Most people who have known me for a few years know that I haven't always been the most patient or kind person on the planet in the past. My teenage years saw me behaving rather beastly (and not in a good way). Since then, so much of me has changed. I'm barely the same person any more, and I hold on to the hope that this metamorphosis has brought more good than bad. Lately, something else has become a recurring theme in my daily life--and I honestly can't decide if I like it.
For the past month or so, I've found it so much easier to deal with people. I love talking to customers at Starbucks, I can refrain from retaliating when a person is rude, and I find myself shrugging off the things that make me angry within a few short moments. Of course, this is a vast improvement. The part of this new-found gentleness (I guess I'd call it, for lack of a better word) that I am ambivalent about is this gut-wrenching compassion that I keep feeling at random times. I've always been a bit tender-hearted, even in my meaner days. Movies, sappy songs, sweet gestures, or seeing a man cry are all things that will make me lose the ability to remain detached and composed.
Of late, however, I find that it's just about every other person I see that stirs a strong feeling of empathetic sadness--the technologically helpless old man I spoke to at Talbot's apologetically sending a late birthday gift to his daughter, the regular customers of ours who have recently lost their jobs; even this man who, after snapping at me for getting his drink wrong, realized I had gotten it right and got super embarrassed, awkwardly muttering excuses. It's not just an "aww" moment I've been having, either. I've found myself surveying a crowd and approaching the point of tears. It has made me drastically change the way I respond to humanity, but at the same time, it's sort of making me feel like I'm losing my mind. I love the happiness that comes from being able to enjoy people despite their shortcomings, but I don't know if I can handle this "just got punched in the stomach" feeling every time I come in contact with an unhappy or disadvantaged person. For my own part, I'm very happy with my life right now, despite the financial hiccups and chronic car issues (a feeling I'm not used to), but for theirs--I want to do something. I want to fix it somehow. I can give them a discount, maybe. I can make them laugh. But it doesn't feel like enough. Nothing is cut and dry anymore. I imagine their stories and why they are the way they are. How can there be so many bitter and disillusioned people and no remedy that they will accept?
My roommate can attest to the fact that I'm "on the edge" as I call it, at any given moment. We both almost cried when our obviously inexperienced waiter kept messing up our order and getting embarrassed the other night. It was sad and funny, though, as we kept talking about how sorry we felt for the poor little dear, alternately laughing and uttering "awws." It's much easier to feel this strongly for people when it's a shared burden. I don't know where this is coming from or if I can take it much longer. A friend from work suggested: "Maybe it's the Ghost of Christmas Past!" Maybe it is. Maybe it's some apparition making me do penance for all the times in my life that I've been a selfish or impatient jerk. haha. Regardless, I love and hate it. It's a good sort of pain, I think, and I hope that doesn't come across in an emo-kid sort of way. At this point, I suppose I'm just going to roll with it and enjoy the rollercoaster ride it brings.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Blog 42: The Trouble with Gallantry
All right, I am just not a feminist. I would never yell at a guy for opening a door for me. I might rudely stare for a moment out of sheer surprise, but then I would say 'thank you' and move on like all polite people should. When I was younger, I went as far as to refuse to let anyone carry things for me, but all that really accomplished was the bringing about of a few wrestling matches between me and whatever unwieldy inanimate objects I happened to be holding (isn't unwieldy such a good word? Say it: unwieldy). These days, I allow other people to help. Not only does it give them a feeling of accomplishment, it is simply the practical way to go. Also, everyone already knows how very beastly I am, so I need not flaunt it. haha.
The purpose of this entry is not to attack the rarely-practiced art of chivalry, nor is it to proclaim: "I don't need your help! I'm a strong woman! Blah blah blah, something about giving birth." So if you're a feminazi...well, I would say go to the kitchen and make me a sandwich, but you probably wouldn't make a very good one--all that tofu and wheat germ. Is that a stereotype? Vegan feminazis? I think it is. I'm going with it. Anywho, I mean to suggest that sometimes gallantry could use a bit of tweaking. I know maybe four fellows who really have found the perfect balancing point between treating me like a lady and realizing that I don't need to be coddled. Coddled, I say, not cuddled. I need to be cuddled. Don't we all? Off topic again.
I love being one of the guys, but not really one of the guys. By that I mean that though I want honesty and to be let in on most of their jokes, I still want consideration and someone looking out for me. For example, I recently went out with some friends. At the end of the night when I was taken back to my car, the guy driving just let me out and sped off--nevermind that my car was in a dark, empty parking lot behind a building in a somewhat sketchy area. I really do think I can handle myself, but I was pretty pissed. I would never drop anyone off without making sure the car started okay and all that business (especially if it was a car like my good ol' Maurice). In that instance, I felt like the very classic rites of a gentleman were not carried out, and my sensibilities were thus offended. Another thing that is absolutely deplorable in my mind is when a dude addresses iffy topics (which I can discuss) in a way that is embarrassing. Using crass words, unnecessary detail, or verbally leering at me is not something I find amusing--especially in front of a group of people. I don't know if I'm becoming more old-fashioned or what, but lately I blush fairly easy, and hearing some phrases is just too much for me. haha.
On the other hand, I've had other, very annoying situations where the fellows were technically being gentlemen. They were trying, anyway, but it came off as patronizing--like when I ask a question and they expound upon the matter like a kindergarten teacher. For another example, a lot of protective guys assume that they can't say what they actually think and therefore end up hurting feelings. One guy I know has left a trail of two or three broken-hearted girls who took his kindness to mean that he was interested. He was 'too nice' to tell them that he wasn't. An additional thing I hate is when a guy acts like I absolutely need him to do something for me--carrying something, fixing something, driving. I'll allow it, and I'll ask for help if I really need it, but you are not a necessary part of me accomplishing things. What else? Ah, those fellows that try to tell you which of their sex are not good people to hang around. I appreciate very much that they tell me. It's when I've already taken it into consideration and yet they try and force some sort of separation on me that I become annoyed. If I'm friends with a terrible person, so be it. I try to help them. I shouldn't shun them just because you, in all your manly wisdom, find them to be unfit company. To suggest that I would allow such men to drag me down is an affront to my integrity and intelligence. I may choose not to take advice, sometimes.
I'm telling you, dudes have it way more difficult. I know I've been ranting...I think it's because when you come in contact with a fella who's got it right, you just realize how much help the others need. haha. I do love those guy friends of mine who have found the balancing point. Also, it may just be because I've gotten over the phase of needing to be the 'cool girl' who plays poker with the boys and likes sports. I'm terrible at poker and though I find them interesting sometimes, I don't follow sports. I just don't have that level of dedication. Because of all that, I've come to the conclusion that I really would love to be spoken to and treated like a lady and I want it done right! haha. Does that sound like something your grandmother would say? Perhaps, but nevertheless it's how I feel.
The purpose of this entry is not to attack the rarely-practiced art of chivalry, nor is it to proclaim: "I don't need your help! I'm a strong woman! Blah blah blah, something about giving birth." So if you're a feminazi...well, I would say go to the kitchen and make me a sandwich, but you probably wouldn't make a very good one--all that tofu and wheat germ. Is that a stereotype? Vegan feminazis? I think it is. I'm going with it. Anywho, I mean to suggest that sometimes gallantry could use a bit of tweaking. I know maybe four fellows who really have found the perfect balancing point between treating me like a lady and realizing that I don't need to be coddled. Coddled, I say, not cuddled. I need to be cuddled. Don't we all? Off topic again.
I love being one of the guys, but not really one of the guys. By that I mean that though I want honesty and to be let in on most of their jokes, I still want consideration and someone looking out for me. For example, I recently went out with some friends. At the end of the night when I was taken back to my car, the guy driving just let me out and sped off--nevermind that my car was in a dark, empty parking lot behind a building in a somewhat sketchy area. I really do think I can handle myself, but I was pretty pissed. I would never drop anyone off without making sure the car started okay and all that business (especially if it was a car like my good ol' Maurice). In that instance, I felt like the very classic rites of a gentleman were not carried out, and my sensibilities were thus offended. Another thing that is absolutely deplorable in my mind is when a dude addresses iffy topics (which I can discuss) in a way that is embarrassing. Using crass words, unnecessary detail, or verbally leering at me is not something I find amusing--especially in front of a group of people. I don't know if I'm becoming more old-fashioned or what, but lately I blush fairly easy, and hearing some phrases is just too much for me. haha.
On the other hand, I've had other, very annoying situations where the fellows were technically being gentlemen. They were trying, anyway, but it came off as patronizing--like when I ask a question and they expound upon the matter like a kindergarten teacher. For another example, a lot of protective guys assume that they can't say what they actually think and therefore end up hurting feelings. One guy I know has left a trail of two or three broken-hearted girls who took his kindness to mean that he was interested. He was 'too nice' to tell them that he wasn't. An additional thing I hate is when a guy acts like I absolutely need him to do something for me--carrying something, fixing something, driving. I'll allow it, and I'll ask for help if I really need it, but you are not a necessary part of me accomplishing things. What else? Ah, those fellows that try to tell you which of their sex are not good people to hang around. I appreciate very much that they tell me. It's when I've already taken it into consideration and yet they try and force some sort of separation on me that I become annoyed. If I'm friends with a terrible person, so be it. I try to help them. I shouldn't shun them just because you, in all your manly wisdom, find them to be unfit company. To suggest that I would allow such men to drag me down is an affront to my integrity and intelligence. I may choose not to take advice, sometimes.
I'm telling you, dudes have it way more difficult. I know I've been ranting...I think it's because when you come in contact with a fella who's got it right, you just realize how much help the others need. haha. I do love those guy friends of mine who have found the balancing point. Also, it may just be because I've gotten over the phase of needing to be the 'cool girl' who plays poker with the boys and likes sports. I'm terrible at poker and though I find them interesting sometimes, I don't follow sports. I just don't have that level of dedication. Because of all that, I've come to the conclusion that I really would love to be spoken to and treated like a lady and I want it done right! haha. Does that sound like something your grandmother would say? Perhaps, but nevertheless it's how I feel.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Blog 41: Secret Neurosis
So that this intro makes sense, note that this was written at about 3am this morning. Why am I still awake? And why is trouble so very fond of me? For that matter, why is it never awesome trouble like a motorcycle gang trying to recruit me or an epic fight with a vampire? These are questions I'd love to have answered right now...However, since that isn't going to happen, I think I'll just talk about something that I often forget. No matter how cool, calm, and collected a person acts, we all have something we're secretly neurotic about--it can be anything from There's a speck of dirt in the floor and I must clean! I can't let anyone see this pig sty! to What does this text or lack of text mean? Is he/she sick of me? or even the classic Maybe I should eat a salad. I'm getting chubby...but I don't like salad! Oh, fat. So fat. Sometimes, it's a combination of all three: Did he/she not call because I'm a fat slob?! haha.
I have a lot of self-confidence. I find it easy to be honest about where I am, but I think people take it as me putting myself down or fishing for compliments. I don't really care if you compliment me. I love who I am. I do see so much room for improvement, though, and occasional doubts do rise, but generally; I'm happy with my looks, my intellect, and my personality. That being said, I still obsess over all the aforementioned subjects from time to time. I have been learning, however, to "play it cool," practicing quite a bit of restraint with my weaker thoughts and emotions. Something I've been considering fairly often lately is that maybe all of us play it a little too cool. We miss opportunities to show people who we really are because we have these weird and unrealistic expectations for ourselves--how we'll look more badass, mysterious, or beautiful if we just rein it in. Everyone's got to stay calm. Everyone's got to pretend they don't care as much as they do. I do it, you do it, and the only ones who don't are the ones who come off as desperate or crazy.
I am all for propriety and self-control. You shouldn't just fly off the handle when you're angry or stalk someone you think you're "in love" with or break out into sobs every time something remotely disappointing happens. It's rude and unfair to literally everyone around you to make them deal with that awkwardness. And yet, there's something really messed up about holding everything back all of the time. It's like in the movies when the dorky meets a girl he really digs and all of his friends say he needs to wait three days to call her--he never follows their advice. Should we always follow our own compulsion to be weird Stepford people?
In this, as in all things, there has to be balance. Don't go divulging all your secrets or wildly portraying your emotions like a bipolar method actor. Also, don't become a non-person who can't be honest with anyone about how you feel. One, it's creepy when people are robots. Two, it's important that you realize there are times to be (for lack of a less cliche word) vulnerable with people. Three, it sort of makes you a little bit sociopathic if you can't ever be honest. I think refusing to acknowledge are human weirdness ends up dehumanizing us in the end.
So, next time you're being a complete freak, overthinking everything, daydreaming in excess, or inwardly geeking out--remember that we all do it sometimes--and feel much, much better.
I have a lot of self-confidence. I find it easy to be honest about where I am, but I think people take it as me putting myself down or fishing for compliments. I don't really care if you compliment me. I love who I am. I do see so much room for improvement, though, and occasional doubts do rise, but generally; I'm happy with my looks, my intellect, and my personality. That being said, I still obsess over all the aforementioned subjects from time to time. I have been learning, however, to "play it cool," practicing quite a bit of restraint with my weaker thoughts and emotions. Something I've been considering fairly often lately is that maybe all of us play it a little too cool. We miss opportunities to show people who we really are because we have these weird and unrealistic expectations for ourselves--how we'll look more badass, mysterious, or beautiful if we just rein it in. Everyone's got to stay calm. Everyone's got to pretend they don't care as much as they do. I do it, you do it, and the only ones who don't are the ones who come off as desperate or crazy.
I am all for propriety and self-control. You shouldn't just fly off the handle when you're angry or stalk someone you think you're "in love" with or break out into sobs every time something remotely disappointing happens. It's rude and unfair to literally everyone around you to make them deal with that awkwardness. And yet, there's something really messed up about holding everything back all of the time. It's like in the movies when the dorky meets a girl he really digs and all of his friends say he needs to wait three days to call her--he never follows their advice. Should we always follow our own compulsion to be weird Stepford people?
In this, as in all things, there has to be balance. Don't go divulging all your secrets or wildly portraying your emotions like a bipolar method actor. Also, don't become a non-person who can't be honest with anyone about how you feel. One, it's creepy when people are robots. Two, it's important that you realize there are times to be (for lack of a less cliche word) vulnerable with people. Three, it sort of makes you a little bit sociopathic if you can't ever be honest. I think refusing to acknowledge are human weirdness ends up dehumanizing us in the end.
So, next time you're being a complete freak, overthinking everything, daydreaming in excess, or inwardly geeking out--remember that we all do it sometimes--and feel much, much better.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Blog 40: Ten Reasons Why You'll Love The Whiskey Gentry
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| First of all, check out that STYLE. |
10: The full band includes (but is definitely not limited to) a banjoist/accordion player, a fiddler, and a mandolin player. Oh. Snap.
9: From their Facebook Page: "Band Interests: Hell raising, good whiskey and good music don't bother us much." How funny/fantastic is that quote? They've got moxie. Also, they've got the great novelty of truly embracing the history and flavor of Appalachia and the South.
8: Their influences: "Social Distortion, Alison Krauss, Flogging Molly, Hank Sr., Patsy Cline, the Misfits, Hot Rize, Flat and Scruggs, Bela Fleck." Having been in a band with a similarly wide range of influences, I can tell you how valuable it can be. It gives you so much more room to define a different sound rather than sliding into a genre stereotype, which brings me to my next reason...
7: Even seasoned members of the industry have trouble classifying their unique style. While they are loosely deemed a "Country/Bluegrass" band, they are so much more than that classification can describe. Their lead singer, Lauren Staley-Morrow, was the frontwoman for a group with an interesting indie/punk/country blend that inspired a following (Missy Gossip and the Secret Keepers). Husband Jason Morrow (lead guitar, vocals) brought into the mix both strong family roots in country and bluegrass and years of his own punk music projects. Each member has a story and a musical history that forms something truly magnificent.
6: In the big, bumping musical metropolis of Atlanta, TWG was named Atlanta's Critic's Pick for Best Local Country Band. To put that in perspective, think about how many local bands are vying for attention here in Knoxville. Then, multiply that by at least 10! That kind of recognition is HUGE. I've seen more than one Atlanta music blog about them (for those of you who find the time to follow such things).
5: John Keane, a music producer based in Athens, GA, produced their latest album "Please Make Welcome" , which is fantastic (I'm particularly fond of the song "Alone on a Saturday Night"). Keane has produced famous groups such as R.E.M., Widespread Panic, and the Indigo Girls. Not only did he believe in The Whiskey Gentry's record enough to work with them (going out of his way to coordinate with their busy schedules and even putting in the aforementioned song on short notice), he allowed the very talented Mr. Morrow to do a lot of co-production work. This is a band that commits itself to retaining its true identity.
4: Paste Magazine featured TWG in their "Best of What's Next" column. Their glowing analysis of this band's musical prowess in this article is just one more reason to believe in them. Did I mention Paste has such trustworthy taste that for two years in the early 2000s, they had a weekly entertainment pick segment on CNN?
3: The warmth and honesty of tradition and family roots are ever-present in this group's function. For example, Lauren's father hails from South Africa, prompting an extremely unique live cover of Toto's "Africa." Now, I haven't yet had the privilege of witnessing this cover, but I hear that it is a favorite of the many TWG fans, especially in areas around their hometown of Woodstock, Georgia. An album-featured tune, "Queen of My Heart," was written by Jason Morrow's grandfather. How cool is it that this new band comes with a fondly historical worldview?
2: The collective and individual personalities of the band members are part of what makes them exciting. Though I've mostly spoken about Lauren and Jason (because I actually know them a bit), the spunky spark is just as alive in the other members of the band: Chesley Lowe (five-string banjo, accordion), Sam Griffin (bass), Price Cannon (drums), Michael Smith (mandolin), Rurik Nunan (fiddle). It took time to put together this motley crew, but it is clear that it was a successful process. They gel as if they've been playing together for a decade rather than a few, short years. One cool story I heard is how Rurik, the fiddler, helped create a transformational intro to the band's chanty "Eula Mae" in which each person comes in separately rather than all at once. Another example of their excellent spirit is their fun hit "Comrade," which utilizes audience involvement as an integral part of the song's artistry. It's a blast to sing along with that one, let me tell you.
1: The number one reason to love a band, of course, is the music. TWG alternates between hauntingly tender and rebelliously rowdy (don't make fun of me for using the word rowdy, by the way). The lyrics are heartfelt, raw, and often tell some sweet, folksy stories that are sure to keep you interested. The musicianship is killer and the vocals are spot-on. If the charisma and critical acclaim aren't enough to tempt you, seeing these people play a show will undoubtedly change your mind.
That concludes my first art-involved blog entry! How exciting. I hope you liked it and that you will give my recommendation a shot! ;)
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Blog 39: The Maddening Case of Mr. Collins
**Soo…this will be interesting. A friend of mine suggested that I put my blog on Tumblr. In an effort to generate more hits (as this blog is to look good on my journalistic resume, folks) and possibly get some readers outside my circle of family/friends, I’m going to begin posting to both sites. I know I currently have around 40 readers. I don’t know who most of you are because for some reason you refuse to click “Follow” at the top of the page…but if you have seen the error of your ways and would like to actually help me out in a tangible way that is actually way more awesome than you just listening to my rants…you can totally, finally click that “Follow” button at www.hayleeturner.blogspot.com AND on www.observationsofanacorn.tumblr.com. That would basically make my life. Or my career. You never know. You could change my life with one click, people. What’s a girl gotta do to get a little support around here?!**
Now, what to discuss in my first dual posting? It seems only right, as I am currently watching Pride and Prejudice (which, strangely enough, ties with The Boondock Saints for my favorite film), that I speak about a subject which is often in my thoughts: Mr. Collins. Since I’m sure some of you aren’t as familiar with or extremely fond of Jane Austen’s work as I am, allow me to explain. Mr. Collins is one of the most ridiculous characters I know of in literature.
He enters in as the future heir to the Bennett family’s estate (Elizabeth Bennett, the heroine, being one of many sisters all unable to obtain the property). He decides that he will choose a wife from amongst the Miss Bennetts, and precedes to choose the one he deems the prettiest (Jane). The mother hints that Jane is “very soon to be engaged,” so he settles on poor Elizabeth, claiming love. His convoluted compliments, elevated airs, and weird admiration of his wealthy patroness make him little more than a laughing-stock.
I think the reason that most people loathe Mr. Collins so thoroughly is his depth of insincerity. He speaks of love when a marriage is really all he cares about. He knows nothing about Lizzie excepting she is attractive and available. His next action is to be embarrassingly possessive at a ball (despite Lizzie’s best attempts to avoid him), and soon after, to propose. Without giving her a chance to answer (assuming it will be a yes), he begins to plan both of their futures aloud and explain why she must see that they should be together. When Lizzie politely declines, he pushes on, assuming she must be practicing ‘fashionable ladylike delicacy’ of some sort. When she again objects, he turns to spite, saying in essence that she must be joking because she can’t be sure another offer of marriage will ever be made to her. In this, he basically tries to coerce the union upon her. Thankfully, our heroine shuts him down completely (like a BOSS).
I suppose that was sort of a long summary of his character. My point in saying all that is to address an all-too-common scenario in which one person persuades him or herself to be in love when the root desires are far less noble—lust, longing for a relationship, societal pressures—and then said person tries to impose a union upon the object of the infatuation. It has happened to me a few times and I’ve got a couple of friends who have been trapped in such a situation as well. Let me tell you, it isn’t fun. The unjust possessiveness Mr. Collins (as I call all such people) exhibits is particularly repulsive and annoying. And yet I have a pity for Mr. Collins, because I feel like no one has given him (or her) this piece of advice: if you’re truly meant to be with a person, they will know it as well as you. If they’ve shut you down repeatedly, it is not to increase your love by way of suspense. It is because they probably really, really want you to go away.
Resorting to spite won’t help your case, nor will citing some grand plan or providence. It will only make you look like a jealous idiot. :) Mr. Collins, for goodness sake, look around you. When one person that you’ve fancied yourself in love with clearly doesn’t feel the same way, there may be your perfect companion just waiting in the wings for you to take your head out of your own ass and notice her. And Ms. Collins, if “God told you you’re going to marry Mr. So and So,” then why didn’t He tell Mr. So and So that he should stop finding you so completely irksome? Pursuing this end does you no good. In the meantime, you could be missing out on your REAL destiny. The general moral of the story is, stop obsessing about the center of your failures, and seek out new opportunities and adventures. (But don’t be like the real Mr. Collins and propose to someone else the next day. It’s bad form and frankly, terribly creepy).
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Blog 38: Every Man for Himself
"Rugged individualism" is a fairly famous term. Most people credit its coining to Herbert Hoover. When I first heard it, however, it was from an AP US History teacher named Ken Senter (one of the best teachers I've ever had, in fact). He said that early Americans built our society on this idea of being self-sufficient, stubbornly independent lone wolves. Those weren't his exact words, of course, but the point stands. I think the obstinate attitude of our forefathers is still present today. When I was younger I saw a lot of merit in these ideas. Yeah, pull yourselves up by your own bootstraps. Strive and heave and claw your way to survival. Never ask for help, never surrender your pride. As I get older, though, I realize more and more how important it is to have community. Yes, I am all for hard work. I believe that in order to truly reach your purpose, you have to contribute time, effort, and passion. I can't help questioning, however, whether that rugged individualism is the product of wisdom or simple arrogance? I'm inclined to believe the latter.
I have always had an intense desire for independence. Maybe the fact that I equate independence with freedom is a matter of conditioning, or maybe it's the product of being the second youngest in a sibling set of six. Either way, over the years I've had to come to terms with the fact that we all need other people. Whether we rely on them financially, emotionally, or even physically, we cannot be whole without fellowship and human interaction. Being around others and communicating with them is a key way that we discover what it is about ourselves that we need to work on and change to become better people.
I hate having to ask for help. I like being the hero, not the damsel in distress. Maybe it is that very pigheaded part of me that God is trying to work on at the moment. Maybe that's why my car broke down, then the truck broke down, and now I have to get rides everywhere. Not that I think it's a punishment. I think it's an opportunity. Do I still absolutely hate it? YES. But having to depend on others teaches you who can actually be depended on for support and understanding. Situations like this are also perfect instruction for compassion. I usually don't mind giving someone a ride when I can, but being stuck like this really makes me want to go out of my way to help other people.
I am starting to believe that our disjointed, "every man for himself" way of life is a terrible misunderstanding of what it means to be a strong and productive people. The New Testament church, for example, shared their belongings, distributing their possessions where they were needed and working together to accomplish common goals. I'm not a fan of handouts or socialism, or our crippling Welfare system in this nation. But I am a fan of all of us working hard together to reach a better world. It's an ideal, sure. And there's pretty much no way we can get everyone in on it. But what if we could just touch our friends and family, infecting them with a desire to give and receive as needed rather than horde things like misers. What if we began to practice true charity and profitable cooperation in our every day lives? What would change? What could we become?
I'll confess, I sound a bit hippie-ish. I know it. It all started when I read The Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne. I don't agree with every sentence or suggestion, but he has some great ideas on what it means to be a good Christian or just a good human being. The rest of this comes from the life experience of taking a huge shot to my pride and admitting that I need you--my friends, my family, the stranger who holds open a door or helps me pick up something I've dropped--and whether you're willing to admit it or not, you need that community, too.
I have always had an intense desire for independence. Maybe the fact that I equate independence with freedom is a matter of conditioning, or maybe it's the product of being the second youngest in a sibling set of six. Either way, over the years I've had to come to terms with the fact that we all need other people. Whether we rely on them financially, emotionally, or even physically, we cannot be whole without fellowship and human interaction. Being around others and communicating with them is a key way that we discover what it is about ourselves that we need to work on and change to become better people.
I hate having to ask for help. I like being the hero, not the damsel in distress. Maybe it is that very pigheaded part of me that God is trying to work on at the moment. Maybe that's why my car broke down, then the truck broke down, and now I have to get rides everywhere. Not that I think it's a punishment. I think it's an opportunity. Do I still absolutely hate it? YES. But having to depend on others teaches you who can actually be depended on for support and understanding. Situations like this are also perfect instruction for compassion. I usually don't mind giving someone a ride when I can, but being stuck like this really makes me want to go out of my way to help other people.
I am starting to believe that our disjointed, "every man for himself" way of life is a terrible misunderstanding of what it means to be a strong and productive people. The New Testament church, for example, shared their belongings, distributing their possessions where they were needed and working together to accomplish common goals. I'm not a fan of handouts or socialism, or our crippling Welfare system in this nation. But I am a fan of all of us working hard together to reach a better world. It's an ideal, sure. And there's pretty much no way we can get everyone in on it. But what if we could just touch our friends and family, infecting them with a desire to give and receive as needed rather than horde things like misers. What if we began to practice true charity and profitable cooperation in our every day lives? What would change? What could we become?
I'll confess, I sound a bit hippie-ish. I know it. It all started when I read The Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne. I don't agree with every sentence or suggestion, but he has some great ideas on what it means to be a good Christian or just a good human being. The rest of this comes from the life experience of taking a huge shot to my pride and admitting that I need you--my friends, my family, the stranger who holds open a door or helps me pick up something I've dropped--and whether you're willing to admit it or not, you need that community, too.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Blog 37: The Sin of Self-Hatred
I have grown up with a few insecurities. I go back and forth between feeling voluptuous like Marilyn Monroe to feeling like Miss Piggy is my doppelganger. haha. I wish I was taller, I wish I was in better shape. I wish I was kinder, I wish I didn't have Fred Flinstone feet. I wish I was good at math or a better instrumentalist. Despite feeling these things every once in awhile, but at the end of the day I love myself--not in a narcissistic way (usually haha), but in a healthy way. Strangely enough, it took being around people more often for me to realize it. I can be a little neurotic sometimes, but I didn't realize how many people cannot even take a compliment. So many people whom I admire: beautiful women, handsome guys, intelligent people, funny people, talented people--don't even have any idea how awesome they are; they are literally incapable of believing good things about themselves.
I wish I could really nip this shit in the bud. And sorry for your delicate sensibilities, but shit is what it is. Where to begin? Well first, to debunk what seems to be a common thread of thought amongst my peers: severe insecurity is not the same as humility. In fact, it is a sort of pride. I saw a Beth Moore quote once that said insecurity represents "self curved in on itself" and I think that's a great description. Obsessing over your faults to the point where you cannot believe the truth (that you are "fearfully and wonderfully made") is still a fixation on yourself, arguably just as transgressive as narcissism. Worse still is that when you talk about how fat, ugly, or useless you are, you sound like you're fishing for those very compliments that you apparently don't believe. Consequently, 90% of your friends will get sick of your whiny, Debbie Downer attitude. And they might even walk away because of it.
Next, I'd like to mention that the media is just full of crap. I don't mean how they've made you feel not good enough--it's your choice to decide whether you want to be one of their cookie-cutter clones or an original and if you make the wrong choice, I don't feel sorry for you. No, I'm talking about all those movies where the lame, sad-sack girls attract Prince Charming by being mopey and self-conscious. When I was in my younger teenage years, I took this "fairytale" to heart. I wallowed in the bad things I thought about myself and even went through an embarrassing emo phase (Avril Lavigne, safety pin earrings, and goofy clothes included; haha). You know what, though? NO GOOD GUY LIKES THAT. EVER. No good girl can stand it for too terribly long, either, for that matter. Trust me. It makes a person feel suffocated, helpless, and eventually nauseous when he or she is trying to keep his or her significant other afloat. You're not going to get swept off your feet and you're not endearing. People think you're psychotic when you're thin (especially when you're thinner than everyone else in the room) and yet call yourself fat. They think you're irritating when they're all laughing at your jokes and then you say "no way!" when they tell you how entertaining or interesting you are. It is neither intriguing nor attractive to hate yourself.
Last but not least, I've got to say that this behavior is way worse in Christians. Your belief system is built around a Creator. Read Psalm 139 for crying out loud. He made you the way you are: your gifts, your looks, your intelligence are all part of who He wanted you to be. So when I say: "You are beautiful/charming/hilarious" and you say "No I'm not, I suck," you're basically making a statement that a perfect God who lovingly knit you in the womb screwed up His creation. My best friend is an artist. If I looked at one of her masterpieces and said: "Wow, that's terrible," it would break her heart! Thankfully, I've never had to tell her I didn't like some of her art, because objectively it's awesome. But the point stands.
I know there's a lot of tough love in this entry. Maybe it even comes off as mean. But I assure you, it's just pent-up frustration about having a front-row seat to this extremely damaging behavior. You have to stop only believing lies and horrible things about yourself. It will steal your happiness and hurt the people who love you. You've got to let go. You've got to stop wallowing. And you've got to learn to see yourself through the Father's eyes. Oh, and if you all could stop trying to act like the cast of Twilight, that'd be awesome, too. haha. Come on, everyone. We're better than this.
I wish I could really nip this shit in the bud. And sorry for your delicate sensibilities, but shit is what it is. Where to begin? Well first, to debunk what seems to be a common thread of thought amongst my peers: severe insecurity is not the same as humility. In fact, it is a sort of pride. I saw a Beth Moore quote once that said insecurity represents "self curved in on itself" and I think that's a great description. Obsessing over your faults to the point where you cannot believe the truth (that you are "fearfully and wonderfully made") is still a fixation on yourself, arguably just as transgressive as narcissism. Worse still is that when you talk about how fat, ugly, or useless you are, you sound like you're fishing for those very compliments that you apparently don't believe. Consequently, 90% of your friends will get sick of your whiny, Debbie Downer attitude. And they might even walk away because of it.
Next, I'd like to mention that the media is just full of crap. I don't mean how they've made you feel not good enough--it's your choice to decide whether you want to be one of their cookie-cutter clones or an original and if you make the wrong choice, I don't feel sorry for you. No, I'm talking about all those movies where the lame, sad-sack girls attract Prince Charming by being mopey and self-conscious. When I was in my younger teenage years, I took this "fairytale" to heart. I wallowed in the bad things I thought about myself and even went through an embarrassing emo phase (Avril Lavigne, safety pin earrings, and goofy clothes included; haha). You know what, though? NO GOOD GUY LIKES THAT. EVER. No good girl can stand it for too terribly long, either, for that matter. Trust me. It makes a person feel suffocated, helpless, and eventually nauseous when he or she is trying to keep his or her significant other afloat. You're not going to get swept off your feet and you're not endearing. People think you're psychotic when you're thin (especially when you're thinner than everyone else in the room) and yet call yourself fat. They think you're irritating when they're all laughing at your jokes and then you say "no way!" when they tell you how entertaining or interesting you are. It is neither intriguing nor attractive to hate yourself.
Last but not least, I've got to say that this behavior is way worse in Christians. Your belief system is built around a Creator. Read Psalm 139 for crying out loud. He made you the way you are: your gifts, your looks, your intelligence are all part of who He wanted you to be. So when I say: "You are beautiful/charming/hilarious" and you say "No I'm not, I suck," you're basically making a statement that a perfect God who lovingly knit you in the womb screwed up His creation. My best friend is an artist. If I looked at one of her masterpieces and said: "Wow, that's terrible," it would break her heart! Thankfully, I've never had to tell her I didn't like some of her art, because objectively it's awesome. But the point stands.
I know there's a lot of tough love in this entry. Maybe it even comes off as mean. But I assure you, it's just pent-up frustration about having a front-row seat to this extremely damaging behavior. You have to stop only believing lies and horrible things about yourself. It will steal your happiness and hurt the people who love you. You've got to let go. You've got to stop wallowing. And you've got to learn to see yourself through the Father's eyes. Oh, and if you all could stop trying to act like the cast of Twilight, that'd be awesome, too. haha. Come on, everyone. We're better than this.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Blog 36: Dreams and Divinations
Last night I had a frightening and thought-provoking dream. Usually I just have faceless action-movies in my head at night. I'm fighting, I'm being chased, I'm beating all the bad guys. They're pretty formulaic and therefore I often dismiss them as the "same old, same old." This one was completely different. A different kind of battle was going on all together. The intensity was such that when I awoke, I was frozen on my back with my palms extended. You'll see why.
There was a series of parties going on amongst my friends, happening in different places. I had been sort of making the rounds, but I was sort of an outsider to each one. The last was actually at a house much like my parents' and I knew it to be the one I would sleep in that night. It started out as not so much a party as a class. We were all set to do an activity but I had either previously completed it or didn't have the right materials. Everyone was sitting in a circle and I was on the outside of that circle doing something completely different. Once the assignment was finished, the teacher disappeared and it actually became a party. Everyone milled around talking. I knew all the people had been through a lot of problems, most of them struggles with drugs.
As it started to get late and the others began to head home, I sat there with three or four friends who would be staying in the house that night. One particular friend suggested we smoke something. Two looked down and I said: "We're not going to do that. Why do you want to do that all of a sudden?"
He replied: "I just can't spend the night downstairs sober." (He had been sleeping on a couch in the basement) "There are witches or ghosts or something in this house," he continued.
"I've felt that something was wrong here for a little while, but I guess it hasn't ever scared me because I know that they have no power over us. Come sleep in my room and they won't bother you."
He resisted for awhile, begging for some sort of mind-bending substance to put him out of the misery of fear. Eventually, he gave in, and we both went to sleep in my big bed. I awoke in the middle of the night to him, eyes wide open, hands reached over me as if to strike. He was frozen in this pose, and I placed my hands around his head and began to pray. He awoke, crying slightly, and apologizing. I spoke his name and then he was in some sort of trance.
I followed him down the hall, keeping my hands on him and trying to cast out or cast off the evil that held him. He got ahead and I chased, scurrying after. But it became difficult to do so, as my words were muffled. It was like I couldn't open my mouth completely. I could only speak for a few moments at a time before my jaw went stiff and then I'd be struggling to even get a word out. At this point, I think I almost woke myself up trying so hard to speak, but I snapped right back into the dream.
I felt stuck and ceased walking. He trudged ahead down the dark corridor. Then I prayed in tongues and he stopped in his tracks and turned to face me. Behind him was what looked like an open prison cell. Out of it walked a small boy who laughed at my outstretched hands and muffled words. I struck at him, commanded him to go, and continued to struggle against my sudden paralysis. He walked down a perpendicular hallway, too dark to see down, and said: "I'll get the others." At the end of that hallway were the bedrooms in which the other friends slept. I couldn't see them coming, but I suddenly imagined my friends striking at me in their trance. The first friend sat on a short ledge across from me, head down and arms limp like a shelved puppet. I looked at him and then stared into the dark. Then, I woke up.
I blinked awake and didn't feel scared as much as horribly grieved and stiff from being stuck in that position with my back flat, palms pressed outward but resting on my chest and stomach. I'm glad to be on vacation with my parents at the moment. I walked out into the living room to get their take on it. My dad of course was amazed that I was awake at such an early time when I didn't have to be. haha. When I finished relating the dream, he asked about my first friend in the dream, whose condition right now in the real world is questionable at best. Then he said that it meant that I need to be more prepared. A night may come when that friend is crying on my doorstep and I have to have been diligent enough in my walk with God to know what to do and how to embrace authority under Jesus Christ, the living God. Then he reminded me of a story in Acts 16:16-24 that stands hand-in-hand with my dream situation:
16 Now it happened, as we went to prayer, that a certain slave girl possessed with a spirit of divination met us, who brought her masters much profit by fortune-telling. 17 This girl followed Paul and us, and cried out, saying, “These men are the servants of the Most High God, who proclaim to us the way of salvation.” 18 And this she did for many days.
But Paul, greatly annoyed, turned and said to the spirit, “I command you in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her.” And he came out that very hour. 19 But when her masters saw that their hope of profit was gone, they seized Paul and Silas and dragged them into the marketplace to the authorities.
20 And they brought them to the magistrates, and said, “These men, being Jews, exceedingly trouble our city; 21 and they teach customs which are not lawful for us, being Romans, to receive or observe.” 22 Then the multitude rose up together against them; and the magistrates tore off their clothes and commanded them to be beaten with rods. 23 And when they had laid many stripes on them, they threw them into prison, commanding the jailer to keep them securely. 24 Having received such a charge, he put them into the inner prison and fastened their feet in the stocks.
Paul knew that her words were just words. People can say all the right things and yet still be gripped inside with the bondage of darkness. As a lighter example, just look at how many Christians today are crippled by self-hatred and a penetrating stupidity that blocks out the truth that they were created beautiful by a loving Lord. That's a topic for another day, though. Another parallel with this story is that the "masters" of this possessed woman were benefiting from her disease. Those who enter the drug culture make themselves slaves to their dealers. And they don't ever want you to be free, because they make money off of your problems.
I will be praying for the friend who starred in the dream, because I think there is significance there, but I also took this dream as a sign that I've been slacking. And I'll admit, I have. If we do not practice with the Sword, we will not know how to wield it when the time comes.
There was a series of parties going on amongst my friends, happening in different places. I had been sort of making the rounds, but I was sort of an outsider to each one. The last was actually at a house much like my parents' and I knew it to be the one I would sleep in that night. It started out as not so much a party as a class. We were all set to do an activity but I had either previously completed it or didn't have the right materials. Everyone was sitting in a circle and I was on the outside of that circle doing something completely different. Once the assignment was finished, the teacher disappeared and it actually became a party. Everyone milled around talking. I knew all the people had been through a lot of problems, most of them struggles with drugs.
As it started to get late and the others began to head home, I sat there with three or four friends who would be staying in the house that night. One particular friend suggested we smoke something. Two looked down and I said: "We're not going to do that. Why do you want to do that all of a sudden?"
He replied: "I just can't spend the night downstairs sober." (He had been sleeping on a couch in the basement) "There are witches or ghosts or something in this house," he continued.
"I've felt that something was wrong here for a little while, but I guess it hasn't ever scared me because I know that they have no power over us. Come sleep in my room and they won't bother you."
He resisted for awhile, begging for some sort of mind-bending substance to put him out of the misery of fear. Eventually, he gave in, and we both went to sleep in my big bed. I awoke in the middle of the night to him, eyes wide open, hands reached over me as if to strike. He was frozen in this pose, and I placed my hands around his head and began to pray. He awoke, crying slightly, and apologizing. I spoke his name and then he was in some sort of trance.
I followed him down the hall, keeping my hands on him and trying to cast out or cast off the evil that held him. He got ahead and I chased, scurrying after. But it became difficult to do so, as my words were muffled. It was like I couldn't open my mouth completely. I could only speak for a few moments at a time before my jaw went stiff and then I'd be struggling to even get a word out. At this point, I think I almost woke myself up trying so hard to speak, but I snapped right back into the dream.
I felt stuck and ceased walking. He trudged ahead down the dark corridor. Then I prayed in tongues and he stopped in his tracks and turned to face me. Behind him was what looked like an open prison cell. Out of it walked a small boy who laughed at my outstretched hands and muffled words. I struck at him, commanded him to go, and continued to struggle against my sudden paralysis. He walked down a perpendicular hallway, too dark to see down, and said: "I'll get the others." At the end of that hallway were the bedrooms in which the other friends slept. I couldn't see them coming, but I suddenly imagined my friends striking at me in their trance. The first friend sat on a short ledge across from me, head down and arms limp like a shelved puppet. I looked at him and then stared into the dark. Then, I woke up.
I blinked awake and didn't feel scared as much as horribly grieved and stiff from being stuck in that position with my back flat, palms pressed outward but resting on my chest and stomach. I'm glad to be on vacation with my parents at the moment. I walked out into the living room to get their take on it. My dad of course was amazed that I was awake at such an early time when I didn't have to be. haha. When I finished relating the dream, he asked about my first friend in the dream, whose condition right now in the real world is questionable at best. Then he said that it meant that I need to be more prepared. A night may come when that friend is crying on my doorstep and I have to have been diligent enough in my walk with God to know what to do and how to embrace authority under Jesus Christ, the living God. Then he reminded me of a story in Acts 16:16-24 that stands hand-in-hand with my dream situation:
16 Now it happened, as we went to prayer, that a certain slave girl possessed with a spirit of divination met us, who brought her masters much profit by fortune-telling. 17 This girl followed Paul and us, and cried out, saying, “These men are the servants of the Most High God, who proclaim to us the way of salvation.” 18 And this she did for many days.
But Paul, greatly annoyed, turned and said to the spirit, “I command you in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her.” And he came out that very hour. 19 But when her masters saw that their hope of profit was gone, they seized Paul and Silas and dragged them into the marketplace to the authorities.
20 And they brought them to the magistrates, and said, “These men, being Jews, exceedingly trouble our city; 21 and they teach customs which are not lawful for us, being Romans, to receive or observe.” 22 Then the multitude rose up together against them; and the magistrates tore off their clothes and commanded them to be beaten with rods. 23 And when they had laid many stripes on them, they threw them into prison, commanding the jailer to keep them securely. 24 Having received such a charge, he put them into the inner prison and fastened their feet in the stocks.
Paul knew that her words were just words. People can say all the right things and yet still be gripped inside with the bondage of darkness. As a lighter example, just look at how many Christians today are crippled by self-hatred and a penetrating stupidity that blocks out the truth that they were created beautiful by a loving Lord. That's a topic for another day, though. Another parallel with this story is that the "masters" of this possessed woman were benefiting from her disease. Those who enter the drug culture make themselves slaves to their dealers. And they don't ever want you to be free, because they make money off of your problems.
I will be praying for the friend who starred in the dream, because I think there is significance there, but I also took this dream as a sign that I've been slacking. And I'll admit, I have. If we do not practice with the Sword, we will not know how to wield it when the time comes.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Blog 35: Twenty-One Guns, A Premature Midlife Crisis
Contrary to any notions you may have picked up from the title, this entry is not about a Green Day song. I actually really don't like them. However, it IS about feeling like I've had twenty-one guns pointed at my head since I turned 21 Friday. I know I'm being dramatic. People have so many more things to worry about than I do, and believe me, I'm not delusional about how "tough" things are in my lower middle class life. I just feel like a lot of things are changing lately. I'm feeling the pressure to improve exponentially--and rapidly. I'm feeling like I have to definitively decide what it is I want to do with the rest of my entire life. As insane as it sounds, I'm suddenly feeling that I've already missed too many chances and am already past my prime for accomplishing anything great. I'm feeling like I am playing 'catch-up' on life pretty much every day. Who am I, really? Have I done anything of value? Do I inspire anyone? I feel like the answers to my questions are negative. Don't get me wrong. I'm usually confident. I know my talents and some of my good qualities, but the past few days have inexplicably ushered in some sort of panic.
For example, I love music and writing. I know that I am gifted in both. But other than practicing and scribbling away, I don't know how to even begin to pursue either end. I don't even know what exactly I want to accomplish in either category. People have been telling me for years that I will do great things. I've heard prophesies and praises, expectations and hopes from teachers, pastors, and even strangers regarding who it is that I will become. I've felt it whilst grazing the outskirts of everyone else's social circles. I've needed to have faith in it because it made being an outsider worth it. What no one ever tells you is how to get "there," or for that matter, where "there" even is! Crap. I think I sound as manic as I feel, here. Rereading the past two paragraphs is stressing me out. haha. Deep breaths...
All right. Now, another thing that has got me feeling so overwhelmed is a renewed sense of responsibility. For five or six years, I was a hardcore leader. I was strict. I was a goody-two shoes. I was always super careful about being the perfect example to everyone. I lead worship, I lead small groups, I was a counselor at teen camp, I worked and went to school full time. And then something happened: I dropped all of my spinning plates.
Let me be terrifyingly honest. I got my heart broken and saw my plans destroyed. So, slowly, I gave into a lot of things I had so dutifully avoided. I drank too much. I messed around and lied. I stayed out all night in less-than-wholesome scenes. I broke hearts and I was selfish. I made some bad financial decisions and I was embarrassingly immodest. Once I started to come out of all of these horrible habits, I went into this self-imposed exile. I had to work every chance I got, so I didn't have time for leading worship or having a band. I didn't have the money to be a camp counselor (if they would've even wanted me anyway). I withdrew from all involvement in anything, really. I let others have responsibility because I was honestly exhausted from all those years of straining to keep myself on that impossibly-high pedestal. I just--gave up. It was a lot easier to just shrug everything off and do my own thing.
This summer, however, a few things happened to begin a change. For one, I got involved with a Bible study. It was slow-going at first. I wasn't even sure I wanted to go or that my presence was desired. But I felt so hungry to discuss the Word and to make sense of the knowledge I have in theology, that I began to really enjoy it. I've made some friends in that study and at work who encourage me to seek out that old version of myself again. It has been painful, honestly, to care. When you care about being a good person, you regret your mistakes. I can't take back my carelessness and dissoluteness. I can't be as innocent as I once was. I can, however, strive to reclaim a righteous stand and simultaneously have more grace and compassion than the straight-laced Haylee ever did. I can be kinder, work harder, and think more about how my actions will affect others.
I've had a lot of situations put in my path lately that seem to indicate that my long-suffering Father is fairly sick and tired of me trying to fade into the background. He's telling me that I have to lead. He's commanding me to share my experiences and open my heart to other people's struggles, showing compassion and giving what I can to help. I feel this huge sense of responsibility again and frankly, I've been resisting it. It's difficult to have people looking up to you. I want to be worthy of it again. I know I can't do everything, but I want to fix everyone's problems. I want to help my friends and family emotionally, financially, and physically. I want to be proactive about it. Sympathy isn't enough when people are hurting--they need action! I'm excited to become better, but I tend to be so very dramatic that I overwhelm myself with wanting the impossible. One of my favorite songs, "The Color Theft" by Oh, Sleeper, says: "What keeps this family of fighters from facing the war that they were bred for?" I've been running from the battle for far too long. I'm ready to be a warrior again, but to tell you the truth, it is scary as hell.
I know this was a long blog, and I'm sorry for that, but it's just like a pre-midlife crisis! While I know I'm being ridiculous, I feel like I'm just running out of time. There's so much that needs doing--and I want to do it all.
For example, I love music and writing. I know that I am gifted in both. But other than practicing and scribbling away, I don't know how to even begin to pursue either end. I don't even know what exactly I want to accomplish in either category. People have been telling me for years that I will do great things. I've heard prophesies and praises, expectations and hopes from teachers, pastors, and even strangers regarding who it is that I will become. I've felt it whilst grazing the outskirts of everyone else's social circles. I've needed to have faith in it because it made being an outsider worth it. What no one ever tells you is how to get "there," or for that matter, where "there" even is! Crap. I think I sound as manic as I feel, here. Rereading the past two paragraphs is stressing me out. haha. Deep breaths...
All right. Now, another thing that has got me feeling so overwhelmed is a renewed sense of responsibility. For five or six years, I was a hardcore leader. I was strict. I was a goody-two shoes. I was always super careful about being the perfect example to everyone. I lead worship, I lead small groups, I was a counselor at teen camp, I worked and went to school full time. And then something happened: I dropped all of my spinning plates.
Let me be terrifyingly honest. I got my heart broken and saw my plans destroyed. So, slowly, I gave into a lot of things I had so dutifully avoided. I drank too much. I messed around and lied. I stayed out all night in less-than-wholesome scenes. I broke hearts and I was selfish. I made some bad financial decisions and I was embarrassingly immodest. Once I started to come out of all of these horrible habits, I went into this self-imposed exile. I had to work every chance I got, so I didn't have time for leading worship or having a band. I didn't have the money to be a camp counselor (if they would've even wanted me anyway). I withdrew from all involvement in anything, really. I let others have responsibility because I was honestly exhausted from all those years of straining to keep myself on that impossibly-high pedestal. I just--gave up. It was a lot easier to just shrug everything off and do my own thing.
This summer, however, a few things happened to begin a change. For one, I got involved with a Bible study. It was slow-going at first. I wasn't even sure I wanted to go or that my presence was desired. But I felt so hungry to discuss the Word and to make sense of the knowledge I have in theology, that I began to really enjoy it. I've made some friends in that study and at work who encourage me to seek out that old version of myself again. It has been painful, honestly, to care. When you care about being a good person, you regret your mistakes. I can't take back my carelessness and dissoluteness. I can't be as innocent as I once was. I can, however, strive to reclaim a righteous stand and simultaneously have more grace and compassion than the straight-laced Haylee ever did. I can be kinder, work harder, and think more about how my actions will affect others.
I've had a lot of situations put in my path lately that seem to indicate that my long-suffering Father is fairly sick and tired of me trying to fade into the background. He's telling me that I have to lead. He's commanding me to share my experiences and open my heart to other people's struggles, showing compassion and giving what I can to help. I feel this huge sense of responsibility again and frankly, I've been resisting it. It's difficult to have people looking up to you. I want to be worthy of it again. I know I can't do everything, but I want to fix everyone's problems. I want to help my friends and family emotionally, financially, and physically. I want to be proactive about it. Sympathy isn't enough when people are hurting--they need action! I'm excited to become better, but I tend to be so very dramatic that I overwhelm myself with wanting the impossible. One of my favorite songs, "The Color Theft" by Oh, Sleeper, says: "What keeps this family of fighters from facing the war that they were bred for?" I've been running from the battle for far too long. I'm ready to be a warrior again, but to tell you the truth, it is scary as hell.
I know this was a long blog, and I'm sorry for that, but it's just like a pre-midlife crisis! While I know I'm being ridiculous, I feel like I'm just running out of time. There's so much that needs doing--and I want to do it all.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Blog 34: A Question of Romance
I am currently seated in a cushy corner chair at my Starbucks. A younger guy friend of mine is here across the room and has taken to meddling in my lack of love life. You see, a "Crownie" (as we call Crown College students) has seated himself in the chair directly across from me. He looks like a rich kid, which is always good. However, he also appears to be a grumpalumpagus. My young friend, however, has taken to texting advice that I should "talk to that cutie." haha. I took a moment to think: "Should I be insulted or amused?" I chose to be amused.
Everyone is always saying "Why don't you have a boyfriend?" or even "You need to get a man!" And while I don't think it is a need per se, I think about the subject sometimes. People think it's odd that I've dated as little as I have, but I guess it's not something I've made a priority. I really do enjoy dating, but I don't go hunting for it. I am not a fan of being on the aggressive end of it. If a guy is too lazy to let me know how he feels, he's too lazy to be of interest to me. And so, I've learned that I may very well be single for the rest of my life. For some reason, to do so is basically the path to becoming a social pariah in the Christian world. Why is that? There must be something wrong with a husband-less lady after a certain age! Um...nope. Such thinking causes so many girls to drastically drop their standards and end up with ambitionless, selfish boys instead of men. It seems a fate worth than death. haha.
When I ponder it, I don't feel so much a pang of loneliness as a somewhat-distressing, bland neutrality. I remember even in less-serious relationships that I liked feeling that a song applied to the romance. I feel somewhat less passionate whilst listening to some of my favorite music these days. You see, I like to identify with art. For example, Whitteny and I do this thing (which apparently annoys some people) where we say "You're this character and I'm that character" when we're watching tv shows or movies. It makes you feel you've really lived or you're someone special if a writer creates a fictional character who has your qualities. Also, as Mr. Bennett says in Pride and Prejudice, a girl likes to be crossed in love now and again. It gives her a sense of distinction from her companions. For a year or two, I coveted the dramatic exhilaration that romance brings so strongly that I used very little discretion in who it had to be with. I often live in a dream world. More than one person has said that in some cases I tend to see things through rose-colored glasses. Everything is more important, more beautiful, more exciting than it is in real life, because that is how I need it to be. I need theatrics. I need joy and I need pain. Consequently I have more than once had those "what in the world was I thinking??" revelations. I think the reason that I gave up that carelessness is that I only want to spend that much time and emotion on a person if I really like him and he really likes me. Novel idea, right?
So, for all of you who have wondered just what the hell is wrong with me, it's a set of standards (which, incidentally, is not wrong in the slightest). Do I let boredom and a yearning for "romance"drag me into familiarity with people I will surely wish to be rid of? Do I let convention compel me to throw myself at every available Christian male? Uh...no. I'm not out having immoral affairs or secretly dating some sort of gangster or justifiably becoming the butt of softball jokes or anything like that. I'm just living my life and letting my passion leak into other areas of it--like writing or trying desperately to be a kinder and more hard-working person or even just trying to figure out what I want to do with my life.
If a man comes along who loves the Lord, doesn't need me to follow him around like a lost puppy, and who cares enough to boldly and respectfully pursue me, I would be a fool to turn him down. I have my daydreams and my hopes like any other silly girl. The difference is I know I don't need that to complete me. I just want my friends to see that, as well, for themselves. We can do so much and find such great fulfillment if we will just step outside of ourselves and expectations we held in the past. Believe it or not, if you had asked me a few years ago what I thought my life would look like, it would've included marrying early. I think that God's plan for all of us is so much bigger than to focus on just that one aspect of our lives, though. I urge you, do not put your life on hold until "the one" comes along. The cost is dear. Lastly, I ask that those of you who are single maintain both high standards and an incontrovertible sense of humor about your love life. It is one of my favorite things to joke about, honestly. Enjoy your friends! They're probably more apt to put up with your crazy, anyway.
Everyone is always saying "Why don't you have a boyfriend?" or even "You need to get a man!" And while I don't think it is a need per se, I think about the subject sometimes. People think it's odd that I've dated as little as I have, but I guess it's not something I've made a priority. I really do enjoy dating, but I don't go hunting for it. I am not a fan of being on the aggressive end of it. If a guy is too lazy to let me know how he feels, he's too lazy to be of interest to me. And so, I've learned that I may very well be single for the rest of my life. For some reason, to do so is basically the path to becoming a social pariah in the Christian world. Why is that? There must be something wrong with a husband-less lady after a certain age! Um...nope. Such thinking causes so many girls to drastically drop their standards and end up with ambitionless, selfish boys instead of men. It seems a fate worth than death. haha.
When I ponder it, I don't feel so much a pang of loneliness as a somewhat-distressing, bland neutrality. I remember even in less-serious relationships that I liked feeling that a song applied to the romance. I feel somewhat less passionate whilst listening to some of my favorite music these days. You see, I like to identify with art. For example, Whitteny and I do this thing (which apparently annoys some people) where we say "You're this character and I'm that character" when we're watching tv shows or movies. It makes you feel you've really lived or you're someone special if a writer creates a fictional character who has your qualities. Also, as Mr. Bennett says in Pride and Prejudice, a girl likes to be crossed in love now and again. It gives her a sense of distinction from her companions. For a year or two, I coveted the dramatic exhilaration that romance brings so strongly that I used very little discretion in who it had to be with. I often live in a dream world. More than one person has said that in some cases I tend to see things through rose-colored glasses. Everything is more important, more beautiful, more exciting than it is in real life, because that is how I need it to be. I need theatrics. I need joy and I need pain. Consequently I have more than once had those "what in the world was I thinking??" revelations. I think the reason that I gave up that carelessness is that I only want to spend that much time and emotion on a person if I really like him and he really likes me. Novel idea, right?
So, for all of you who have wondered just what the hell is wrong with me, it's a set of standards (which, incidentally, is not wrong in the slightest). Do I let boredom and a yearning for "romance"drag me into familiarity with people I will surely wish to be rid of? Do I let convention compel me to throw myself at every available Christian male? Uh...no. I'm not out having immoral affairs or secretly dating some sort of gangster or justifiably becoming the butt of softball jokes or anything like that. I'm just living my life and letting my passion leak into other areas of it--like writing or trying desperately to be a kinder and more hard-working person or even just trying to figure out what I want to do with my life.
If a man comes along who loves the Lord, doesn't need me to follow him around like a lost puppy, and who cares enough to boldly and respectfully pursue me, I would be a fool to turn him down. I have my daydreams and my hopes like any other silly girl. The difference is I know I don't need that to complete me. I just want my friends to see that, as well, for themselves. We can do so much and find such great fulfillment if we will just step outside of ourselves and expectations we held in the past. Believe it or not, if you had asked me a few years ago what I thought my life would look like, it would've included marrying early. I think that God's plan for all of us is so much bigger than to focus on just that one aspect of our lives, though. I urge you, do not put your life on hold until "the one" comes along. The cost is dear. Lastly, I ask that those of you who are single maintain both high standards and an incontrovertible sense of humor about your love life. It is one of my favorite things to joke about, honestly. Enjoy your friends! They're probably more apt to put up with your crazy, anyway.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Blog 33: Stay Awhile
Fall, in all its splendor and with all its bittersweet memories, is almost here. Looking back, almost all of the best times I've had in the past few years have centered around this season: the beginnings of seemingly epic romances among them (two that truly come to mind.) And so it is that when the leaves fall, I sort of step back in time. Certain songs invoke the past so thoroughly that I could swear I was watching a movie of the old hopes and situations. Don't worry, I'm not writing this as a tragic, "woe is me," kind of blog; neither is it the "I'm fake happy and annoyingly inspirational" type. I just think there's something so romantically reflective about Autumn. It's perfect for letting yourself remember the glad instances you miss about people or circumstances you're better off without and shedding the bitterness.
I love how as it starts to get colder, the air begins to smell like fire. I love that the colors are warm and inviting and that the flavors of cinnamon, nutmeg, and pumpkin seem to grace pretty much all the food and drink. I love remembering how giddy I was to go through the corn maze or a haunted house with someone and imagine that he might take my hand if I got scared (though, you know, those boys just never did). I love thinking of playing at tearooms and coffee shops with Torches Together and how singing my songs made me feel like I got to unload my pain and struggles onto a whole audience in a way that could touch and help them also. I love flannel shirts and brown boots and dressing up for Halloween. I love listening to Erick Baker's song "Stay Awhile"and being such a girl that I dream of having a song written just for me, of being admired--and then I turn around and listen to Damien Rice's "Cannonball" and feel loss and just that small drama of love-fear. I love reminiscing over high school football games and all the adventures that built my first semester of college. I love that I can wear my awesome leather jacket and other great clothes that make me look a lot less like Miss Piggy than I do in the summer. haha.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Blog 32: Flashbacks
I was going through my old stuff and reading things I've written in the past few years. It was bittersweet for me, because I got to see the unbelievably innocent girl I used to be. In some ways, I feel far improved. In others, I envy the me of my past. Regardless, I thought I'd post a "flashback" of some of my older work.
"Known Secret"
Waiting, knowing, expecting
But there's too much at stake
This silence I'm longing to break
Anticipating, doubting, remembering
Just how am I to know?
Partiality doesn't always show
Outward: tortuously waiting
But there's too much at stake
This silence I'm longing to break
Anticipating, doubting, remembering
Just how am I to know?
Partiality doesn't always show
Outward: tortuously waiting
Inward--furiously debating.
"You Again"
Petals falling one by one and I'm ripping at the seams
I wonder do you dream of me?
It's hard to hide these stars in my eyes but as for you-
Indifference is the most discouraging disguise.
On the edge of being real, I'm far too scared to leap
With a look in the eye you can banish the troubled thoughts I keep
I'm not accustomed to showing my face
Those who truly know me are few and far between
I peek out from the veil, but only in my dreams
This is new, is it true?
I find myself not knowing what to do
Life is no fairytale, I've decided
"Don't expect anything more," the critics softly chided
Then again--the idea of something more--I just can't let it go
Someday I'll know and my face will finally show.
I wonder do you dream of me?
It's hard to hide these stars in my eyes but as for you-
Indifference is the most discouraging disguise.
On the edge of being real, I'm far too scared to leap
With a look in the eye you can banish the troubled thoughts I keep
I'm not accustomed to showing my face
Those who truly know me are few and far between
I peek out from the veil, but only in my dreams
This is new, is it true?
I find myself not knowing what to do
Life is no fairytale, I've decided
"Don't expect anything more," the critics softly chided
Then again--the idea of something more--I just can't let it go
Someday I'll know and my face will finally show.
"To the Snakes"
Relentless brood of vipers, I wash my hands of you.
So often have I turned the other cheek,
My face is battered and bruised.
So hide away your plastic smiles, save them in your storage piles;
Put them with those "kind words" so decidedly false.
And I'll lay aside my foolish hopes that you'll read the writing on your own whitewashed walls.
For you've spat upon my upturned eyes,
Stinging softly with venom disguised;
The quieter the blow, the worse it burns with time.
Poison candy-coated will deadly remain
Only cowards need to shift the blame.
"She'll come back!" the solemn circle proudly proclaimed,
But mangled by your stones, I couldn't return the same.
I'm finished and I'm done,
So keep your scarlet letters.
In this place that used to be a home,
Now filled with pointed fingers and golden fetters.
This garden is riddled with wormwood
So much slashing and burning to do
Time to dig a grave for this hatchet
I have to reply: "Forgiven!" until a mended heart makes it true.
So often have I turned the other cheek,
My face is battered and bruised.
So hide away your plastic smiles, save them in your storage piles;
Put them with those "kind words" so decidedly false.
And I'll lay aside my foolish hopes that you'll read the writing on your own whitewashed walls.
For you've spat upon my upturned eyes,
Stinging softly with venom disguised;
The quieter the blow, the worse it burns with time.
Poison candy-coated will deadly remain
Only cowards need to shift the blame.
"She'll come back!" the solemn circle proudly proclaimed,
But mangled by your stones, I couldn't return the same.
I'm finished and I'm done,
So keep your scarlet letters.
In this place that used to be a home,
Now filled with pointed fingers and golden fetters.
This garden is riddled with wormwood
So much slashing and burning to do
Time to dig a grave for this hatchet
I have to reply: "Forgiven!" until a mended heart makes it true.
"Embers and Ashes"
Standing at the nearest distance
Side by side but miles apart
The candles have been extinguished
Embers turned to ashes from the start
Such kind words in your goodbyes--
But upon my return--
Reception dark and bitter
Meaningless smiles that burn.
Your hearth has grown cold
We once kindled a fellowship here
Of brothers and sisters united, bold
Now I find such things have disappeared.
Side by side but miles apart
The candles have been extinguished
Embers turned to ashes from the start
Such kind words in your goodbyes--
But upon my return--
Reception dark and bitter
Meaningless smiles that burn.
Your hearth has grown cold
We once kindled a fellowship here
Of brothers and sisters united, bold
Now I find such things have disappeared.
"Repentance"
The presence of our Love
Has come and gone with the breezes of the day
Oh, but we're so busy grasping for the wind
And setting up our statuettes, we worship all but Him.
So turn your eyes, your stifled cries
Upon a worthier cause
And hearken your ears that you may hear
In quiet reverence, be still, be paused.
We have snuffed the fire out
Within the cold walls of our own unfeeling hearts
Water it down, by all means, in fear of simple truth
Blend the blacks and whites until they're soft, we're only making do.
So lift your heads, turn over in your beds
Right to left and right again
And open your mouths, mending all your broken vows
Call it failure, call it fraud, call it sin.
Has come and gone with the breezes of the day
Oh, but we're so busy grasping for the wind
And setting up our statuettes, we worship all but Him.
So turn your eyes, your stifled cries
Upon a worthier cause
And hearken your ears that you may hear
In quiet reverence, be still, be paused.
We have snuffed the fire out
Within the cold walls of our own unfeeling hearts
Water it down, by all means, in fear of simple truth
Blend the blacks and whites until they're soft, we're only making do.
So lift your heads, turn over in your beds
Right to left and right again
And open your mouths, mending all your broken vows
Call it failure, call it fraud, call it sin.
"Lay It Down"
I am a daughter, I am a son; put me together, I come undone.
Thought I was wise, thought I knew tragedy until it's cloud was over me
And now- I sit here stunned...I am stunned.
I am a kingdom, I am a cross; I am a broken vessel painted with innocence lost
I've sought the truth that'd suit my boundless pride, only to see those methods die
And here- I'm at a loss...I'm at a loss
I am a sanctuary where misconceptions rest; they fall like leaves upon the field of second-bests
I could just drown in this complacency, not see the dreams You have for me, I'd die for less!
Am I to be another jaded one who cowers at the rising sun?
We need to clean up this mess.
And so I'm laying down my life for You
I'll make the sacrifice for You
And in this garden, I gain more than I have lost; I gain more than I have lost.
I am a soldier, I am a child; I am a lovesick fool, singing and dancing wild
I've known the pain, the chains of apathy, but now You've ripped that out of me
How far we've come- so many miles.
I'm finally laying down my life for You
I've made this sacrifice for You
My life's a garden where I gain more than I have lost
Though the Potter's wheel is a hard place to be
I know Your hand is healing me
And I can say- in truth- that I am Yours.
Thought I was wise, thought I knew tragedy until it's cloud was over me
And now- I sit here stunned...I am stunned.
I am a kingdom, I am a cross; I am a broken vessel painted with innocence lost
I've sought the truth that'd suit my boundless pride, only to see those methods die
And here- I'm at a loss...I'm at a loss
I am a sanctuary where misconceptions rest; they fall like leaves upon the field of second-bests
I could just drown in this complacency, not see the dreams You have for me, I'd die for less!
Am I to be another jaded one who cowers at the rising sun?
We need to clean up this mess.
And so I'm laying down my life for You
I'll make the sacrifice for You
And in this garden, I gain more than I have lost; I gain more than I have lost.
I am a soldier, I am a child; I am a lovesick fool, singing and dancing wild
I've known the pain, the chains of apathy, but now You've ripped that out of me
How far we've come- so many miles.
I'm finally laying down my life for You
I've made this sacrifice for You
My life's a garden where I gain more than I have lost
Though the Potter's wheel is a hard place to be
I know Your hand is healing me
And I can say- in truth- that I am Yours.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Blog 31: The REAL American Idol Experience, Part III (The Exciting Conclusion)
For all of you who harbor any misconceptions of the audition process, I neither saw nor met any of the celebrity judges. They do not show up for initial auditions at all. Ryan Seacrest did show up for all of five minutes to get some very staged camera shots of him in/with the crowd. They make sure all the seats are filled where the camera is swinging closest. They say: "Stand up, sit down, stand up, sit down, scream! Wave your arms, say this phrase, sing this song! (which just so happened to be Lady Gaga's "Edge of Glory"--a horrible excuse for a song that we listened to dozens of time because it was the only thing they played while we waited). I must say, it was disillusioning to see the whole process. Seacrest did that as quickly as possible, then handed off the mic and disappeared. Then the "glamorous" part ended and the auditions began.
In the center of the Coliseum (on the floor), they set up twelve tables separated from one another by sheets of cloth. At each table there are one or two judges, most of them being junior producers, I believe. They call you out by seating sections. Getting there that early in the morning really is pointless, because you're given a ticket that dictates exactly where you are to sit. Since we registered on the second day, we were in the nosebleed section and consequently didn't audition til they were about to close up shop. We watched and listened. Some sub-par singers went through, some excellent ones didn't. All of the judges appeared to be fun and nice, save one set. Table three: the auditionee's worst nightmare. We observed them all day and they maybe accepted three out of the three hundred people that went through that day. I prayed "Please don't send me there!"
I'll confess that one of my favorite things to watch were the people who walked up not confidently, but cockily. They'd be over the top, they'd sing good and loud, they'd smirk at their companions disdainfully--and when they didn't make it, I couldn't help but grin. Another great thing to observe was the young teens who made it. They'd run over to the parents' section on the floor, shrieking gleefully and waving their 'golden ticket.' One girl got so excited that she ran a circle around the floor by accident because she didn't know where she was supposed to go. It was so adorable! There was, of course, one woman who threw a hissy fit about not making it. She stood on the floor for about 30 minutes, refusing to leave, cussing, and talking REAL ghetto before she was escorted out by security. I unfortunately missed all but the tail-end of that incident, as I was taking a very uncomfortable nap. haha.
So, it had been hours (and hours and hours), and let me tell you, we were not looking fresh. The humidity of the morning had caused a lot of sweat which in turn caused my clothes to look almost...wilted? I touched up my makeup here and there, but my inadvertent napping probably took a toll on my appearance as well. So much for looking fly. When our section was FINALLY called, I was so exhausted and sore from the seating arrangement that I said: "Honestly, at this point, I care more about getting this over with and getting out of here than I do about making it. I just want to leave!" And everyone around me stared, appalled. God forbid making it on TV not be my life goal. haha. We marched down the steps, I rather wearily. Once we hit the floor we stood in line a little longer. Shannon, the girl who sat in front of us, was very nervous. We both chatted with the security guy directing the front of the line. He seemed amused that the concern/excitement about auditioning had completely drained from me. It was pretty funny.
Initially, we were sent to table two. The ladies who sat there seemed super nice. They had been laughing and smiling all day long. We all breathed a sigh of relief and a bit of enthusiasm came back to me for a moment. Then, the fateful call was made to scootch us on over to the dreaded table three. "The line's moving faster over there," said the security guy, "And I turned to my companions and said "Well, there goes our shot. At least it's almost over!" Two nodded, resigned, while one girl smirked (yes, there was one of those in my group). Table three housed two twenty-something hipsters, a guy and a girl. The guy had a skanky 'stache, a white v-neck tee, and a dirty brown ponytail. He seemed to have an aversion to looking at anyone he judged. The girl sort of reminded me of a dirty version of Caroline Bingley in Pride and Prejudice (the newer movie version, with Keira Knightley). She also did her best to appear bored and a bit pissed. She waved each of us up one at a time, waving impatiently when she wanted us to stop.
I sang "Almost Lover" by A Fine Frenzy, looking at them both in turn, and showing a bit of emotion. For example... Any of you who came to the old Torches Together shows and heard me sing this song know I get pretty into it. I actually got Mr. Hoobajank to look me right in the eye, uncomfortable as he seemed. I thought it a good sign that they let me sing a full 10 seconds longer than anyone else in my group. They stopped me and then took to whispering behind their clipboards. Then came what I expected. They waved us forward and the girl said "Like, you guys are really good and all, but you're not what we're looking for." And then we all walked away, me relieved, the others devastated. The cocky girl cried.
My brother Luke called and I told him about the audition. He was indignant. "How could they not pick you?" I replied: "Well, there were a lot of really good people that didn't make it." He shot back: "But I've HEARD you! There's no way!" haha. If you knew the very critical nature of my brother Luke, you would see how very encouraging this exchange was--he doesn't do insincere flattery. I spoke with the rest of my family at their behest and they all said similar things. One thing I did get from the audition was a renewed desire to do music. I have always loved it. I've been taking a break, but I plan to pick up the old guitar again soon and get cracking. It's just time. I've got to give the people what they want! haha. Regretfully, we didn't have much time or money to really enjoy Charleston's coolness. Parking is like $2 every thirty minutes there. But we had some good times, regardless.
Anywho, photo montage!
In the center of the Coliseum (on the floor), they set up twelve tables separated from one another by sheets of cloth. At each table there are one or two judges, most of them being junior producers, I believe. They call you out by seating sections. Getting there that early in the morning really is pointless, because you're given a ticket that dictates exactly where you are to sit. Since we registered on the second day, we were in the nosebleed section and consequently didn't audition til they were about to close up shop. We watched and listened. Some sub-par singers went through, some excellent ones didn't. All of the judges appeared to be fun and nice, save one set. Table three: the auditionee's worst nightmare. We observed them all day and they maybe accepted three out of the three hundred people that went through that day. I prayed "Please don't send me there!"
I'll confess that one of my favorite things to watch were the people who walked up not confidently, but cockily. They'd be over the top, they'd sing good and loud, they'd smirk at their companions disdainfully--and when they didn't make it, I couldn't help but grin. Another great thing to observe was the young teens who made it. They'd run over to the parents' section on the floor, shrieking gleefully and waving their 'golden ticket.' One girl got so excited that she ran a circle around the floor by accident because she didn't know where she was supposed to go. It was so adorable! There was, of course, one woman who threw a hissy fit about not making it. She stood on the floor for about 30 minutes, refusing to leave, cussing, and talking REAL ghetto before she was escorted out by security. I unfortunately missed all but the tail-end of that incident, as I was taking a very uncomfortable nap. haha.
So, it had been hours (and hours and hours), and let me tell you, we were not looking fresh. The humidity of the morning had caused a lot of sweat which in turn caused my clothes to look almost...wilted? I touched up my makeup here and there, but my inadvertent napping probably took a toll on my appearance as well. So much for looking fly. When our section was FINALLY called, I was so exhausted and sore from the seating arrangement that I said: "Honestly, at this point, I care more about getting this over with and getting out of here than I do about making it. I just want to leave!" And everyone around me stared, appalled. God forbid making it on TV not be my life goal. haha. We marched down the steps, I rather wearily. Once we hit the floor we stood in line a little longer. Shannon, the girl who sat in front of us, was very nervous. We both chatted with the security guy directing the front of the line. He seemed amused that the concern/excitement about auditioning had completely drained from me. It was pretty funny.
Initially, we were sent to table two. The ladies who sat there seemed super nice. They had been laughing and smiling all day long. We all breathed a sigh of relief and a bit of enthusiasm came back to me for a moment. Then, the fateful call was made to scootch us on over to the dreaded table three. "The line's moving faster over there," said the security guy, "And I turned to my companions and said "Well, there goes our shot. At least it's almost over!" Two nodded, resigned, while one girl smirked (yes, there was one of those in my group). Table three housed two twenty-something hipsters, a guy and a girl. The guy had a skanky 'stache, a white v-neck tee, and a dirty brown ponytail. He seemed to have an aversion to looking at anyone he judged. The girl sort of reminded me of a dirty version of Caroline Bingley in Pride and Prejudice (the newer movie version, with Keira Knightley). She also did her best to appear bored and a bit pissed. She waved each of us up one at a time, waving impatiently when she wanted us to stop.
I sang "Almost Lover" by A Fine Frenzy, looking at them both in turn, and showing a bit of emotion. For example... Any of you who came to the old Torches Together shows and heard me sing this song know I get pretty into it. I actually got Mr. Hoobajank to look me right in the eye, uncomfortable as he seemed. I thought it a good sign that they let me sing a full 10 seconds longer than anyone else in my group. They stopped me and then took to whispering behind their clipboards. Then came what I expected. They waved us forward and the girl said "Like, you guys are really good and all, but you're not what we're looking for." And then we all walked away, me relieved, the others devastated. The cocky girl cried.
My brother Luke called and I told him about the audition. He was indignant. "How could they not pick you?" I replied: "Well, there were a lot of really good people that didn't make it." He shot back: "But I've HEARD you! There's no way!" haha. If you knew the very critical nature of my brother Luke, you would see how very encouraging this exchange was--he doesn't do insincere flattery. I spoke with the rest of my family at their behest and they all said similar things. One thing I did get from the audition was a renewed desire to do music. I have always loved it. I've been taking a break, but I plan to pick up the old guitar again soon and get cracking. It's just time. I've got to give the people what they want! haha. Regretfully, we didn't have much time or money to really enjoy Charleston's coolness. Parking is like $2 every thirty minutes there. But we had some good times, regardless.
Anywho, photo montage!
 |
| It's a beautiful day, don't let it get away! |
 | |
I just love that hat. Maybe a little too much. |
 |
| If you can't be skinny, go for style. haha, this is me, keeping it retro. ;) |
 |
| Our reaction to the guys trying to get our attention by throwing a football a little too close to our towels. haha |
 |
| We took this while stuck in traffic. We look a lot more chipper than we felt, I assure you. |
 |
| The Coliseum, the thousands... |
 |
| The morning's cheer and sassy good looks were fading... |
 | |||
| Trying to regain some sense of excitement... |
 | |
| My questionnaire. |
The judging tables.
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| I secretly want to shoot myself right now... |
 | ||||||||||
| My sentiments, exactly. |
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| On our way to our doom...:) |
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| Note the look of distress. The nefarious duo at table three... |
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| Ready to go out on the town after the audition! |
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| Dani also sassin' it up to hit Charleston/Folly Beach. |
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| I just love red lipstick. It makes me feel very "Old Hollywood." |
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| We bounced back from the "disappointment" of the day pretty quickly. |
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| All right, enough posing in the hotel room... |
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| One more pose, for the road...Sweet freedom? Yes. |
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| Heading home, rocking out. |
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| Out of money and tired as hell=happy to be on our way back. |
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| Don't even tell me you didn't think I'd make it. |
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| Just happy as clams. |
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| Singing dramatically...probably something silly like "Bootylicious" but I can't remember. |
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