I don’t think this is why I have recently become scared of flying, as that was 15 years ago and this fear has been only in the past three years or so.

I tried to think of the first time I was scared, like really scared, on an airplane. And it was in 2011, as I was coming back from my Boston/London/Ethiopia trip. There was a lot of turbulence as we got closer and closer to Iceland, where I would have a layover before flying to Seattle. Ordinarily, turbulence had never bothered me; it was kind of exciting, like a roller coaster at Disneyland. But this time I became frightened. This time was the trip where I had flown to London to meet up with a friend who was having a difficult time, and there was nothing I could do to help. This time, my dear friend was not in a position to have company, and I was really worried about her, a worry that clung to me for months after I left London. This time, I’d lost the use of my foot for four days, having to hobble around the city in extreme pain. 

It was a very difficult, troubling, heartbreaking trip, because of a lot of obvious reasons but even more so a sense I got that things were just not okay, but I wasn’t sure why. My friend hadn’t told me that she was sick; my friend hadn’t told me that we weren’t friends anymore; my friend didn’t say anything ominous or somber. But somehow, I felt that our connection was broken, that my friend wasn’t there anymore. As I flew out of London, I grieved for my friend and our lost friendship. And I was alone in my grief; having been asked by my friend to keep this to myself, to not share what she had told me, as little as she’d told me, I had no outlet or opportunity to grieve publicly. I was unable to talk about it with anyone, this loss of a friend that hadn’t been lost yet, but had, somehow. This friend, who at the time was the person I shared everything with, who was the person I felt closest to in my life. As I sat in my seat on the plane, grieving my friend but knowing that I couldn’t talk about it, I think a part of me started to shut down. Some part of me knew this was more pain than I could handle on my own, and part of my brain started looking for exit strategies.

And I think this is why I become scared now every time I am on a plane, since that one trip out of London. My grandfather used to fly a lot; he was in the Navy and was flown from port to port. And then one year, his father passed away, and he attended the funeral, flying from Seattle to Minneapolis. There was some turbulence, but no more than ordinary. When he returned home to Seattle, he told my grandmother that that was the very last time he was going to be getting on an airplane, even though he was only 40 years old at the time and he and my grandmother loved to travel. My grandmother always chalked it up to the emotional part of the trip, my grandfather’s connection to his father and the trauma of losing a parent, instead of the mild turbulence. I think my case is the same.

I still get excited in airports; that has never changed. I don’t want to lose that. I want to overcome the experience I had in 2011 and see it for what it was: a difficult time in my life that has no connection to flying, to airplanes, to travel. If I can separate those two, I think the fear will go away and I can embrace the excitement I once felt being on airplane, going on an adventure. I think this is one reason why I keep flying; to show myself that it is okay, that it is safe, that it is much safer than the 50-100 miles I drive every day in my car. Flying is the way for me to connect to people, to be there for people and to spend my free time doing what is most important to me, being with my loved ones. And if my loss of connection in 2011 was what caused this fear, then the promise of connection should be the thing to solve it. 

Fail. Win. Repeat.

This seems to be the repeating, never-ending cycle in my life. Two steps backward, one step forward, keep trying and keep moving because that's better than just being stagnant and static. And sometimes it is so frustrating. I can't tell you the number of times I have said to myself, "Are you kidding me? I made the same mistake again? I really messed that all up. For the 1,348th time." And then I'll have a tiny bit of progress, and then make another horrific mistake and get upset all over again.


Life doesn't have an instruction book. Sure, there is the Bible, the Torah, the Quran, thousands of self-help books, motivational speakers, spiritual guides, the "Worst Case Scenario" series... But until I find something that actually says, "Katie, when faced with (x), do (y), and do it every time," I'm going to go ahead and say that we are all here figuring all this stuff out on our own. Especially if we follow the American social norm of not asking for help, stuffing our problems, not expressing appropriate and healthy anger, denying our need for any sort of counselors or therapists in the course of our 80+ years (why it's socially acceptable to go to the doctor for every little thing but not to a therapist for the big and the small, I will never know), not fostering a sense of community, creating and existing in dysfunctional families and other relationships... It's no wonder a lot of us feel lost and confused much of the time. I certainly do.


At a previous job, we were having a staff meeting one afternoon. One of my coworkers, an honest and straight-forward gentleman, said, "I just want to know if all of this chaos is normal. We don't know what we are doing day to day with all these changes. Is all this madness okay? Or should we know what we are doing at this point?" And that resonated; what he'd said described my life perfectly.


Here's a secret that I'm going to put out there: I don't know what I'm doing about 99% of the time. I will attribute about 1% of the good I've done in my life to actually knowing something and learning from experience. The other 99% is all by the grace of God, or luck, or coincidence, or whatever you believe that exists outside of human choice and will. It has not been me, because I have no idea what I'm doing in this life.


When I do gather up my courage and try to do something out of the norm, try to get help for something or make a change in my life, I have no idea if it will succeed or not. I love this great quote that has been attributed to Thomas Edison: "I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work." It seems that in my life, and especially in the last 3 years, I've tried dozens, hundreds, thousands of potential solutions to problems. There is this pattern of exploring every option before finding the right one, the magic perfect solution that actually works or makes any sort of progress. And this latest trial is no exception.


I have just finished up a 3-year experiment that has failed. And if you know me, you know how much I dislike failure. It's not so much that I can't fail or that I'm above making mistakes. It's more that when I believe (in) something, when I put my whole life into something and it turns out to not work out the way I want, I question my own intuition. I question my ability to "read" situations, to read people and the real story that usually happens behind the curtains. When I believe something to be true or believe in something, whether it is based on intelligence or faith, I trust my own gut as well. And when it turns out differently than what I expect, it throws me for a loop. I start to distrust myself, my gut, when so many times it has guided me in the right direction. A lot of times I attribute my gut feeling to prayer: I talk with God, I wait for an answer, and I act. And recently, what I thought I heard, the conversation I thought I had with a Higher Power, seems to have gotten lost in translation somewhere along the way.


I thought I could fix some problems in my life on my own. I thought with the tools I had, with what I had learned and with my life experience and with just believing in something enough, I could overcome an enormous challenge in my life. And maybe in the future I can. But what I learned recently, what I learned this week, was that for now, I can't. For now, all I need to do is say, "I need help."
It is so hard for me to ask for help. I've discovered that this is a common problem with many of us; but why? Why do we feel like we can do everything, solve everything, on our own? It is okay to ask for help, and I would even say that it's incredibly foolish to not ask for help from time to time. There is so much knowledge out there, from people's life experience, from science, from the history of the world... It is okay to say, "I don't know what to do. I'm going to ask someone who may know more than I do about this."


There is something so freeing about that, too... about looking at a situation, and realizing that for now, not necessarily forever, it is bigger than I am. With the tools I have and what I have learned, I may still need some extra assistance. And that even though it seems like an incredible failure, maybe it isn't. Maybe it's a victory, for now. And then down the road in the future, I can try again. Or try a different path altogether.


Many people think that in the Bible, Peter failed when he tried to follow Jesus out on the water and started sinking. But Peter was the only one who even attempted to follow Jesus out onto the water. The other disciples stayed inside the boat, not even testing their faith or Jesus' power. But Peter wanted to try.


I think of these past 3 years as me trying something that I wanted to try. I really wanted it to work, I thought that it would work, and for now it didn't. But I tried. Maybe that's victory enough for now.

Abundance

As I was talking to a family member tonight about some financial issues (it's tax season, after all), I felt a sense of panic taking over my brain. I've had a couple of super-duper-major expenses since February, and also, because of my time away from work, I haven't gotten a full paycheck for almost 3 months. This combination of factors caused me to get caught in a mental loop of, "Holy moly, what am I going to do?"

I hung up the phone dejectedly, turning numbers over and over again in my mind. And feeling sorry for myself. I kept saying to myself, "Why did I ever want to be a teacher? Why did I ever want to work in non-profits?" What sounds like such a good idea as an 18-year old just entering college is sometimes not that realistic with real-life, mortgage/health insurance/transportation costs, ball-and-chain bills. After a few minutes of fretting, I realized I needed to break this negative thought-cycle before I got swept away.

I immediately found some chocolate, took a hot shower, and kissed Vinnie, my dog and go-to source of instant comfort. These 3 things may not solve my problems, but they make me feel better, at least temporarily.

I'm not sure if it was the chocolate, the shower, the Vinnie kiss, or a combination of all 3, but I started thinking of the situation I'm in now, and if I made the best decisions I could have made. And I decided that indeed, absolutely, I did. The two big expenses I've had since February were totally "worth it." One undoubtedly changed my life, "saved" my life in a sense, and the other will greatly improve Vinnie's quality of life. They were no-brainers, as far as making the decision of whether or not to spend the money on these things. The benefits of the first decision have only started showing up in my life, some of which I've written about in blog posts and on Facebook since early February. But even in just this short of a time, it is shaping up to be one of the best decisions I have ever made in my life, if not the very best.

I also considered all of the examples of abundance I have experienced in the past couple months. My life has been so blessed recently, for so many different reasons. New job opportunities presenting themselves, landing right in front of me. New assignments, projects, even house-sitting gigs. Coincidentally (or divinely?), I've been asked by five different people recently if I would house- or dog-sit in the next couple months, and it's not even summertime. There have also been people reaching out to me, caring about me, showing me love and compassion and generosity. Family members helping me with a variety of things, friends randomly making me macaroni and cheese, inviting me to dinner, bringing me cookies, sending me loving emails, including me in events and then purchasing my ticket, letting me know of interesting opportunities, offering assistance before I had the chance to ask, rides to the airport, help with my taxes, thoughtful phone calls, out-of-the-blue messages and demonstrations of love. I have such an abundance of wonderful people in my life... both new connections, like the amazing and inspiring friends I met while I was away and also the recent date I went on, and the fantastic people I've had in my life for a while. If I think about the sheer quantity and quality of love I have in my life from these wonderful souls, I realize I am the richest person in the world.

As I looked at the situation a little differently with less panic and more gratitude, I realized that there is so much "good" in my life. Not just right now, but always. So many gifts, so many opportunities, so many friends and family members who seem to be going out of their way to bring goodness, affection, love, and abundance into my life. It is truly a wonderful thing to witness, and it is funny, comical even, to think for even an instant that I am lacking in any way. It is all going to work out, and not only that, but it is working out. I know that if I had to choose, I wouldn't want any other form of abundance in my life than what I am currently experiencing. I am so incredibly grateful.

Is it all about people?

I'm struggling, albeit happily, with the very wonderful realization that it's all about people, and it's not all about people at the same time.

While I was away, I was forced to face the dependence on people I had developed. In leaving my home, my job, my car and my cell phone behind, I was suddenly cut off from most forms of communication, unable to drive wherever I wanted to meet up with friends, and not being easily accessible in the same way that we all are now with our cell phones in our pockets wherever we go. While it was somewhat nice to have a break from all of the stimulation and instant gratification that Facebook and email provides, it was also really difficult to have this amount of time, 27 days, away from all of my normal forms of comfort: Vinnie, friends, family, connection to the outside world. I'm a connector, and I love being connected with people as much as possible.

I did have God, and having a month away from my closest friends was a great reminder that God is really the primary friend. Capital "F" Friend. It was nice to get reconnected to Him, although I hadn't really felt disconnected. It was just more that I hadn't put enough weight, energy, emphasis, into my relationship with Him. It was a good time to think about my Creator and this life that I have been given, and what is most important.

One thought I had was, "Is it all about people?" My whole life has been centered on people; my friends, my family, what I can do for them to enrich their lives, what they can do for me... I live for people, and after God, there is nothing that is more important to me than the connections I have in my life. Things that I do, choices that I make, sacrifices, employment positions, where I live, what I do with my time, what I spend money on... they all revolve around people. The other things, the actual job or the house or the hobbies, are just secondary, not as important as, not worth as much mental space or time as people.

And since I've been back, I've realized that while it is all about people, it is not about people as well. Weirdly, both are true.

If I were on a deserted island, and all I had was God, I know, somewhere in the center of my heart, that I would be okay. I may get lonely from time to time, I may want to hear something other than my own thoughts or own voice, but I would be okay. Because truly, we are all here in this existence by ourselves. We are surrounded by people all on their own individual journeys, but we have to make it on our own. Make our own decisions, be okay in our own skin, be okay with the life that we have created. And as I realized recently, we have to love ourselves. No matter how many times someone says, "I love you," it doesn't really "click" until we can feel that love for ourselves as well. No one can do it for us. 

We also can't depend on other people. Not because they are not dependable, but because it's not fair to other people to become dependent on them and to have that feeling of neediness in a relationship. We all need things from time to time, and can feel needy, but when it becomes more of a characteristic and a part of our identity than just having a bad day, it is too much. There is a great quote by author and priest Anthony de Mello which says, "Perfect love casts out fear. Where there is love there are no demands, no expectations, no dependency. I do not demand that you make me happy; my happiness does not lie in you.” When we have dependency on other people, we tend to rely on them to make us happy instead of finding that happiness ourselves.

But on the other hand, somehow not contradictorily, it's all about people. We are not all on a deserted island; we are here together. And some of the best glimpses of God I have ever seen have been through my interactions with people. I think about all the ways I experience love even in a single day, and how much love there is in my life, and in the lives of those around me. All of this love, in my opinion, comes from God, as "God is love" (1 John 4:8). 

Jesus said, "‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And ‘Love your neighbor as yourself'" (Matthew 22:37-39). Loving others is second only to loving God. 

So, today I was reflecting on some recent interactions with friends and family, and realizing this wonderful contradiction was rolling around in my mind. It was like realizing that it's all a win-win situation: We don't have to depend on people because we can depend on God, and also, there is so much love all around us, for us, like a gift that keeps overflowing. It was a great moment. 

Now what?

As many of you probably know, I came back from a month-long retreat a couple of weeks ago. It was a hugely transformative time, something that changed my life drastically (and now that I am back in real life, I am happily seeing the changes occur in my every-day feelings, interactions, and routines), and something that seemed to be exactly what I needed. So, now that I'm back, what does this all look like?


I'm kind of figuring this out as I go along. Although the month away was the hardest month of my life, I also knew it was a contained, limited time. And it was a relatively unburdened time; I didn't have the distractions of a job (or several jobs), of taking care of Vinnie, of being tied to my cell phone, of driving several hours and dozens of miles every day, of having to cook and plan a healthy menu every meal. (I mean, not that I do that last one in my normal life, but... I felt especially unburdened by this since someone was feeding me a healthy breakfast and lunch every day and all I had to worry about was dinner.) So, even though it was difficult, it was easy as well; my only requirements were to wake up, eat breakfast, and show up, ready to be real and authentic and vulnerable... Kind of like what I attempt to do in real life. No one asked me to "be" or "feel" anything. I didn't have to wear a mask, or have any expectations placed upon me, except that I show up and be as brave as I can be. It was awesome.


Before I came back home, I realized that I had no idea how I was going to feel once I returned. I had a lot of worries: "What if I lose the sense of peace I've found here?" and "What if things go back to exactly how they were when I left?" and "What if all that I've learned here leaves my mind as soon as I step out these doors?" Each time one of these thoughts would come, I would just take a deep breath and think, "I have no way of knowing until I go home." There was no point in worrying about it, and especially not while I was still on this retreat.


But I didn't need to worry. Each day I had so many revelations and insights, and to think that I could be unaffected by all of this change and progress and growth... Well, that's a silly thought. When something so big, so life-changing, happens, how could things ever go back to being the same? Things will never be the same again, and this is a very good thing.


I don't know if this makes sense, but... I'm completely different, but still Katie. Still weird, quirky, sensitive, intense... but different. I don't know how to describe it. There are definitely no words that come close to how I feel. But just in my own skin, and being with myself, there is a sense of peace. I wrote about this a few weeks ago in my blog entitled, "Loving Ourselves." There is a sense of confidence as well. A type of confidence I don't remember ever having... Actually, scratch that. I think I was pretty confident as an innocent little kid, standing in front of the video camera and making hours and hours of home movies. (I wrote about that in "The World Is Round," in case you have endless time to sit around reading all my blogs.) On a related note, reading the blogs I wrote while on my retreat is kind of surreal. Like I see them as a black and white photograph from the past, but so full of meaning and depth. But back to confidence. I hadn't felt that type of confidence for decades, and now it's back, and I like it!


I was at work today, and had a couple of moments where people talked with me. And something in the way I responded, in the way I smiled at them, felt different. And interacting with people at church, and with my closest friends, and the ways I deal with conflict... Since being home I've already made a couple of big mistakes, and in the past these types of things would eat at me for months, probably years. But somehow, for some reason, I've already forgiven myself for these mistakes. Even though I feel horrible about them, and really wished I hadn't done them, I'm able to be compassionate with myself. Self-compassion, with the gentle reminder that I could have handled something so much better, seems to be such a healthier and more productive way to create change. Who knew? And the voice, the voice of criticism, the negative voice that had been haunting me for decades, seems to have almost vanished. This is amazing. AMAZING. Today I did something ridiculous and heard the former routine criticism, "You are such a stupid idiot." Immediately followed by, "No..." and a sense that that critical voice had no room or relevance with me anymore. And to be honest, that voice hasn't made much of a peep since I left for my retreat, about 6 weeks ago. So I've discovered that not only are my interactions with others different, but my thoughts and treatment of myself are different as well. I like myself! I could spend time with myself and be perfectly happy.


So that's what it all looks like now. I'm sure things will keep progressing and I'll have more insights as I continue on this journey. For now, I'm grateful for what has taken place, and curious and eager as to how it will unfold as time goes on.

The Puzzle

I just got back from a 27-day journey, one that changed my life. I spent a lot of time reading, meditating, praying, talking, pondering, thinking, writing letters, journaling, swimming, and ... doing puzzles... for the first time in probably 5 years. Puzzles were something that my friend Golnar and I used to do all the time together, and so, while I was away from everyone and everything I knew and loved, doing puzzles was a way to feel close to Golnar. And, puzzles are a great way to process things. You can sit there for 3 hours just puzzling away, and your mind is free to think about whatever it wants to. Almost every single night of these 27 days, I would sit down at the coffee table for an hour or 3, and if something was troubling me, or I didn't have an answer to something, I would usually have the answer by the time I stood up again. AND, bonus, the puzzle would be closer to being finished. Finding puzzle pieces that matched was like finding emotional, mental pieces and putting them where they belonged. Truly a wonderful activity.

Okay, but this blog is not overtly about cardboard puzzles. This blog is about the overall picture of my journey, or at least a glimpse of it, and maybe a little bit about the many puzzle pieces of my life. One thing I realized while I was away: Before I left, I was seeking answers in my life, trying to see how all the pieces fit together. Amazingly, I got some answers on this journey. There were many times, probably half a dozen, where I had an amazing revelation about my life. I would just be sitting there thinking, or talking with someone, and something would click in my brain. I would have a life-changing moment where I would see something in a new light, or the missing piece would suddenly appear. So, over the course of 27 days, I had probably 5 or 6 of these major life-changing moments, and these were all interspersed with smaller revelations, things that maybe were not as life-changing, but still pretty amazing. Every day was like this amazing gift, full of new ideas and conversations and people and solutions and revelations, great and small.

And I also realized while I was away that even though in my 31 years of life so far, when I often felt lost, frustrated, even hopeless, I was still always seeking. Even when it looked like I had given up or was going about it all the wrong way, deep down I was looking for the right answer. I wasn't sure how to go about it, what the right answer was, but I was always trying different things and trying to find the best way. And somehow, even the backward steps led to forward progress, eventually. But how much easier it is when we can move forward to go forward, and not do things in such a roundabout way.

I think life is this giant puzzle, for each of us, that we have to solve during our years here. We may not ever get all the answers. We may find that we have some missing pieces, and while we ourselves are whole and complete beings, there may be aspects of our lives that still confuse us or remain a mystery. But for the things that we can find clarity on, it is our responsibility to do so. We have a responsibility to ourselves, of course. But also to others, as we interact with those around us and we want to offer ourselves to them at our very best, with as many of the pieces completed as we can. This doesn't mean we have to be perfect before we can interact with others, but just that we are giving the best of ourselves to our loved ones. And we also have a responsibility to God. We are asked to seek God, to seek Jesus, numerous times throughout the bible. Life is one big puzzle that we never stop working on, in which we never stop trying to gain greater clarity. Otherwise, what is our purpose here if we stop seeking answers?

I am grateful that during this time away, I felt like I put more pieces of my life together than I have ever done in such a concentrated amount of time. There are still so many pieces and mysteries that I can continue to solve (I mean, come on, I'm only 31), but I am so grateful for what was done in my life the past month. Thank God.

How much we love

Love. It's probably my favorite topic, and here is yet another blog post about it.


I think about the people in my life and how much I love them. And I was wondering today if I love everyone the same. And not just the family and friends that I have, but people I come into contact with on a daily basis. Acquaintances, people at the supermarket, librarians, my boss and coworkers. Even people I pass on the street whom I've never seen before. People I read about in the newspaper. (Okay, who am I kidding. Who reads the paper anymore? But online.)


And the reason I thought about this is because of the concept of God as love. At my church, in big letters front and center, it reads, "God is Love." These 2 concepts have lots of similarities, but the one I am thinking of is this: I don't know if I can quantify love, just as I can't quantify God. If I say I love someone, can I quantify that? Can I compare it to how much I love someone else, if love is truly God?


We all have relationships in our lives, and we give these relationships different priorities and different weights. For me, there are friends and family members whom I tend to talk with more, seek out, spend more time with, for a variety of different reasons. We have a good connection, we make each other laugh, we have common interests or activities, I may trust them more than anyone else in my life, I feel more affection towards them than towards others.


But I don't know if I love them more than I love others, because love is this universal gift that we get from God, and hopefully from those around us. But even if we don't have much human love in our lives, there is still so much love out there for us; from God, from our pets and animals, from nature. And that is love that we don't even have to work for to obtain. It is a free gift, ours if we will accept it, and even if we won't accept it. But we can embrace it if we choose.


So I guess if we look at love this way, it becomes more difficult to quantify. It's a constant, an immeasurable concept, a wonderful gift.

Loving Ourselves

I had a major revelation today. Life-changing. I know I say this quite a bit, but at this season of my life, I'm having a lot of life-changing things happening. Life-changing thoughts, revelations, conversations. Anyway, the revelation was:

I love myself. Wait, let me say it again, this time with feeling.

I LOVE MYSELF.   

Do you all love yourselves? I hope so. For me, this was a new feeling, so new and amazing and wonderful that I had to rush to a computer (not an easy task on this journey I'm on) and blog about it.

I'm not sure I've felt love for myself before, in the way that I experienced today. Sure, I have intellectually loved myself before; I have looked at myself objectively, asked myself if I would be friends with myself if I happened to meet "Katie Brotten" in a class or at church or through a mutual friend. Yes, I probably would become friends with myself. I have thought about things I've done in my life, to see if I'm proud of those things. Yes, I'm proud of those things. I think about certain qualities I have that I'm happy about. I love those qualities, and so can connect the dots and feel love for myself because of those qualities. I looked at things I've gone through and tried to see myself as the kid that I was at the time I went through those things, and felt love for that 5-year-old or that 10-year-old, even 23-year-old, 31-year-old. Yes, I can love that person who went through those things. I feel compassion for her, I feel a sort of protectiveness over her. Sure, I love her. I love myself. Why not?

These are all important things, but what I felt today was different. It wasn't based on what I have accomplished or what I went through. It wasn't based on if I was, by my standard, a "good enough" person to be loved (because, everyone is good enough to be loved, by people, by their dog, by God... there is not 1 person who isn't loved by God, and loved immensely and unconditionally by God), or by whether or not I was worthy of being my own friend. It wasn't based on any of these outside factors. I just felt, somewhere in my soul, in my body, in my mind, in my heart, that I loved myself. I started smiling, and I felt such a wonderful sense of peace.

The funny thing was, this all came about as I was talking about things I didn't like about myself. I was talking with a group of wonderful people I have met on my journey, and we were talking about the things in our lives that bring us feelings of guilt, or even of shame. The parts of ourselves that we don't like to talk about or share with anyone, because we think, "How could I be like that? How could I have done that, said that, acted that way?" And somehow, in the midst of this conversation, I suddenly felt so much love for myself.

We all have areas in our lives we would like to improve upon. Aspects of our personality, flaws in our character, our perspective and the way we view the world around us, things that we allow ourselves to do or say that may not be the best... This is kind of why we are here in this life, to become our best, to grow and progress and be more like who we want (or who God wants us) to be. This is a journey that we are all on, a lifetime worth of work. This is my perspective, anyway, my view on the purpose of life. I am going to continually learn and grow and progress, and never say to myself, "Okay, I've done it. I have no more room to grow as a person." I want to be open to ideas of improvement, open to change, for my entire life. That feels like success to me.

And I can love myself the entire time. I don't have to start loving myself only when I have reached this benchmark, or this milestone, or have ironed out this particular flaw that I see in my character. I not only "can" love myself, but I "do" love myself, and when I felt that today, maybe for the first time ever, I felt joy. And I felt so much love. It just washed over me. I saw myself as a person with flaws, with funny little quirks that so often seem annoying and frustrating and even horrible. I saw myself as someone who is always searching and seeking, open to new ideas, open to improvement. I saw someone who made mistakes, who will probably continue to make mistakes, and somehow, I love myself even with those mistakes. And maybe, as weird as this sounds, because of those mistakes. Because I could see them, because I was acknowledging them, and because I was seeing what I could do to not make those mistakes again. It was like the pressure was off; I'm human and make all sorts of mistakes, and yet I am loved and lovable, and love myself. I am trying my best in all sorts of situations, I sometimes stumble, I sometimes do incredibly ridiculous/stupid/needy/irritating things, and yet... love. I think another thing that happened today, and I'm only realizing it now as I'm writing, was that I forgave myself for mistakes I've made. It was love and forgiveness all together, and it was awesome.

I am trying to explain what happened for the sake of communication, but more than what I have written, it was just a feeling. It seems silly to try to intellectualize it now, because how can we intellectualize a feeling? Love usually is just a feeling, after all. How many of us can say, "Well, I love him because of these 17 reasons and that's it," or, "My love for her is at about an 89%; not enough to get married, but getting close." We love because we love; there is not some formula or reasoning involved. It's just love.

It's been said that we have a greater capacity to give love when we love ourselves. It's also been said that we can understand other people's love of us when we love ourselves. I am so grateful for today, and for this revelation. God is good. And God is also love.

Our Perception of God

Recently I heard something interesting about our perception of God. I can't remember exactly who came up with this concept, but... it was either a theologian or a psychologist (meaning, I didn't just overhear a couple of people pontificating at the bus stop. Not that good, valid ideas can't come out of that scenario too, of course).

The concept was that our perception of God comes from the primary caregiver we had as a child. They were our first exposure to authority, to someone who cared for us (or was supposed to care for us), to someone who loved us (or, again, was supposed to love us).

This made me think about all the different types of caregivers people have while they are children, and the ramifications of these different caregivers on our perception of God. What if we had a caregiver who neglected us? They may have been the primary caregiver, but maybe they left us alone for hours, days at a time, and weren't really present in our lives. Maybe we would think that God was absent and wasn't really there when we needed Him. Or what if our caregiver was harsh or strict with our behavior, or unforgiving of our shortcomings, and seemed to have conditions placed upon their love for us? In the bible we read that God is forgiving and loves us unconditionally, but I wondered if that would not be the way we would perceive Him if we had not yet experienced unconditional love from our parents. However, if our parents were warm, gentle, forgiving, tender, affectionate, and always there when we needed them, we may have a similar view of God. And if we find that we had some negative experiences with our primary caregiver, but yet feel that God has a different identity or role in our life, I wonder how much effort it would take to change our view of Him into the one that is presented in the bible.

As I thought about this more, I realized that I had another perception of God, separate from the aspect of the primary caregiver. I realized that I have always considered God as a male, having a masculine identity as opposed to having no gender, or being neutral, or being feminine. In my life, I connect emotionally, socially, and intellectually with both males and females, but tend to have connections with more females than males. Maybe this is normal for all females, but I always attributed it to the fact that I am gay. I have a bunch of female friends, I have a bunch of male friends, but if I were to split it up in percentages, my female friends constitute 90% of my friendships. I was wondering today why I have always associated God with the male gender. Maybe just because He is almost always represented in the bible with the male pronoun, but even as I realize that now, intellectually, He still seems like a male in my mind. I wonder if anything would change in my relationship with Him if I started focusing on him being gender neutral or having a feminine identity.

These are all kind of half-thought out ideas. If you've made it this far, thanks. :) I'll have to develop this a bit further.

The World is Round

Had a conversation today with someone that was life-changing. I was asked what I was like as a child, and I immediately thought of the hours upon hours of home videos my grandparents have in their house of me just... talking. At 7, 8, 9 years old, I would just sit in front of the camera and talk animatedly, sing songs, interview my 2-year-old brother as if I were a talk show host... just anything I could think of so I could be a chatterbox and talk non-stop for hours at a time.

 

Then I started wondering what happened to that animated person, that girl who would sing off-key and laugh and make up stories, who would tell jokes to the camera woman (hi grandma!) and pull my brother away from his G.I. Joes so I could re-create our own personal Oprah Winfrey show. (I know, the resemblance is striking.) There was such life there, such innocence and purity, and so much energy that kids are known to have. And I ran with that energy; I was off the walls. No wonder my parents signed me up for every available sport; they probably just wanted me to expend enough energy so I would stop talking for half a minute.

 

As I continued in conversation with the person who asked about my young self, I realized I had held onto something for 20 years or so that I had never expressed out loud. It was a negative event in my life, something that someone said to me that really hurt me. Sure, I'd written it down, I'd journaled about it and probably even written about it to a friend, but I had never been able to say it out loud. There was so much shame involved, and embarrassment, and pain, and for these reasons I could never audibly say it. But today, in this conversation, she urged me to say it. Because in saying it, she explained, I could shed light on the lie that it was and expose it to daylight, expose it to the truth.

 

For example, let's say that when you're 5 years old your uncle tells you that the world is flat. You are just in kindergarten and so you believe them, not having any other influences or facts. They repeat this fact to you for years, and even when you learn in school that the earth is round, you always sort of question if it really is round. In the back of your head, you think, "But my uncle said the earth was flat, and he seemed so certain, so..." And because of these differences of opinion, you never voice what your uncle said. Maybe you're afraid he was wrong and you don't want to expose his ignorance. Maybe you are embarrassed that you are related to someone who believes something so ludicrous. Maybe you're afraid the rest of the world is wrong, and if you tell people what your uncle said, they will suddenly realize he was right, and it will cause your whole world (literally and figuratively) to come crashing down. You don't want to believe your uncle, but why would he tell you that over and over again if it wasn't true?

 

So there I was today, being encouraged to voice something and expose the lie for what it was. After thinking about it for 5 minutes, feeling my heart beat faster, my palms become sweaty, feeling a bit dizzy, seeing spots, and literally thinking I was going to fall out of my chair, I just said it. And guess what? The world didn't come crashing down. I repeated something that someone had said that I'd been hanging onto for 20 years, and as soon as I said it, I realized how ridiculous it was. It didn't even make sense. When shown the light of day, its validity and power over me vanished. And it vanished itself. And at 31 years old, I could have felt sheepish for having such a physical reaction to saying a few words, but when I put myself in the shoes of my childhood Katie, the fear and embarrassment suddenly didn't seem so silly.

 

And then I immediately felt exhausted and wanted to cry, and realized that when you hang on to something for 20 years and longer, it can be an exhausting process to finally release it. But you also feel so much lighter.

 

 

Learning a lot on my journey. These 10 days have been, hands down, the hardest days of my life, but they have also been some of the best, most enlightened, exciting, and most inspired days as well. Funny how sometimes those go together. 

I'm realizing that it's okay to be human, it's okay to make mistakes, and it's okay to try again and again on some things. We are all here to learn, to love, to live in the best way that we can, but we also have the obligation to continue to improve ourselves and our situations. So far this journey has been a wonderful time away, as it takes me away from all the things I use to not think about the really important things, the things in my life that need attention: God, reflection, prayer, mindfulness, bringing more gratitude into my life, getting more tuned in to my emotions and why I do things, increasing my joy, thinking about the ways I want to be better as a person and bring more energy to my life and my relationships. It's amazing what one can do inwardly when they decide to take some time away from the things that tend to numb our emotions. For me, that's a variety of things, but mostly an overabundance of sugar, my phone, and Facebook, all of which have been non-existent or almost non-existent these past 10 days. I guess that's what the journey was all about for me, just going somewhere or getting to a place where I could spend time away from the emotion-numbers, have to face my feelings and face my life. And today was definitely a day of facing my fears, feeling the emotions, and bringing some truth to a place that needs healing. Because the world is in fact round, and it's about time I cleared up that major misunderstanding.