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.

8 Months Free

May 1, 2014

So it’s been 8 months since I stopped taking any anti-depressant or anti-anxiety medication, after 5-and-a-half years of being on them. (Over the course of those 5+ plus years, I took 3 different medications. Number 3 was the one that worked best for me)

 I think it’s time to update everyone (and myself) a bit on what I’ve gained and lost from this process.

I made this decision on my own, and asked for my doctor’s support.  We designed a “taper off” plan for me to follow, which I proceeded to do, and before I knew it, I didn’t have to remember to take a pill anymore.  I didn’t have to call in refills, or budget for the cost of the medication.  When going on an overnight trip, I didn’t need to pack my pill.  I didn’t need to worry about keeping it in my carry-on while flying.  I could stop worrying about all the horrendous chemical reactions going on inside my body.  Shedding all these things made me feel like I freed up tons of brain space.  I gained confidence, for a while, and optimism about my ability to cope with my emotions and stressors using my own skills and strength.

So, how do I feel?  What is it like?  Am I “cured”?

I wish it was all good news, or that I could say I’m all better now.

I feel like I’ve lost my energy, my sparkle, the pep in my step.  I can’t help but notice how much more taxing it is for me to get up early, and stay up late.  I enjoy being active.  For the last two years, in addition to working my full-time job, I had a class, a Bible study group, or something I was volunteering for, at least 4 evenings a week.  Plus, sometimes I work overtime on Saturdays, and was volunteering at my church on Saturdays, and then I added some volunteering time on Sundays twice a month.  Sometimes, I would attend all 3 of my church’s services in a weekend, because I had the energy and desire to.  I enjoyed hanging with friends, and sharing about my life, smiling, talking, and laughing.  

When I stopped taking my medication, one of the first things to go was my motivation for evening commitments.  Out the door went youth group, for which I volunteered as a leader, and Bible study.  I started skipping out on my Tuesday night dinners that I had at a friend’s house.  I lost interest in being around people and making small talk.  All I wanted to do was go home, and be home, with my cat.  (She has been the best companion for the nearly 4 years she’s been part of my family)

“It is like” not really knowing how to get my old self back.  Is this reserved, independent person who I’ve been all along?

“It is like” I have to work really hard and plan ahead all the time, to make sure that I’m going to be in the right mood at the right time, for whatever it is my responsibilities are at the moment, be it work, volunteer, or social.

“It is like” I’m excited about not depending on a drug anymore, but I don’t feel as proud of myself as I used to feel.  

“It is like” every day is just a routine, something to get through, something to accomplish.  

“It is like” I have to work really darn hard to create the life I want, all the time; the feelings I want, the choices I want, the opportunities I want.  

“It is like” all these questions come up.  

“Was that person not really me?”

“Have I been fake for the last 5 years?”

“Do all my friends only know - and like- the medicated Gilda?”

“Does no one want to hang out with me because I’m depressing to be around?”

“Can I even handle my own life?”

The only choice I see is to keep trudging forward.  Because even at a crawl, I’m not waving that white flag.  The only thing I can choose to believe is that it does get better with time.  That I’m (STILL!) not done growing yet.  

Some days, I’m pretty miserable.  I get fed up with people and commitments; I find myself overly critical, feeling envious of those who possess things or live lifestyles different than mine.  There are moments where I let myself start spiraling down the black hole again, being angry at God for my circumstances, placing my worth in other people instead of in what He has said about me.  

Eventually, I distract myself.  I pick a coping skill (usually rigorous cardiovascular exercise) and go with it.  I hope to write more about the methods of self-defense I use against the enemy of the ever-looming cloud of doom.

Am I cured?  Choosing to separate yourself from something is the first step to ridding your life of it.  I work in the mental health field, so I’ve seen and know what Severe and Persistent Mental Illness looks like.  My level of anxiety and stress doesn’t fit that diagnosis, so I don’t know that “cure” is even a correct term (or that "cure" is a correct term for those who DO suffer from Severe and Persistent Mental Illness).  I believe that anxiety and stress should be managed, and if they are not, then they can lead to a chronic condition.

I know that my stress and anxiety have come from years of building certain thought patterns.  I continued to build these thought patterns as I grew up because I didn’t know any better.  So now, as a young adult, I start the hard work of undoing all those patterns of toxic thinking.  It isn’t easy.  There’s scientific research on this, folks.

So the truth is, if you decide that you can beat toxic thinking, and believe with all your heart that you will, it will still be difficult to do so, and take time.

I choose to be public about this because I refuse to be labeled or judged.  If I put everything out there, then there’s no stories people can make up about me, or judgements that people can make about “how it all started”.  And I can be an example of determination and strength.  

So.  Eight months down.  

There may or may not be a huge celebration involved for my 1-year anniversary.  :)

Mom-ish Friends

05-04-14

“Mom-ish friends”

I know I use this term a lot.  

I think I may have coined the term, actually.

You see, not all little girls grow up with a mommy to look to for answers to life’s questions, or to pick them up when they fall down.  Some little girls grow up meek and quiet, watching their life go by in a whirlwind around them, across two states, two schools, and two homes, with two parents who were together, yet not, and always seemed to have something to argue about.  

Some little girls grow up with all their basic needs provided - food, clothing, transportation, schooling, pets, even - and so, they never even realize that they are missing something.  They don’t even know what entitlement is, so how can they feel it?

These little girls grow up into pre-teens whose friends want to be all huggy all the time, and they realize this is the first time they remember giving and receiving hugs.  So then these little girls start building their identity around their friendships.

Then boys want to start giving and receiving hugs, and these little girls realize they don’t ever remember hugging their fathers.

But then these little girls get stuck living with their father, while the person who holds the title “mother” is in and out, back and forth, across two states, working, making whirlwind decisions at very loud volumes.

So, trust begins to build in father-daughter relationships, but then mothers get jealous and make up lies and stories and do everything in their power to rip away the relationships that they never cared enough to build themselves.

So then little girls end up confused and caught in the middle of custody battles, not understanding why they have to choose one parent over the other, upset and experiencing separation anxiety when it’s a “mom weekend”, but not sure from which person they feel anxious about separating, the mother or the father.

These little girls eat too much and don’t get enough exercise, but rely on Nickolodeon and Disney Channel for company.  (They fight too much with their sisters to ever get along peacefully for any actual amounts of time)

Dads win the custody battles and little girls continue with schooling.  When boys want to start holding hands at lunchtime, there’s no mommies to ask for advice.  There’s just daddies to hide information from.  

Little girls find their peace in books and schoolwork, spelling and arithmetic, and get a “Good job, mija” when they bring home a good grade, which by the way, is always an “A”.  

Junior high goes by with no more from Mommies than demanding questions and high expectations when they come to visit.  

By high school, little girls have found some more of their identities and escapes in sports.  Building bonds with teammates is easier than building bonds with family members.

The schoolwork gets more intense, and little girls grow more confused and feel more pressure.  By this point, they’ve mastered the “Thank you for cooking dinner, Daddy” and help with housework and take on more responsibility than they maybe should.

By age 15, little girls have seen how some of their friends interact with their mommies.  They’ve seen the hugs, and the eye-rolling, and the kisses on the cheek, and they hear the “Love you’s” and they wonder, “Why is my family so different?” But by this point, they don’t really care.

Because by this point, they’re getting hugs and kisses from boys and doing well with sports, and algebra and biology and theology at their Catholic high schools, and they’re headed toward a college scholarship.

Then Daddy dies and leaves Mommy in charge.

And there’s so much anger and hurt feelings all over the place that little girls don’t even know how to handle themselves.  But they don’t have to, because they get college scholarships to faraway places like Kansas, so they get to run away.

But every time they come for a visit, it’s fireworks, and not the good kind.  And all along, they don’t know who they are, or who they’ve been, or known guidance, or a mother’s love.  For Mommy was too busy figuring herself out to pay any attention to her Little Girls.  

It wasn’t completely her fault.  She just didn’t know how  

Thank goodness for Mom-ish friends, who step in when Little Girls are 20, 25 years old and help answer all the questions; who stand by and offer words of repair and wisdom, gestures of healing and kindness.  For it’s not the Little Girl’s fault that she wasn’t given what all Little Girls should have.

Thank goodness for Mom-ish friends.

"Unstable"

“I hate when people refer to marriage as ‘stabilizing yourself’. There’s nothing ‘unstable’ about being single.”

--Me, today, on Twitter     (this Tweet inspired by a comment that my godmother made on the phone to me last night)

 

The thing with me is, I try not to talk down about anything.  I’ve come to this point in life where I become frustrated when someone tries to impose their beliefs on someone else. 

 

It frustrates me when we judge other people because they don’t make the same choices we do. 


It is infuriating that we always have to be at a constant war of telling each other how we’re right and wrong. 

 

I don’t hate marriage, or feel resentment toward, envy of, or anything else negative about my friends who are already married.  Good for them.  My plea is for the judgment to stop. 

 

I basically just stick with telling people how I feel about a subject; what I’ve learned about that subject while on my journey, and how those experiences have shaped me.  I share my thoughts because I think that there is always someone out there feeling pressured by society to think a certain way, and I just wish we could all accept that we are all different, and that maybe, if they read my thoughts, that person will feel a little less alone.  Each person has their own unique path to walk. 

 

I don’t have a smartphone; I tweet from my basic phone (my tweets go directly to my Facebook page as well).  So, I couldn’t monitor all of the comments being thrown at me for my above statement.  But, I could feel them building up, or rather, the anxiety building up about what people were going to argue with me for. 

 

When, in reality, I wasn’t trying to argue about anything.  I wasn’t trying to say “I’m right, you’re wrong, this is how it should be.” 

 

I was saying, “Hey, let’s all stop calling unmarried people ‘unstable’.  It’s rude.”

 

Anyone can make bad choices, married or unmarried.  Anyone can make a really messy bed for themselves and then have to lie in it.  Being married won’t save you from making bad choices.  Discernment will.  Wisdom will.  And these skills can come, even to an unmarried, single person.

 

I wasn’t even trying to argue about anybody’s financial status (which, by the way, money is such a small part of life; get over it already).  But here’s my thoughts on that: there are plenty of single people out there (myself included) who have stable jobs, with stable income, and pay all their own bills, have their own house and car, and/or maintain whatever lifestyle is pleasing to them.  Thus, stability. 

 

(If they find that their current lifestyle is not pleasing to them, then they take actions to change it.)

 

So before you judge someone as “unstable”, examine yourself first.  Your story is not theirs.  Theirs is not yours.  Look up “stable” in the dictionary, and then ask yourself what your personal definition of the word is.  Chances are, we all have a different definition.