7

Okay, so here it is.

Some of you have heard me say a thing or two about 7.  What in the world is 7? Is Gilda just really fascinated with that particular integer?

I really do like the number, but what ended up happening was this crazy author, Jen Hatmaker, wrote a book called "7", and this book was handed to me by my Number One Kansas Mom-ish Friend, Debbie.  The book was placed in my hands last fall, with the explanation, "You should read this; I think it's kind of how you're wired anyway."

Well, let me tell ya, it is DEFINITELY how I am wired.

I hadn't been too much into reading lately, but I read this book crazy-fast.  It is written in this amazing, fast-paced, full-of-humor way.  It's sort of like a journal, but a very special one.  It details the journey which the author and her family and close friends took over about a 7 month period of drastic change and reduction in their lives.

Jen got together with a group of 6 of her friends and said, "We have too much in America.  We don't appreciate it enough.  We have crazy expectations of everything, and we feel entitled to way too much.  Let's get inspired to fight against it."

So each month for 7 months, they focused on one area.  Food, Clothing, Possessions, Media, Waste, Spending, and Stress.

It's a really great read, and so eye-opening, but mainly, for people like me, inspiring.  After reading it, I felt like I could FINALLY be bold about some of my beliefs and my lifestyle, and it was so energizing to hear somebody else take the words right out of my heart.

The coolest part about reading "7" was how it inspired my Mom-ish Friend to grab a bunch of us and try this crazy experiment for ourselves. Our version was 7 weeks instead of 7 months. But it still did the trick.

I recommend this book to anyone who wants their hearts moved a little bit.  Anyone who wants a new challenge.  Anyone who isn't scared to think outside their comfort zone.

Reading the book and going through the experiment myself really shifted some thoughts around inside of me.  I'm still trying to figure out how to express some of the more ...... bold thoughts I have.  But for anyone who may be a regular reader of my blog, maybe this explanation will help any further writing make sense.

Or maybe I just wanted to get it out and written down in an organized way. Either way, there it is.  I'm hoping for a movement of strong, organized, concise thoughts to flow from this point on, and hopefully let you all a little bit more into my head.

~ G

Food Warmup

The truth is, we never went hungry in our house growing up.  I now know how fortunate we truly were.  We weren't wealthy either, though.  Not that we knew how much money our parents made, because it wasn't talked about, perhaps exactly the way it should be with children.

I will tell you that the only "restaurant" food I knew in my early childhood was McDonald's, but not in the way you might think, in the stereotypical way we've come to think of families gorging themselves on junk on a nightly basis, with parents who are too "lazy" to cook.

No, McDonald's was a very special occasion, but mainly, a road food.  We were a road family.  I may have mentioned before that we were a migrant farm worker family of sorts, so we traveled long distances between California and Arizona on a regular basis.

During a normal week, our parents cooked.  Just simple food.  I come from a Mexican background, and friends often ask me for "recipes".  The truth is, my parents just cooked food they remembered from their own childhoods.  Yes, there are staples -- chicken, pinto beans, rice, tomato sauce, corn tortillas -- but really everything is just very.... RUSTIC, is always the word I've used to describe it.  However, English is my second language, so if that doesn't make sense to you, please forgive me.  :)

Once in middle school, I had a couple of friends over after school, both girls.  As we rummaged through the walk-in pantry, one of them made the comment, "Everything you have is stuff you have to MAKE, isn't it?"  Most of it was, I suppose, but I didn't know any different.  There had been a period there, after all, during the custody battle, during which my dad fed us lots of Honey Buns, Snickers Bars, frozen chicken nuggets, and introduced us to Frozen TV Dinners (we were ages 10-12).

I didn't drink "dark" soda until 6th grade, when I was introduced to Dr. Pepper by a friend.  I gave it up cold turkey as a freshman in high school, when my cross-country coach told me it was bad for me.  (It may have re-entered the picture in small amounts during/after college...)

Anyway, as an adult now, it's so interesting to think about the different ways I have seen or known food throughout my life.

I've been thinking LOTS about food lately, and what role it plays in my life.  I've got lots to say about it, but I'm not a data analyst or a research scientist; everything I've got to say is emotion and reflection, observations, and lots of questions.

I believe the way to do anything is to start from the bottom and work your way up.  The way I write my "blog" is mainly by studying myself: my history, my habits, my memories.  Then I try to piece them all together to help me understand my present-day beliefs.

So, while every post may not be terribly exciting, it's still a piece of the story.  My story.  And once in a while, it comes out powerfully and loudly.
I think I'm warming up my vocal chords with this one.  

Enough

So, here's something that's been at the front of my mind, and tugging at my heart for a while:
What if we all redefined "enough"?
If we stop believing that we always need more, then we may just start to see the value of everything we already have.

I'm talking about this American lifestyle.

[[Food.  Clothes.  Possessions.  Waste.  Spending.  Media.  Stress.]]

When did it become a burden to cook meals for our families, containing whole and simple foods?
Why do we feel entitled to a second or third car for our family?  Why does it feel "below us" to walk or bike to the grocery store instead of drive? or to have family birthday parties in the parks in the "scary part of town"?
Why do we JUST HAVE TO HAVE the latest version of the latest smartphone?  Isn't just being able to pick up any old phone and dial our friends' numbers enough?
When did it become acceptable to pre-package EVERYTHING, in the name of convenience?  And when did we stop caring about littering our streets with that packaging? And where is that mountain at the landfill going?
Just why is it UNACCEPTABLE to not have internet access at home?  Isn't Internet an extra thing?  Didn't we all live and love and laugh before the Internet?
Why is it okay to have lessons and articles with advice on "How To Take the Perfect Selfie?" and "How to Get More Likes on Your Posts"?  And is this what we want the next generation to be about?
When did stress and worry take over our every decision? And when did it become acceptable for "stress-relief" to include such extravagances as "going out on the yacht" or "retail therapy" or even "blowing some money on poker with the guys" or "racking up my credit card debt to feed my alcohol or tobacco habit"?
All these First-World problems, attitudes, and ideas...It just all feels like too much to me, and I don't think we give ourselves a chance to check our choices.
Does anyone else ever wonder why we get to live in such a privileged country while mommas and daddies around the globe fight to keep their children alive?  Why we make choices every single day of our lives pretending like they don't affect our global neighbors?
If you think too quickly, you'll just toss these words into some compartment of your brain, maybe "Random", "Awkward", or "Weird".
You may think none of it makes sense.  
A lot of it doesn't make much sense, because it's all questions...
But if you stop and give it a chance, you might see how all my questions above are related to one another.  You might see the big picture.  I'm convinced there's a big picture.
I'm sure glad I can see it now, but more importantly, I'm glad that I am finally brave enough to start putting all my observations into words.

Change is coming.

This Place Called Kansas

August 20, 2014

I’m a couple of weeks late, but earlier this month marked 8 years that I have lived in Kansas.

I’ve had those moments:
“Oh, man! I wish Facebook was a thing when I moved into my dorm!”
“I wish we had taken pictures!" (too bad my family didn’t have a digital camera yet.)
“I wonder what my freshman class’ hashtag would have been.”

Sigh.  Anyway. Then I get over it (my thoughts on technology and social media belong in a WHOLE 'nother category).

A paragraph's worth of backstory: I moved to Kansas after being recruited for the track and field and cross-country teams for Bethany College, a private college in Lindsborg, Kansas.  I left the desert Southwest of Arizona, my childhood, and everything I’d ever known behind, hopped into my mom’s minivan, opened the Road Atlas so I could follow along, and got comfortable in my seat.
(My teammate from high school was recruited after I enrolled and signed my Letter of Intent; I gave the coaches a heads-up about her, she decided she was going with me, so we stuffed our clothes and bedding into the back of the minivan.  Neither one of us owned winter clothing or coats yet; we figured we’d worry about that when we got there.)

I’ve got a LOT of feelings (surprise, surprise) about the actual move itself: facing the fear of moving to an unknown place with no friends or family waiting there to welcome me; to a place with a totally different climate and culture and food and people, and how much I’ve grown as a result.  I’ve got tons of memories of my first semester, my second year, each year for that matter, which I want to put down on paper sometime soon.  Sure, I’ve got advice for out-of-state students, words of wisdom on how to stick it out until graduation, but I’m not sure that was the purpose of my writing for today.

My point today is that, 8 years later, I’m still here.  This place called Kansas has morphed from “the place I went away to college”, from “I’m just here to go to school”, from “Yeah, I could never be here forever” to “home”.

This place called Kansas introduced me to the concept of hospitality; from the team of Resident Assistants who helped us unload the minivan (Darcy, Michelle, and others), to the family who had me under their wing that first semester (Ben Mordecai and family—if you see this, know that I am eternally grateful).  I was hospitalized for a few days with mono and pneumonia, and this family took turns sitting vigil in my hospital room.  I don’t think I was alone for more than hour at a time.  (I seriously could write a small book just on the hospitality from this family alone)

This place called Kansas gave me permission to start over.  I could be whoever I wanted to be here.  Aside from my academics, athletics and music, high school wasn’t the greatest experience for me, and it was amazing to come here and just be accepted (Okay, so basically, I’ve just
always had social difficulties, okay? Let’s reword the previous sentence to read, “People were HARD in high school.”)

This place called Kansas has taught me how to make friends.  Real friends. I’ve figured everything out about myself here, while trudging through these thunderstorm-y summers and frozen tundra winters.  These days, I sit with trusted friends and have real conversations about figuring out our futures and planning our next steps.  If I had up and left after graduation, I would have missed out on these dear friendships.

I’m still here because this is where my journey has led me.  There are things I miss about my native Arizona, yes. But do I consider going back? Hardly.  Honestly, I’m so into my life and community here that I just go day-by-day.

I’ve fallen in love with wheat fields, summer rodeos, rolling hills, and greenery!  Don’t even get me started on sunflowers or back dirt roads.  I have mastered the art of carefully watching for deer while I drive, especially in the autumn and winter evenings. I am captivated by the change of the seasons, and anticipate the differences each one has to offer.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever leave, if I’m just letting myself get comfortable and settled for fear of picking up and moving yet again to another, new place.  I wonder if I’m scared.  Yeah.  I think I am scared.

But this place called Kansas has taught me that without an initial sense of fear, there’s no adventure.

At this point, leaving Kansas would feel like leaving home all over again.  I don't know what the future holds, but for now I guess I drank the Kansas Kool-Aid.  I used to hate the thought of "being here forever"; I was convinced that the week after my college graduation, I would be moving either back to Arizona or one of the other two completely different states I applied to medical schools in.

I kind of like how my story has turned out, though.  (Thanks to the Big Man upstairs, by the way!)

So thus begins Year Nine!

Desert Diaries, Volume 3

Sooooo, I don't have a smartphone.

This means, among other things: I get to go on vacation and not post pictures every 5 minutes to Facebook (Instagram? don't have one).  I don't feel badly about not "sharing" everything I'm doing every second of the day, but sometimes, I do feel left out.

That makes me mad, though.  I'm like---why should I feel left out just because I don't always tell people what I'm doing? Does that make me antisocial?  When and why did socializing become posting pictures online all the time?  It makes me sad and infuriated at the same time.

I wish, though, that I didn't have to have any feelings on it at all.  But technology has just become this ever-present THING that covers every aspect of our lives.

I've always hated having to keep up with the cool kids.

I've always kind of liked to "boycott" things that others were doing or saying, or buying, or wearing. 

I've also always kind of felt left out and insecure.

It's so interesting what we find interesting.

Or what we find uninteresting.

We've become this extremely visual people, and if someone doesn't instantly gratify our craving for "connection" by posting a picture, and we actually have to READ WORDS to see what someone is up to, it's suddenly become too much work.  The person who doesn't post a picture to accompany their status update is not as interesting as the person who does post a picture.  I think that's awful!

I realize that I am one of those "not so interesting people" on Facebook.  That stinks!
(I'm almost giggling to myself as I write this.)

But I also value my in-person interactions, and my in-the-moment appreciation of the beauty around me more than what people think of me on Facebook. On my most confident days, that is.  :)

I'm not saying that everyone who posts pictures on Facebook with their smartphone, does not value those interactions in their own life, of course.  That would be a hugely unfair generalization.

I'm just thinkin' thoughts over here.
I so admire the individuals who can deactivate their accounts and not care one way or the other about Facebook.  I wish, like I said, that I had no opinion on it, but I do.  I'm human and I'm insecure.
Here's to seeking out ways to combat the insecurity, and striving for fulfillment in the choices I make and relationships I have!
<3

Desert Diaries, Volume 2

I originally wanted to write EVERY SINGLE DAY during this trip.
Yeah, that hasn't happened.
Today, I'm thinking about all the ways I've handled different situations while on this trip.
One of my church friends/mentor ladies told me (paraphrased) "There's going to be lots of ways this week where you will be tempted to respond like the old man inside of you.  Remember that it is now Jesus Christ who lives in you, not the old man."
If you know a little bit about me, you know that my family relationships/dynamics are not the most....traditional.  But I'm really proud of myself for the way I've handled myself and interacted on this visit.  I've helped redirect and de-escalate some conversations at home, and even had some damage-control-type input, here and there.  My mom and I have had some really grown-up conversations about life things, and we've never been able to do that before. I would always let my emotions get the best of me.  Now, I know how to manage them and put them aside, in order to see clearly while I'm in the moment.
I've been able to clarify some things with mom which are huge for my future, and my sister and I have been communicating and brainstorming all week about common goals we have for my mom and younger sister, as far as what we can do to help them.
The communication between my sister and I (don't know if that's grammatically correct---judge me)  feels pretty good.  We have had to communicate about schedules and plans, dinners, breakfasts, DIY projects at my mom's house, and midnight burrito runs.  She has also let me borrow clothes a few times while I've been here, because I'm a crazy minimalist hippie who brings nothing but a carry-on suitcase, and a tote bag full of books.  She has encouraged plans with my friends, and not been overly needy when she has been off work.  And we haven't killed each other yet.
While I don't have a smartphone to snap tons of pictures and post them immediately to Facebook, I have thoughts.  And, I have the ability to write those thoughts down.  Then, I take those thoughts and I look for patterns, and I see what I'm learning, and how it's growing me.  I pay attention to how I feel about each lunch/dinner/coffee/midnight burrito run date I make (midnight burritos are important here in Yuma, AZ).  I feel my feelings; i get excited to see old friends; i smile at people, i think about people, i wonder what i can do to help.
There's this Watermelon Man who sits on the corner with his little pickup truck full of watermelons for sale.  He waves at everyone who drives by, or stops at the stoplight.  Just a friendly wave.  When I see him, I remember, and I am thankful.
I remember growing up, and seeing random produce truck-stands, and knowing this is normal. I remember stopping at many a produce stand to buy corn, watermelon, or cantaloupe with my dad when I was a child.  I remember all of the people who surrounded me while growing up in this city.  I remember how I've always loved all of them, even the strangers.
It is SO the little things in life---and on a trip back home---that make you stop, take a deep breath, and smile.

Desert Diaries, Volume 1

Well, this week, I've gotten to spend some time in my hometown--Yuma, Arizona---visiting friends and family.  I haven't been here in two years, and I had been getting pretty homesick/nostalgic.  I don't know that homesick is the right word, because I don't LONG for home or anything like that.  I've gotten to this point where I've accepted and created my home around myself in the state and city where I live now, so it's strange to come back here.
I find myself driving the streets of this city, wondering, "I really grew up here?" Not because it's a bad thing, but because my entire adult life has been somewhere else.
I feel strangely at home, and a stranger, at the same time. While I've been here on this visit, I've gone running on the canal, which I ran 2-3 times a week during cross-country season in high school; I've gone running at Smucker Park, another high school favorite; I've had meals with friends and people I love; I've reminisced on "the good ol' days" and had conversations about my next steps in life; I've been around all my friends' and families' animals, mostly cats and dogs; I've visited and bonded with my Ocean in San Diego (yes, I needed to re-bond with my Ocean).
I've helped with a lot of things at my mom's house, planned and brainstormed with my sister, taught my baby sister card games, and eaten lots of fresh avocado.
I always end up with same panicky feeling: it's never enough time.
There's always someone else I wish I could spend time with, another old haunt I wish I could revisit.  I hate always running out of time.
I feel like at some point soon, I want like a 2-3 week period to come back and visit.  Life feels so different out here from what it does in my little Midwestern city.
I am more present and more appreciative of certain things this time around: the sunshine, the occasional warm (cool?) breeze, the faces of all the people who need someone to acknowledge their existence and say hello.
It feels like nothing's changed, and yet, like everything has.
I'm not the same person I was when I was growing up here.  It's strange to go develop and spread my wings as a person somewhere else, then come back to visit and bring everything I've learned with me.
Life is a really wacky thing.