Imperfection

This is probably the most vulnerable thing that I have ever written in my entire life. Vulnerability is not something that I’m really good at because I don’t want to be seen as a weak person. After all, I’m Emily, I can easily take any blow that life hands to me and it won’t even affect me. LIES! Lies that I have told myself for a long time!  The truth is that things hurt me in deep ways, deeper ways than I am able to show to other people. Most of you who are reading this know how difficult the past 2 months have been for me….it’s actually been quite devastating for me. I have been hurt deeply, but if I’m honest with myself, most of that hurt came as a result of my actions. I was watching an interview with Pink the other day, the things that she said in that interview stuck out to me so much because I related to them. When Oprah asked her what her breakup taught her she said: “I am usually the one that’s calling the shots, with one foot out the door. This song is very humble for me, it’s very apologetic, and understanding, questioning and begging. I don’t do that.  I was pretty sure I was perfect before that breakup and I spent 6 years trying to change someone else and I think that was a great distraction for me to not really have to look at myself. See what I had to change in me. My dad said that if you can think of 20 things that you want in a person and then make sure that you have all of those….and I didn’t so…It was very humbling for me. I’m not perfect, close, in relationships. It needed to happen for both of us.”

While I wasn’t in a relationship, I made a lot of terrible mistakes the past couple of years. I lost one of my best friends. I lost my sense of perfection. I lost my sense of control. I lost a lot of self respect. I hurt some people very deeply as a result of all of this. At the same time I got hurt deeply. I’m not sure if you ever faced a situation in which you cared so greatly for another person that you held on so tightly…I thought that letting go would be giving up on that person or it would be defeat or apathy. In the end, I learned that giving up (even when forced too) is a true demonstration of strength. If you love something, then you let it go. As cliché as it sounds. When you let something go, it has room to bloom and grow because it gets the air that It needs to be free. And ultimately, when you love something, you want it to be free. You don’t want it to be strangled and choked.

Basically, this is me owning up to my own imperfections. I have not yet arrived. While I’m neither as bad nor as good as people say, I am what I am. So the next time that you hear something bad about me, I ask that your response to what you hear would merely be: “I’m sorry that she hurt you so deeply and she is sorry that she hurt you so deeply.” Because whether what is said it true or false, it is still very real to them. I own up to my actions and as a result I have to face those consequences. I hope that one day I get the chance to share these thoughts with the one person that I hurt the most. I can tell you that today, I’m going to work on me. Please be patient with me. “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” ~1 Peter 4:8~

With Love,
Emily

Habits.
They can be good, they can be bad, and they most certainly can be plentiful. If our habits define our moments and our moments define our lives, I'd like to say it's time to lasso those miscreant activities we do that somehow seep into the fabric of our day and put them out to pasture. If only it were so easy. (You can just consider that terrible cliche as one of the habits I wish to, ahem, do away with.)

For instance, reality TV.
I have gotten into this habit of enjoying drama-- not my drama-- the drama of others flaunted on screen. Maybe it's a curse of introversion-- I am interacting with others in a voyeuristic manner (I know that can be interpreted as creepy, but work with me people)-- I don't actually have to involve myself in their lives, but I do involve myself in their lives. I see them fight, interact with friends, gossip, and even . . . shower. Yikes, I am a creeper! In reality TV, the "stars'" lives are on display for the world to see, and we are all happy partakers of "The Society of the Spectacle." In a book of that title, Guy (pronounced Gee, don't ask me why, but I was gently chastised for mispronouncing his moniker once) Debord writes, "All that was once directly lived has become mere representation." He argues that we, as a society, have become dependent on images and representations of what is real, rather than reality itself. Eerie! (Side note: I think this also has implications to John Piper's Don't Waste Your Life, but I am too tired to articulate them now). It's kind of like that movie Wall-E, where the inhabitants of the futuristic city float around in front of a screen, watching life instead of living it. (Now, the whole sitting in front of a screen thing is another habit to kick, methinks, maybe another day.)

So, I was I thinking about all of that today as I watched a "real housewife" claim Whoopi Goldberg "assaulted" her on The View (Whoopi merely touched her waist). Ridiculous! Who allows these people to become famous? After this ah-hah moment, I decided that, aside from I dunno, cough, American Idol, I would eschew some of the reality TV habits that I developed . . . and maybe pick up a book instead, take the dog on a walk, engage people in actual conversation, or, maybe, just maybe go on a date . . . (instead of watching others whine about or praise their love lives).

It's easier to let the life of someone else wash over you as it "appears" on the television screen, and for some, living, taking risks, and even sharing meaningful moments with others is hard work. And, while it is a natural inclination for humans to want to share their lives, perhaps I will try to do so in a more genuine way; there are many more quality activities to be done and shared . . . Besides, I really don't care what Teresa Giudice had for dinner. At least I tell myself that . . .

My mother frequently corresponds with her cousin who is a (conservative) political blogger and Yale graduate. He additionally enjoys researching our family tree, so I have been learning much about my family and enigmatic grandmother, Conora (not to be confused with Corona). (Note: my mother's side of the family seems to have a plethora of geniuses and males who have become lawyers, engineers, Yale grads, and other prolific career holders. Interesting that such logical and analytical creatures would dominate my familial tree considering my critical thinking crises. I digress.)

I always thought we spelled Conora with a K-- "Konora;" however, Mr. Zincavage (my second cousin) informed us that it is with a "C." She is of Russian descent; her mother, Anna, was from there, and her father, Victor, was from Poland. She changed her name a few times and holed herself up in her suburban Philadelphia home, and friends of mine suggest that her true identity was that of a Soviet spy (apparently there was an abundance of them tucked away here-- who knew). I know very little of my grandmother's true identity, but I do now she enjoyed putting pink curlers in my hair, watching TV, and evidently drowning out the world around her in a whirl of liquor and cigarettes (though I do not have any recollection of this, really). Today David sent us an e-mail that said the following (which made me chuckle a tidbit): "My mother's family was loaded with drunks. [Some were] bombed every day without fail."

It's funny though, perhaps because of childhood innocence, I mostly remember my grandmother in a good light. I do not remember the substances, the name changes, the scandals (if there were any); I do remember the curlers, the fascination with her furniture, and, sadly, the ghastly stroke she had that ended her life when I was ten. I would like to learn more, and maybe I will share what I do . . .

But I should probably end this post before my ramblings turn into something more dangerous, like my current dating woes. Does anybody else feel like you're playing deal or no deal when it comes to relationships?

That should be saved for another post. Adieu . . .

What happens when you love the one you don't want and want the ones you don't love?

Warning: Stream of Consciousness Post. Randomness to Follow.

Hello from my sun room. My left arm is numb, and my left foot is falling asleep. Last night a fire scorched my throat and forehead; I think something is wrong with me. It is possible that I am just tired, and my arm is sore from working out intensely and carrying around several large mixing bowls plus a purse at Ross today. Yes, I am sure that is it. I did inherit my mother's hypochondriac tendencies, though.

However, like today, the day before yesterday, and yesterday, anxiety with all its unsavory fibers occasionally throws a lasso around my thoughts. God says not to worry, but I am me and He is God, so He's a lot bigger, more powerful, and smarter.

Let me tell you about the desert. It is not a place forsaken by God. It is desolate. Was not Jesus led into the desert once? I'm sure He noticed its colors, its sounds, its dry air, its sand and its wind that all funnel together into a different kind of beauty-- the kind that is dangerous and misleading-- maybe like a woman. The sands of the desert succumb to the wind; the wind creates zigs and zags and dunes from the tiniest grains of earth.

I am sitting on my sun room couch thinking about all of these things. I have more feeling in my left arm, and I shifted my weight off of my left foot so it has feeling once again. My dog Jill is perched watching the rabbits munch on grass out the window. Somebody on the news is droning about the oil spill. I am tired from planning classes and socializing. I am 51 percent introverted. Maybe I belong in the desert after all . . . it's quiet there, and I only have to talk such ominous creatures like the rattle snakes and ravens.

I am sorry if you find this blog entry strange, but I am learning not to care so much about what people say or think. It doesn't matter, anyways, does it?

From The Normal Christian Life by Watchman Nee

"I appreciate the blessed fact of God's forgiveness, but I want something more than that: deliverance. I need forgiveness for what I have done, but I need also deliverance from what I am."

The girls at my house are all wanting to make out with Lee from American Idol. Well, two of them (though they actually don't live here).