Lent. This one's a doozy.

My lovely passengers!

I haven't posted in a long time. A lot of that had to do with the level of busy I've been putting up with. But honestly, I just haven't had much significant to say, and I didn't want to write just to be writing something. And I'm baaack. :)
This is the Lenten Season. Beginning tomorrow, I'll be making a few changes. As most of you know, I'm not religious, but I consider myself a deeply spiritual person. Lent for me is a blessing to myself--to make my life better. Our holidays are set up in genius chronology. It's freezing at Christmas and we need something to cheer us up. PRESENTS! New Year's resolutions come first, and right as we begin to give up on those--LENT! It's really brilliant. Here's my plan:

Moo.

1. I'm going to end my involvement with animal cruelty. This begins with no more killing bugs. I will collect them and take them outside. And the big one: I'm going to do a lot of research to make sure I can do this healthily and put myself on a diet plan. I'm going to give up dairy. I already don't eat most meat, but I'm going to give up fish as well. (This means I'm giving up my opportunity to eat Wendy's fish. If you don't know how much of a sacrifice that is, then you should probably try it for yourself. It's only out this season.) No dairy. No meat. No gelatin. Yup. You know what that means: vegan. I'm kind of scared, but it's only for 40 days. It means I'm going to have to really pay attention to what goes into my mouth, which is something I should have been doing anyway. Lately I've really looked into animal cruelty in our nation, and it's truly despicable. And we are trapped in this system. The only meat most of us can afford comes from those factory farms, and it's chemically and hormonally treated--it's barely meat anymore. I've also given up (as far as I know) animal-tested products. If you know of any let me know, pretty please. I really want to eliminate that from my life. I know I deserve better, and so do they.

2. I'm going to treat my body better. In accordance with #1, I'm going to eat better. But I will also work out. Every. Day. I feel like this is ultimately impossible. I really do. But I have a sneaky suspicion that if I told myself it was possible, then it would happen. If have to drag my own ass out of bed at 7:00 to make it happen, then that's what I'm going to do. I will do what I need to in order to make a positive change to my body. I can do this. I know I can. And so I will. But I have a reason. I want to be better.

3. I'm going to journal daily. I started this a while ago, but I've been getting lazy. But if I'm getting up early enough to work out, then I should certainly be up early enough to journal every day. My journal entries always answer 5 questions. 1) What will I do for myself today? 2) What will I do for someone else? 3) What am I most excited for? 4)What am I most anxious about? 5) What am I thankful for. At night, I go back, and if my anxiety was unwarranted, I highlight it to keep track of how often I fret needlessly. This forces me to start my day off on a positive note. On that vein, I'm going to blog each of these 40 days. Every day I'll post how I answered my five questions, and I'll keep you updated on my progress including lists and pictures of my meals. That will keep me accountable, and help anyone else who's considering a more ethically-oriented diet. *wink wink*


This is different than giving up cussing or chocolate. This is a change I require of myself. So! In the comments tell me what you're giving up (or adding to your life positively) for Lent! I'd also like suggestions for a vegan diet and (again) if you know of any animal-tested products I may be using.

Maddie writes conversationally? ;)

It's been a while and I'm real sorry about that. I've been doing more reading than writing. I seem to cycle that way. When I really write I need to be feeling terribly antisocial so I can hole up in some corner. (Today that is an empty Union Board office.) But when I read I fill my brain with new and exciting ideas to share with you.

New Glasses

Today I woke up early to get ready. I have new glasses by the way! So I was up, and I was singing, because I like to sound less like a diesel truck on a gravel road when I open my mouth to someone else. Lately I've been singing "The Parting Glass" by The Wailin' Jennys. Suggested by Ellen, a camp friend. I want to bring it together for something. For what? I'm not sure. But I miss performing. I want to sing.

And as I was singing by myself, wishing for someone to sing the alto part, I realized I was pretty content by myself right then. This doesn't seem like a big revelation, but it is for me. I've always been an extreme extrovert; at least I thought I was. I'm starting to question that. I think I'm more of a talking machine and I'm an external processor. My own insecurities have called me to question myself constantly. Are these shoes cool? Would someone be offended if I tweeted this? Is this too dorky? I needed someone to reassure me. For the longest time I never let anyone read my writing.

But being the external processor I was, I still wrote it like I was talking to someone. I know, Maddie writes conversationally?! What?! Anyway, the older I've gotten, the less fucks I've given, and the less company has been a necessity.  I talk to myself a little more deeply. I've been too afraid to consider my own personality, my uniqueness, and my interpersonal skills (they're often awkward at best). And the more I accept them, the less I really need company. I keep company because I'm interested in people, but that creates a completely different dynamic in my friendships. I don't need friends to talk to; I need friends to talk to me. I've been reading, because I need books to talk to me. I need to find myself in books. They're the best friends.

And this semester has been kind to my new-found sensibilities. My homework is reading. Reading, reading, reading. And I do some on my own, because I'm learning so much about humanity. They're things I need to know about why people get their hearts broken, and why bad things happen to good people. And I suppose no one really knows. No one has the answers, but everyone has ideas, and these ideas make me feel less alone in my quest for understanding.

Being alone doesn't make me scared anymore. I'm never really alone. I'm not alone if I have a book. I'm never alone if I have myself, because there are certainly things I've haven't learned about me yet, and that is just as important as the knowledge I have gained from my friends.

Peace.

I can't fix this world, but if I'm dying anyway, then I will die trying.

After the shooting in Connecticut, I didn't want to post hastily about gun control and mental health and the shallowness of people on Facebook and Twitter about the whole tragedy. I didn't want to write insensitively about something so painful, so real when the child who is most precious to me is in kindergarten now. I didn't want to write with a reactive vendetta for all the wrongs in this world. I've done that before, and there are consequences for thoughtlessness. But I've had time to sort through those feelings, and I'm as ready as I'll ever be to speak about it.

Tanglewood Press has made a really beautiful statement with the help of a Connecticut mom and Audrey Penn. Go to the link to be a part of that.
That whole project inspired me from speechless disbelief to hopeful action. The only way to confront Evil is the produce Good. "Be the change you want to see in the world," right? But I feel only a hate that I don't even try to drive away when those bastards at Westboro Baptist capitalize on people's pain. But the public support gathered to block their idiot cries trying to make their statement of hate gave me hope. Hope has been in short supply lately. (Quite literally, as the One Hope United employees will tell you. My mom collects hope trinkets and ornaments that are only sold this time of year among peace and love items. But for some reason, in cruel irony, the have been nearly impossible to find this year.)

But I found it.

I've looked to the things that make me feel better. I paid for the guy behind me in the drive-thru at Starbucks today--a guy in a piece of shit car, smoking a cigarette, and petting a cat sitting on the console. That made me feel better. Being a part of giving those kids at One Hope the best fucking Christmas of their lives... that made me feel better. It's not that I'm a saint or anything. I'm doing this to prove to myself that enough Good will drive out Evil. The generosity of those who donated to One Hope brought on a regular flood of tears. It's as if those people were doing what I was doing--they were proving to themselves that the world doesn't suck. The world has been acting shitty lately, you know? But even with the lack of hope, in the way that I sought hope, so have so many others. Among Mom's gifts from coworkers, hope was bountiful. It was nearly, but not quite impossible to find.

That's my sweater, bitch ;)

When a mom smacks her kid in Wal Mart, Kayla is tickling the piss out of Julian. For every child (and parent) at Sandy Hook, The Kissing Hand will provide much needed comfort. There is plenty of Evil in the world. Plenty, plenty. But there are good, good people. And we can make a difference. You don't have to save all the starving children in Africa to do that, though. You can just wrap presents for kids who don't have a family to spend the holiday with. You can help out at a soup kitchen (props to Noah), and you can forgive that dude that cut you off on your way to work.

I just read John Green's The Fault in Our Stars (you can stop judging me for dropping the ball on reading. I'm catching up, okay?) and I finished it in a night. I stayed up past my self-designated bedtime to finish it, sobbing alone in my room. The world is trying to prove its fragility to me. Hazel Grace is telling me, Connecticut is telling me, Hurricane Sandy is telling me... You can't turn on the television (something I gave up a long time ago) without those images forcing themselves into your conscious. The Fault in Our Stars hit me hard, probably because I'm already in an estrogen-induced, emotional break down, but it knocked me on my ass. Hazel is me if I were dying. Which, she would point out, I am. But if I was made more aware of my dying, I think I would be a lot like Hazel. Or maybe I have a flawed view of myself--I tend to judge others more accurately than myself. But in her voice I heard myself. Fragility. That's the word ringing in my head. I'm living a very fragile life. There's only a few cancerous tumors between Hazel Grace and I. There's only a few states between my precious babies and Sandy Hook. I can't fix this world, but if I'm dying anyway, then I will die trying.

Justin Bieber Overrated and Exploited

I have plenty of problems with popular music. It's fine for dance music, I think, but I cannot take it seriously. There are musicians who know how to read music and don't need complicated equipment to cover their inability to carry a tune. Those musicians can't get ahead because our music industry is shallow. It's unfair, and that's what bothers me.

So I'm not a Bieber fan. He's not as horrible as some say. But he's certainly not worth his popularity level either. I just watched a special on Justin and his mom on television (another reason this shit is terrible for us). He was serenading her (dripping with cheese), and he got so sharp he changed key. Jesus Christ. How do people like this get famous for their "talent?" *sex, cough cough* He's an attractive kid. Girls freak out (in utterly irrational and creepy ways) about him. They're selling his sex appeal, whether or not people realize they're buying into it.

So, on this show, they were focusing on the trials his mother had faced in her childhood. When I still watched TV (took it seriously, at least) I would have found it a very moving program. She was molested, she was an addict, she attempted suicide, she became pregnant with Justin when she was a teenager, yadda yadda. First issue: They turned it into an issue of pro-life/pro-choice. She was encouraged to abort Justin and chose not to, and now he's such a big deal. I think it's pretty clear that I'm pro-choice (just look at the rest of this blog). I was offended that they used her heartache as a conservative promo.

I'm sure this woman was encouraged to give all this up. At one point in my life, I would have said she was an advocate. She was telling young people that you can come out of addiction, and to get help after sexual abuse... but now I know better. Justin Bieber's mom isn't going to make our youth feel better about their own heartaches. Justin's music is becoming more serious as his PR people are trying to convince the public he isn't still 14 (even if he looks it), because songs like Baby are already getting old. His fans are growing up. And just as his music is attempting a more mature feel, they're trying to do the same with his personal life. They're going to do anything to push that new image, including exploiting his mother's past (or lying about it).

Justin didn't do such a good job on the program. His singing was only the beginning. He was clearly uncomfortable being present for his mother discussing her history of sexual abuse, and the thought of aborting the child that now sat next to her. When the subject of her suicide attempt arose, he said, "everyone makes mistakes." Is there not a more politically correct response? How about, "I'm so happy she's here now. She means the world to me." or "I know my mom had a lot going on, and I'm so inspired by her ability to turn her life around." Not... it was a mistake. I guess we all do that. What the hell, bro? Aren't you coached better than this? Or perhaps they shouldn't have subjected the poor kid to that horribly uncomfortable situation in the first place.

I don't read magazines for the same reason. I don't care what anyone says about someone famous. I don't know them personally, so I don't care if they broke up with their boyfriend, or if they're pregnant, or anything really. Not unless someone endorses something I believe in or has a performance that speaks to me will I be interested in that person as an individual. And I sure as hell won't use television or magazines to gather the information I'm seeking.

The exploitation of our big "stars," is disgusting. It's unfair to them. That environment cannot be healthy, which is why we end up with girls like Lindsay Lohan--she is a product of our sick fascination. I won't be surprised when Bieber comes out the same way. We've created this world in which we admire images of famous people who have been edited to look a specific way, and have resources to trainers and dietitians that most of us don't have. We want to be them... and then we make jokes of the people we once admired--the ones who have broken. And we take pleasure from it. Because when someone we're jealous of fails, it feels good. We celebrate their successes, just as we make comedy of their downfalls. Check yourself, people.

Allegory of the Song

If a song had been playing in your head since the development of reasonable thought—taught thought—and it followed you everywhere, would you feel free when you heard it, or trapped? It seems like the same 5 or so different songs play in everyone’s heads, and even though the lyrics are written down, no one agrees on the words. You yourself had your own lyrics, because those that were written down did not speak to you. We are all so different. It seems odd that the same song would appeal to all of us; and it doesn’t! That explains all the adaptions and arrangements of the original texts.

Although the originals of these songs songs are similar in certain ways, the melodies are so, so different, that they cannot be played all at the same time—chaos. Those with exceptionally flexible (and disillusioned) personalities can play them all at once. But those who hold too closely to their own music, cannot do this. That is most people.

Most People

At different times in your life, the words were louder than others. There were times you found comfort in the words, and others that the words only confused you. You didn’t know how to turn it off (if you’d even know that to be an option), and the lyrics didn’t always fit in your alto line. You only picked the important ones. But then you met some people without the music. You didn’t even know that existed away from darkness and emptiness. But these people were writing their own lyrics, to their own tunes.

Sometimes they lined up with one another, and sometimes they didn’t, but it didn’t really matter. The point was, they were writing their own songs, and they were beautiful. They didn’t have to make beauty out of an original piece that wasn’t that good in the first place.
It didn’t take long for the song to disappear from your own mind. For a while there was blackness, but quickly you began to compose your own symphony of purpose and ethics.

The first song: Did you lose it? Or did you leave it behind?

Lost or Left

On Compassion, Self Love, and Roadkill

The air smells of pleasant decay—the pleasant smell of dying trees. I often say road kill smells good. I get looks. It’s not that I want to bottle it and replace my Chanel, no. I just acknowledge the inevitability of death. I don’t think it’s gross. It doesn’t even make me that sad anymore (although I still hold a soft spot for cats), because that animal meant nothing to me in its life, and it doesn’t mean anything to me in its death. That comes up often in my mind. 9/11 was no exception to my confusion. So, distorted faces and that quickly drawn air held tightly in our lungs comes from… nothing real. Breathe it in. I breathe that body in the same way I take in the smell of drying leaves. Neither could have lived forever, and that would be an exhausting life indeed.

Roadkill

 I have to remind myself constantly that much of what I “hate,” or “dislike,” or “find unattractive,” is culturally instilled and doesn’t much reflect the way I really feel. Culture is inescapable—we are influenced by where we come from and who has ever meant anything to us. That is part of what makes all of us so interesting. There is a culture within my household that can never be replicated anywhere. That’s brilliant. But yet: I find that I’m getting to a point in my life in which the harm of value judgments is becoming apparent. Just as culture is inescapable, so is judgment. But for years I used that as an excuse for being an insecure bitch. (I was pretty normal in that regard.) That insecurity was masked by my ability to focus the attention on someone else; on someone with pants that are too tight, or someone who is awkward, or even someone who is unkind to others. That’s an interesting concept. Two wrongs, eh?

 Judgment isn’t all that inescapable—it’s just really fucking hard. It’s that hard for three reasons, I think. 1) I do it all the time, and it’s hard to catch. 2) I’m mortified at how often I do it. 3) I force myself to consider why I was thinking or saying that—about others or myself.

I’d say number three is the hardest. It’s exhausting to delve into my insecurities all the time. It’s exhausting to figure out where they come from. And more than exhausting it’s painful.

I’m trying really hard. It’s going to make me a better, happier person. Just like deciding road kill doesn’t actually smell that bad and daddy longlegs are acceptable snacks, and that I should not be sad for the loss of someone I don’t know; most of the parts of our world that we think are bad, are not a big deal, and we'd be happier if we stopped hating. I assert that everyone is good. Every single person is good. Everyone does bad things. Sometimes those bad things are unforgiveable—that’s the nature of human relationships: feelings get hurt. But behind those bad things are feelings of inadequacy or pain. You can’t tell me that in a moment of sadness you’ve never lashed out at someone. Sometimes that’s all I ever see of someone. That happens to all of us. We have one interaction with someone, and it was bad—so we assume we don’t like them, right? And it’s not that I pity them. I don’t pity my “enemies.” I just acknowledge their goodness. I’d want someone to do the same for me.

I hate what religion does to people oftentimes. I hate that the goodness of a person is masked by the hate they’ve been taught. And you know what? That is a lot bigger than ignorance. There are things I know nothing about, that I’m ignorant to, but because compassion is already within us, I can be kind to them. Ignorance isn’t the problem—it’s learning the wrong thing. And still. I don’t pity those people. I will still be kind to them, as hard as it is for me. I will be kind to the goodness in them, and as it arises, I will be honest about my distaste for what I know is incorrect in them. Hate is taught.

Lately this has been on my mind. Actually, it’s on my mind all the time, because apparently I am ruthless in there. And I wanted to share it. I know I talk about this a lot in a lot of different ways. But it took a few different takes for me to finally understand what it means to be compassionate. And I’ve made it clear that I believe we all have it in us. Based on your culture of home, it’s harder for some to get there, but I know it’s possible. And compassion towards others and yourself is the only way to learn to love yourself. The only way. I repeat that statement with an emphasis I can’t give you with the written word.

Love the shit out of yourself. Look (really, really hard if necessary) for the good in others. Tell that voice that tells you that you look fat in that dress you love to shut the hell up. Because you know that hearing it from someone else does nothing. You have to believe it yourself. I just talked to Sara about this, which is why I decided to make a post. I think Sara and I are kicking our own asses, and one another’s. Let me know if you want in on the love.

I think that...

school from k-12 should be more like camp. The classes would be way smaller, or they would rotate early on. The teachers would start with staff training, and they would learn to love one another as family. The teachers should eat lunch with their students--on occasion offering to sit outside at a picnic table. The students should be allowed to chew gum, and stand up while they're doing their homework if that pleases them. The teacher would get to know each student on a personal basis. They would know the names of the child's pets. They would be able to point out a bully early on. They would play with them at recess. Class can be as fun as rock wall climbing, or canoeing... but it isn't to most kids.  They spend seven hours a day there.
But that's in a perfect world.

Me after an all-nighter, writing a paper for Psychology.

"Setzen Sie fort, die offenen Fenster zu passieren"

or Keep passing the open windows. That's where my blog title came from. I also may get it as a tattoo... someday. In typewriter print. On my side. It's just perfect. It's the perfect metaphor.

JUST LAUGH FOR THE SAKE OF PETE!

HAHAHAHAH! Get it??

I obviously can't maintain my "Love a Day" while I'm at camp as I'm completely without Internet. But I can promise to post one when it's available to me. So here goes: I love life exactly as it is. There are things I want to change, and so I do it. There are things beyond my power, and I struggle to accept that. But if I were to allow everything that makes me sad hold my attention in ways that are unproductive, then I have lost purpose. I will choose ways to make my life and the lives around me better. That is my definition of purpose, I think. And so I choose to find things that used to make me nervous, funny. There is certainly more humor in life than we give it credit for.

Knocked-over orange barrels can make you nervous, or they can make you giggle. Soaking yourself by accident with your garden hose can piss you off, or give you an excuse to smile. We always say, "you'll look back on that and laugh." And it's true. Those silly, embarrassing, and near-mishaps will be funny in a few days, weeks, months... years? We can laugh at them. But... but... why wait? What the hell people?! Imagine how much grief you'd save yourself if you accepted the wisdom you can already acknowledge your future self will posses. This is where this philosophy gets tricky, so Imma break it down.

You do something ridiculous.

You freak out.

You know that you'll find it funny in time.

Looking back on it...

But you choose to leave the laughing to your future self.

But two seconds post any embarrassing moment makes it history. If you know it's going to be funny to a wiser you, then you already posses the wisdom necessary to laugh it off. Right? It's so easy to panic when your car starts to sound its own panic alarm, but it's a hell of a lot easier to laugh at it. Laugh louder than that horn! Go for it! Because you cannot let a damned car horn ruin your vacation! You just can't. Enough crap in this world will bring you down. You don't need to sweat the small stuff. I know I'm not the first person to say that. But it's more than brushing silly things off your shoulder. It's about allowing yourself to fall in love with it.

Someone calls you a mean name. What's the real meaning of that name? Our choice of curse words is absolutely hysterical. Someone calls you fat? Why? Why did they feel the need to waste their breath telling you something you already know (and have accepted as the beautiful you, yeah?)?  Shoot. They got more mess in their brain than you do. Someone calls you a bitch? Female dog. Don't tell me that isn't funny. And who doesn't love dogs? When someone says it, picture yourself as a schnauzer or yorkiepoo. Those are precious. I can say that because I own those two. When I was little, my mom told me I could be anything when I grew up. Before I'd considered the unlikelihood of my dreams, I wanted to be a dog when I grew up (specifically with a good home and fur that's easy to brush). I wanted to be a bitch when I grew up.

That last paragraph got kind of out of hand. but I think my point is clear. There are things that are out of our control. There are things that will break your heart. But an orange barrel shouldn't be one of those things. All of you. Right now. Take a deep breath, and when you let it out, just laugh your ass off. Laugh so hard you start to cry. Start to think of everything that's ever made you laugh hard enough to pee on your camp cabin floor. READYSETGO!

Lessons from Campers and Things I Love

socks.

This is it. I'm about to finish packing up and go to camp! I'm going through the motions: finishing laundry, finding my hiking boots, panicking about my camera... all the things necessary to get on that winding road that leads me to those red doors and bathhouse steps. Soon, that lanyard hanging on my key hook, will be more than rustic decoration. Soon it will mean authority, and responsibility. It will mean love and patience. It will mean all those things it means to me as a nine year-old girl--except that it is mine.

Blogging. At camp, I'm hoping to blog at least twice a week. I don't know when or how that's going to occur, but I know that it will. I say at least, because I know that every week, I'll have a post with these titles:
Lessons from Campers
and
Things I Love

I really believe we have a lot to learn from children. I've always heard that, but it always meant less to me than when I discovered that to be true for myself. I have learned some really brilliant things from my campers, from age 8-14. They never cease to impress me with their insight and to remind me what it is to be good. They see things so black and white. And I, sadly, have grown past that. I live in a world of greys that cannot be defined by a simple good and evil. But sometimes that black and white thinking is far wiser than my complicated color wheel of storm clouds. Because I really believe everyone is good at heart. I believe everyone wants to do their best, and with love--always love--they can figure out what their best is, and they can be that.

So I want to record those lessons I learn. Sometimes they'll be funny, I think. No one who works with children can keep from laughing--unless they're pretty awful with children.

I also want to write about things I love. Because in the natural world there is plenty to love, and I need to remind myself of that. The trees, the cabins, the creek, the people... they all play a part in what is an undeniably positive experience. I love that world. In part, I'm telling you how much I love it because I want to share it with you. I want you to live vicariously through me, or better yet, to feel inspired to see those things you love in your own life--because I can assure you there are plenty. But I also want to make habit of it. It's so easy to find what I love at camp because my time there is fleeting. Because the entire community services children and their happiness. Because I am in nature and among those who respect it. But my life here, in the real world, isn't so bad either. The theory: if I begin to look for and define the things I love, then I will continue to do it once I've left. Who knows if I'll keep defining it on my blog, but that's not really the point. I just want to force myself to notice what makes my life a construct of love.

In comments I'd love for you to tell me things you love about your life. I want to know that I've made you search; to open your eyes. (Also, I really just want comments.) Also, tell me the funny, or insightful things you hear kids say every day. Those of you who are surrounded by kids know what I mean. Bless me with those lessons.

Deciding to Be Happy

It's that easy really. It's no different than deciding to wear flats as opposed to flip flops or to read instead of play video games. We spend a lot of time convincing ourselves that emotion is a matter of conditions and that God helps us to find happiness. Only through Him can we find true happiness. And I believed that. I really did. I thought spirituality and fixing everything in my life would make me happy. So I tried to always get things right. I tried to get everything done all the time on time, I tried to be on-time everywhere I went, I tried to make everyone happy, I tried to be perfect.

Now I call bull shit.

Happiness came from within me. It was just a realization. I cannot base it on God; because of that I'm uncertain. I need something a little more substantial. The God that could make me happy was also the God that put me in a position in which I felt the pain for which I was asking relief. That was too complex a circular argument for me to really see the light at the end of the tunnel.

And perfection? It's impossible. The people I wanted to emulate were also imperfect. And many of my "imperfections" were rather insecurities. Every person has a purpose. Every person is unique and important. And I don't need a divine plan to believe that. I just do. I assert that every person wants to do the right thing. Perhaps I'm too optimistic, but it's a genuine belief of mine. And it's one I cannot abandon, no matter what system of Truth I do or do not adhere to. I have chosen to love without condition--especially those who have felt the slap of condition in play. It's stupid. I love you, dammit. I do. All of you, because you're all important.

And so am I. I cannot believe that every person has importance and value and include the greatest offenders yet not include myself. And on that point: I said without condition, and I meant it. But I do not mean that I do not get angry. I get angry all the time. I get sad all the time. But I'm careful about what I choose to be angry or sad about. I choose to be angry when someone has purposefully hurt me or another. I choose to be sad when I see suffering. I think we need to be angry and sad. But again, I choose to be. I could be numb instead, but I don't think that accomplishes much. Maybe nothing accomplishes anything. Maybe there is some "divine plan" that will play out no matter my decisions. But I have no reason to believe that. So instead I focus on what I can do to make the world a better place. I focus on being just angry enough to be a soldier on the side of good. I am just sad enough to empathize with people in pain. (<--Those apply to myself as well. Things happen to me to make me angry and sad. Obviously.) But I am happy enough to grasp tightly to that weighted word, the word of the moment: hope. I am happy enough to believe that happiness is possible for everyone who is informed enough to see it.

I love everyone because I want everyone to find this palpable happiness as I have. I genuinely care that everyone gets there. Even the hardest people to love... it is no effort. I've simply decided to love them in spite of their flaws. Because who ever got better by being sad? Who ever got better by condemnation? Hm?! The world won't get better until we love regardless of a person's flaws... especially those "flaws" that are unimportant: "She stole my boyfriend." "She wore the same prom dress as me." "He likes Justin Bieber?!" "He was lookin' at my girl." <--I believe those are just distractions. They are distractions from a person's own unhappiness. They are not problems that really mean anything to a person's life or happiness. It's so easy to pick on those things that don't matter to give your life a little more meaning--to make yourself right and better in some capacity; when all you've done is harm yourself. You've distracted yourself from self-discovery, afraid of what you might find.

And here's a little secret from a former-self-loathing-depressed-chica: You are just fine. If you really look at yourself, there's nothing there that's that scary. If you decide before you walk in, that you're going to love yourself regardless of what you find, and that fixing anything you aren't proud of is as easy as putting on a damn pair of flip flops, then you're going to be okay. Addiction is as easy as treatment and self-love. Arrogance is as easy as humility... and a greater sense of self-love. (I have a theory that most arrogant people pretty much hate themselves as much as most people.) Everything is as easy as a decision, and the decision is as hard as you make it.

You know. I used to say I was a humanist and a realist. I used to think those contradicted, which was hard on me, because I believed two things that put me at war with myself. But I wasn't sure how to define that contradiction, so in order to prove my point, I looked up humanism in the dictionary.

"A variety of ethical theory and practice that emphasizes reason, scientific inquiry, and human fulfillment in the natural world and often rejects the importance of a belief in God."

I kind of laughed when I read it. I don't think I'd ever actually known what all of that really meant. I just agreed with a lot of humanists whom I'd read quotes by on captioned photos on the internet. I seriously need to do my homework more. But it wasn't funny because I hadn't really known the definition. It was funny because I didn't fit the description until I'd felt unsure enough to look it up. There was a special kind of irony there that I simply could not overlook.

I had initially decided not to look up the definition of realism, but later went back to do that. I found this:

"Interest or concern for the actual or real, as distinguished from the abstract, speculative, etc."

So, as I understand it, it's completely semantics as to whether or not these can coexist harmoniously. So I'm still going to say I'm both. Because I believe that things are as they are. They are not cosmically inspired or magically created to pave a road to a greater life. I believe firmly that things occur in our life not for any reason, but that reason comes from things that occur. God did not make Kairyn born without fingers. Genetics did. There was no good reason for that. But now that she has her beautiful, scarred fingers to show us, she's going to teach us a lot about strength, acceptance, and the capacity for cruelty in our elementary school children. I choose to believe that she has given us a gift with her trials, and not that her trials were a gift.

And that is the secret of happiness. I don't look for a reason for occurrences. I don't look to a plan for the future. I focus on here and now. One foot in front of the other. I'm worried about where I am and the people I'm with. I'm interested in what they have to teach me. I'm interested in what these people say and believe and do in spite of those. I want to make people happy, not by altering myself, but by showing them how easy that decision is. I want to introduce hope to a blind populace. That is my responsibility and I accept it wholeheartedly.

This Post is About Sex

Twisterrrrrrr

You know what has more views than any other post? The one about me not shaving. So. This post is about sex. It really is. But I thought that title might help me out. ;)

S.E.X. You mean… sex? Ahhhhh!

That was a conversation between my grandmother and me when I was about 9.

I think our culture’s fear of sex is both amusing and terrifying. I think sex is a natural part of life and suppression is both unhealthy and unwarranted. In the early days of religion, sex was strongly encouraged. “Be fruitful and multiply.” These kinds of messages were necessary evolutionarily to continue our race. HAVE SEX AND HAVE LOTS OF IT Genesis told us. So men have a whole bunch of wives because 9 months is just too long to wait to make another child. Monogamous relationships would have been counterproductive to the continuation of humankind. And because of our ability to communicate these ideas, specifically as instructions directly from a higher power that has control over our afterlife, humans thrived. WE HAVE SO MANY! Whoa. But let’s get real. If we don’t believe in polygamy anymore, then we shouldn’t view sex as sinful anymore, either.

We don’t need to have so many people, because we’re using and abusing the world’s resources. For that reason, we have contraceptive devises. ßGenius stuff really. And at puberty, when kids start to have urges to reproduce, they may or may not choose to wait for a number of reasons. I think these reasons can be narrowed down to a lack of education, religious beliefs, fear of judgment from peers or family, fear of disease, or fear of pregnancy.

Those are all well-founded reasons to wait. But regardless, those urges are there. And some people aren’t going to wait, especially those who have been raised with really unhealthy ideas of what sex means. I think it’s our public school system’s job to educate kids on what sex is, the role it plays in relationships as defined by our society, and how to prevent pregnancy and STDs and STIs. I think it’s our public school system’s job to counsel kids on when they’re ready for sex, ideas of sex based on experiences with sexual abuse, and which decision is best for them if they have contracted an STD or STI or have become pregnant.

I don’t think someone is ready for sex unless they are comfortable with their bodies, comfortable with their sexuality, are well-educated, and have found a partner with mutual expectations. Those are difficult standards to define, which is why I wish sex wasn’t such a taboo topic. Then those would have clearer definitions, and kids wouldn’t feel as scared to approach someone to really discuss where they stand. And personally I think in our society you aren’t ready to have a child until you’ve reached adulthood, which should be redefined as 21 (and sometimes not then really). And I only say this because of judgments our society makes concerning young parents and the structure of our educational system.

Educating kids on sex isn’t going to make them want to have sex. Likely, the same reasons kids don’t have sex will remain firm, and more kids who do have sex with use protection or know better what it means to be ready for sex. And I find that the same people that are against sex education are against abortion, health care, and supporting social welfare programs. A lack of sex education leads to diseases, unwanted pregnancies, and eventually uncared-for children. (Extreme generalization, I’m aware. But these are ideas put in kids’ heads that they’ll take into adulthood about readiness and protection.) So if you support this lack of education, then you should be supporting programs to deal with the backlash of these unwanted pregnancies, unwanted babies, and unwanted STwhatevers. You can’t just put kids into a pit of lions and ditch them without helping them when things go badly. That may have worked with Daniel, but he was the good guy in that story… and how many other people make it out of a pit of freaking hungry lions?

This all comes down to our ridiculous fear of sex. There are ways to protect your children from unhealthy ideas of sex and to encourage waiting until marriage (if that is something you care about), but pretending sex doesn’t exist isn’t all that effective. If you don’t educate your kids first, then the kids who have been exposed to sex (sexual abuse, sexual exploitation, exposure to sexual behavior and images at home) will do the talking for you. Do you see how this can be problematic? We’re so scared of sex, that the least healthy messages around sex are what circulate among our youth.

I can attest to this! I’m barely an adult. My mom did a great job of educating me, but I still heard what kids had to say. And the naïve kids soaked it all up because they didn’t want to look dumb. Sex seemed like a big kid thing, and the bad kids knew all about it (because they were forced to grow up too quickly). I remember thinking it was kind of creepy (I don’t use that word lightly here) the way kids saw sex when I was in middle school and high school. I hadn’t taken enough time to think about why. It all comes down to fear. And it’s starting to piss me off. Tell me what you think. Please?

Makeup is NOT Antifeminist

Yes makeup, yes feminist.

*I would like to note that I wrote this geared towards women because of the feminist nature of the post. However, these truths are applied (often in reverse) to men who wear makeup as well. Men should not feel bad about interest in cosmetics, and no assumptions or judgments should be made concerning a man’s sexuality because of his use of makeup. I try to be sensitive to my male readers on this topic, because I acknowledge the flaws of our gender dichotomy. <3 to y’all.

I love makeup. I love makeup because it is art. It is art in the same way tattoos, piercings, and clothes are art for our bodies. It’s a form of artistry I’m not half-bad at. I appreciate cosmetic application as an expression of personality and a creative outlet. I like picking colors that look good together and finding the perfect shade of foundation for my skin. And I love helping other women do the same. I’m a Mary Kay consultant. I’m also a feminist.

And I know that’s hard for some people to grasp, because the way in which people use makeup can be antifeminist, and the way in which people interpret a woman’s use of makeup can be antifeminist. But makeup is never antifeminist. Some women do not wear makeup because they don’t like it. Just fine. Some women don’t wear it because they want to push social boundaries. Just fine. Some men and women are attracted to a certain style of makeup. Just fine. But makeup is often viewed in ways I find problematic. Following are my issues with makeup and my explanations of those.

What makeup is not:

1. A requirement for beauty.
2. A requirement for women.
3. An invitation for sex.

Further explanation:

1. Physical beauty has nothing to do with images on TV or in magazines. Physical beauty is something every single woman has. Some man or woman who is in touch with their sexuality and their wants and needs will find her attractive. Ugliness lies in behavior and isn’t present in physical appearance. I don’t believe in ugly. I do believe in unattractive. Something may be unattractive to me, which to me means that I find it unattractive; and not that it is by nature unattractive. Just because I do not find someone attractive does not mean they are inherently unattractive; someone else still might. Makeup isn’t what makes a woman beautiful. It can highlight the things she is most fond of. Maybe a woman really appreciates and loves the shape of her lips. If she wants to accentuate that, I take no issue with that. All that means to me is that she loves herself enough to have found a part of herself she is willing to show off. And the same goes for a woman without makeup! If she finds herself attractive without makeup on, then she need not wear it. I know I’m beautiful without makeup, but I still enjoy it. I wear makeup a lot, but I sometimes (more often lately) allow my face to go without. I need to remind myself that I’m beautiful without it, and I am confident enough to show it off without fear of how others feel about it. I find myself attractive, and if someone else does not, I’m not bothered by that. I don’t find everyone attractive either! It’s crazy to expect everyone to be attracted to me. A woman’s beauty comes from her attractiveness which is a combination of her personality and her physical appearance; which does not have to match societal standards of beauty to be beautiful. Damn the man.
2. It’s absurd to define a woman’s femininity by her interest in makeup. Perhaps she just feels more comfortable expressing her creativity elsewhere. A woman is a woman by choice, and if she does indeed identify as woman, then she is a woman. Her style of dress, her career, nor her interest in cosmetics can take that identity from her. I’m concerned that a woman can feel less of a woman because of another person’s idea of attractiveness. Often that idea of what is attractive is defined by images on TV (curse television), and I take issue with that because...
   
   
   A) images of women on TV are often achieved by unnatural means and are unattainable by nearly every other woman. It is unfair to expect that of women. Women should not be attempting to fit themselves into our cultural cookie cutter, because not everyone fits! Women should instead accept their appearance, although always aiming for health. But some women are healthy at a size 14 (this girl, for instance). Some women are healthy at a size 0. No body is the same. And the cookie cutter is getting more and more complicated. The cookie cutter has breasts that are not proportionate to the rest of the tiny body. The cookie cutter has skin that is darker than is healthy for the popular blonde hair often associated with it. Blondes tend to have fairer skin and are more prone to skin sensitivity and sunburn. This cookie cutter leaves women feeling hopeless and unfeminine. Women try to lose weight to look like those skinny women, but the weight first comes from their breasts! Women try to tan, but then age more rapidly—another natural process our culture is terrified of, as if looking younger means you aren’t actually approaching death. A woman in her natural state is attractive to someone as she is. There isn’t one way to be beautiful, and it’s ludicrous to think that because a woman doesn’t look like a Barbie—something nearly physically impossible to achieve without cosmetic surgery –she isn’t attractive! And,
   
   
   B) people who are attracted to those images are often only attracted to those images because they feel a social obligation to be, as if not finding Kim Kardashian attractive would make them less of a man. (I only say man because women are generally not expected by society to find Kim Kardashian attractive.) So, TV Heads (people who allow television to think for them) can only be attracted to them physically which is only half (although still important) of attraction. That means these people are experiencing a very shallow sense interest in these images, and they are assuming that they will be wholly attracted to a woman that displays that image in the “real world.” However, they are lacking the equally important part of attraction: personality. This leads to misinterpretations and unrealistic expectations. For instance, women with large breasts are often considered sexual—regardless of their personality—because our society encourages young men to find large breasts sexually attractive. Also, I’m bothered because I don’t think TV Heads are really in touch with their sexuality. Every single person attracted to women is not likely attracted to the same kind of woman, and vice versa. A person that lets their TV think for them is often not aware of what they do find attractive. They think that only certain physical bodies are supposed to be found attractive, and someone who finds a 300 pound woman attractive is wrong. But honestly, I believe that person is far more in touch with their sexuality and their physical needs, because they’ve come to that conclusion on their own. Society had nothing to do with that decision. I respect that.
3. I feel ridiculous that I have to say this at all. Guys and gals: just because a woman wears a style of makeup our culture tends to pair with sex doesn’t actually mean she wants to have sex. You may say, “Maddie! People don’t really think that!” But tell me if you’ve heard this: “Her makeup looks so slutty.” You have. And the word ‘slut’ is associated with sex! But be sure to check the etymology on that! When someone calls someone a slut because of the style of a woman’s makeup, they’re insinuating that woman wants to have sex because of that. Culturally, red lipstick and thick, black eyeliner are associated with prostitution and thus women who are initiating sex. But further consideration needs to be made: Perhaps she just likes the aesthetic appearance of that style of makeup. Is it not possible she just finds herself attractive in that style of makeup? Also, we should consider the likely possibility that she may feel pressured to present herself as a sexual being, because she may see herself as such. By calling her a slut, you’re confirming her belief that her purpose is to please men; nothing more. We need to be a lot more careful about our judgment of women—everyone has a story, and you don’t know everything! I get that it’s pretty much written in our DNA to judge people and categorize them, but we’ve come quite a long way since the days of a necessary, biological sense to protect ourselves from warring tribes, in order to carry on our race. In fact, we’re dangerously overpopulated. Seriously. It’s unnecessary. And people. Assuming a woman wants to have sex with you just because you think her makeup screams it, makes you look kind of desperate. And desperation + the flippant use of the word ‘slut,’ makes you a tool. Congratulations. You’re an asshole. Nice guys don’t really finish last.

In short. Makeup is a form of artistic expression. I don’t like for women to feel as though their beauty depends on it. And I don’t like women to feel as though their womanhood is unbreakably bonded to cosmetics. And I don’t like when a woman is labeled a slut because of the way she wears her makeup (or anything she does, really). But I love makeup. I’d appreciate if other feminists stopped harping on it.

But for the sake of you feisty women: I do think women should wear it less. I think they should experiment with their natural, physical beauty and learn to accept themselves as they are. They should look for things they’re proud of instead of focusing on what they’re ashamed of on their bodies. And the confidence to go without makeup is impressive, only because of our culture’s emphasis on it. Try it out for a while every now and then, just to remind yourself of how beautiful you are, and to get in touch with why you’re really putting that face on in the morning.

No makeup, no big deal.