A Self Becoming

I can't remember exactly when I got a Pinterest account (awomanthatrains is the username in case you're interested), but I know that in whatever amount of time I've had it, it's been a dangerous device. For instance, it has encouraged me too cook outside of my realm of expertise and to seek clothes that I have absolutely no reason (or means) to buy, because at the end of the sleep cycle, I will always choose jeans and a sweater over a merlot colored dress, tights and suede wedge booties on a school day. It has enabled my cynicism and sarcasm while attempting to culture the sweet and domestic young lady the entire site is geared toward. It has created in me a dichotomy of who I actually am and who I think I should be.

But perhaps it's not who I think I should be, but rather who the Pinterest community itself thinks I should be. And though I am a Pinterest user, I am not the community, nor am I the majority within the community, as far as I can tell.

The phenomenon of social media and its effect on association with group mentality is tragically unacknowledged as far as Pinterest goes. I've read some articles and blogs about Facebook's role in cyber depression, and I have a post in the works regarding twitter and the tigger complex, but Pinterest is a whole new animal. The site itself represents the single idea of perfect girl. While on the site, you're inundated with all the ideas of perfection that are on trend, and following trend is always trendy. There's an unsaid expectation based on other social norms, enforced by the positive feedback of other girls pinning what you've pinned. Each notification is a "yes, good, keep doing that."

But again, I can't afford the clothes I pin, nor would I wear them if I could. I can't cook the recipes I post, I can't keep that cute organizational system for more than 4 uses. My wedding board has 222 pins on it and I haven't had a relationship in two years. The most notifications I've gotten have been on two styles of bridesmaid dresses. They will be out of style by the time I'm planning my own wedding. 

So why do I pin them? Why does anyone pin them? At what point did I start asking myself "am I pinning this because I like it? Or am I pinning it because I think they will?" And I'm sad to admit that most of the time, it's the latter. I look through my boards and honestly, my Pinterest personae, if incarnate, would be a perfect stranger to me. We wouldn't even run in similar circles. All the actual pins I enjoy are on secret boards. 

I'm not pinning who I am. So am I pinning who I want to be? Or am I pinning who I think the 200 followers want me to be?

The answer is usually pretty easy to determine. It gets a little fuzzy when it's an older pin. Because I keep a journal, I can see that I am not the same person I was when I pinned the early pins. But the board that I cannot determine is the board I called "the 20s".

This board started as a very pure board. It was exactly who I decided I wanted to be when I turned 20. The theme has stayed pretty consistent and I still agree with most of the pins. But there's one small problem: I turn 20 this year, and I am nowhere near becoming the person I thought I would be. 

When I made the board, I didn't account for the fact that I would have influences and conditions that would either prevent me from becoming that person or turn me into someone else altogether. 

By now, I thought I'd have a better sense of style, more influences of poetry and Hemingway, an identity in my living space... And I don't. I just don't. 

To be very clear, I'm happy with who I've become, who I'm on track to become, and everything that entails. However, I don't believe I'm anyone like who I thought I would be. Actually, maybe I didn't even know who I was going to be ever. Which is probably a good thing. 

People who meddle with their own fates live to regret it. At least, that's what theme, literature and cult TV implies (i.e. Macbeth, Julius Caesar, David Tennant, Matt Smith...). If literature is actually relevant for theme and not just something to do on public transportation, then maybe I should heed my own advice from ENGL 3000 and just let my fate come, it's inevitable anyway. Trying to avoid it is just taking a different path to the same destination.

None of this changes the fact that I legitimately feel like my personal growth has been stunted. But it's like that Madeleine L'Engle quote that's superimposed over hipster photos on my Pinterest feed: "A self is always becoming."

So I'm just going to keep becoming, and you should keep becoming, and we'll all keep becoming who we should become. It's very becoming, you know, to be who you should be.

In the mean time, I will keep going on Pinterest during large, mind-numbing lectures and prolonged periods of boredom because I believe if you're not just a little bit confused, you're not doing it right. 

Why I Like Football

So weirdly, I've been realizing more and more of my friends are not fans of football. In fact, many are very anti-football. They're incredibly disdainful of me for being a fan of the Broncos, not because they're the Broncos, but because they're a football team. These post-game riots and stabbings aren't helping my case, but what can you do? Here's a post that goes out to my anti-sports friends. And also to my pro-sports readers, be you athletes or fans, because I'm sure you have some friends like mine too. 

First, I'd like to address the riots and stabbings. I am not those people. My people are not those people. I don't condone those people. The riots are tragic events and shunned within the sporting community.

Judging a fandom by the extremists is like judging the Star Wars movies by Jar Jar Binks. It's just a bad idea, you get the wrong impression. People within the fandom don't even like Jar Jar; similarly, people within the football fandom don't like the ones who take it too far. If you think you'd be the one to stab people, I completely understand and support your decision to avoid becoming a fan. Please, if you think you'd become a lunatic, do whatever it takes to avoid becoming a lunatic. However, I've never been to a Super Bowl party, or a party for any game, or any game, that ended in a stabbing. Football fans do not lose rationality just by being a football fan.

Basically, the argument that becoming a football fan will make you crazy enough to stab people is fallacious (cum hoc ergo propter hoc). There's also the fallacy of composition, assuming that something true of part of the whole is also true of the whole. It's Philosophy 101.

Now that I've put that to rest, I can get into the title. 

The point of joining a fandom, any fandom, is escapism. It's losing yourself so wholly to something other than your own life that it actually becomes a part of your life. Geeks do it with SciFi, fantasy and BBC. Those less fantastically inclined tend toward sports.* I happen to do both. I can just as easily become enraptured with a time travelling alien as I can with Peyton Manning. 

It's not hard to understand why. I live in Boulder, Colorado. I go to normal classes at normal times of day and learn normal things. I wait tables, I go home and study, I go to bed. I wake up, and I repeat. Daily, over and over, this is my life, and it's nothing compelling.

But the life of Sherlock Holmes or Danaerys Targaryen is so constantly interesting, so much more than calculus and spaghetti, it's easy to get lost in their lives. And it's the same for the Broncos. Their struggles are my struggles, their fight is my fight. Most importantly, however, their triumphs are my triumphs (and there are A LOT of triumphs this season!)

More than anything, though, it's the camaraderie. It's getting on social media and seeing everyone bleeding orange and blue on my newsfeed. It's seeing SO MANY Tom Brady hate memes and laughing to myself. It's identifying with an entire community. We all share the identity of being a Broncos fan. I even support the fair weather fans because those people just need something to make them happy. All of this is absolutely no different than being in a tumblr-friendly fandom.

Hear me out.

Week to week, game by game, episode by episode, we wait with bated breath to see how the story will progress, and even after the hero (aka the Broncos) beats the villain, we sit and wait to see who the next adversary will be, and just how exciting the game will be. We scream at screens, we bite our nails, we plan massive viewing parties of like-minded people. Or not, whatever, roll how you roll, introverts are cool too. 

But to the people who argue that sports are pointless compared to other fandoms, that watching grown men push each other to get a sack of air down a field is stupid, I'm begging you, SHUT UP.

It's not about what they're doing, it's not about the bare bones, no more than you are. It's not about the flesh and blood either. It's not about the marketing, it's hardly even about the colors, or the icons. Just as you are about the things you do and the reactions you cause in other people, so are sports and every other fandom.

For me, personally, football is about tradition. The Broncos were my first fandom, back in the days of Elway, Davis, McCaffrey, and Smith. I was born into the Broncos golden age, and every time I sit down for a game, I remember sitting on the couch with my nails painted alternately orange and blue. I remember my dad explaining to me what a first down was and the difference between a quarterback and a cornerback. I remember learning to throw a spiral so I could keep up with the boys on the playground. 

Yes, there's bragging rights. Yes, there's the idolizing of the great players (#PFM), there's the trend and the bandwagon, but there is truly an element of heart in every game. As much as you can want Harry to kill Voldemort (or Umbridge), I can want Tom Brady to cry into his lap after we beat him. That's just the way it works for me. As much as you want Batman to beat the Joker and save the city, I can root for Denver to beat the opponent and save our Mile High pride.

This post has been pretty exclusively Broncos, but this applies to any sports team. Chelsea FC, Avalanche, Team USA, Rockies (poor things), Nuggets, any school team... Being their fan lets them be part of your identity, and that's actually pretty cool, because then there are people who have that piece inside of them as well. Collectively, all these people with this piece become the identity of the team. It's this crazy, symbiotic relationship; one cannot exist without the other (unless we're talking about the Raiders who still exist by some miracle.) It's all about being a part of something bigger than yourself. 

If you've never been to a game, GO. If you've never been to a midnight premiere or book release or concert of your favorite band, GO. See what you are a part of, because it is always much bigger than you think.

This is not me trying to make you like sports, or even the Broncos. And if you don't like sports or the Broncos, we can still be friends, it's not a deal-breaker. But if you are reading this and can think of a time that you've viewed me with disdain because I cared about the Broncos game, the latest regeneration, or George RR Martin's latest slaughter, I am asking that you never do that again. Because this is how I'm getting through college. This is how I keep myself from going crazy in the monotony of pre-med and serving soup and salad. I am asking you to understand escapsism.

That's why I like football. That's why I am a fan, not just of football, but of all of my fandoms. They keep me interested, and that keeps me going. It keeps me from railing against suburbia and the limitations that come with becoming a doctor.

Speaking of all my fandoms, I am a member of quite a few. If you're ever bored, send me a message, I love debating minutia or even just sharing in reactions. If you want to introduce me to a new one, I'm up for it. Clearly, I think they're fun. 




ONE LAST THING

I couldn't find a good place for this, so it goes at the bottom. Hehehe, bottom.

*There's also a fandom of reality TV or soap operas or Hollywood in general, which I haven't gotten into, not quite my demographic, but I don't blame anyone who gets into that. Escapism is a thing, and that's okay.

The First 26 Reasons to Not Be a Smoker

1) You can say you're better than the smokers for all of these reasons.

2) It's hard to quit to be better than all those people. 

3) Cancer. I mean, high blood pressure, pneumonia, increased risk of CAD, yada yada yada, but really. CANCER.

4) The smell is unattractive. 

5) So are your teeth. 

6) And let's not forget the wrinkle effect.

7) Or the sick voice. 

8) People who can climb a flight of stairs with ease are sexy. 

9) I'm not the only one who thinks so.

Haha, Robin's derp 

10) It's expensive. 

11) Plus, you don't even get to use these things anymore.

12) And it hasn't been glamorous since you could. 

13) It's just one more choice you have to make. 

There's a difference, I guess?

14) It's just one more thing work your life around. Like, who really has time for smoking breaks?

15) You contribute to Big Tobacco and all the lobbying it entails. I mean, you're taking away your own political influence there. Be a statistic in the right direction. 

16) Dat ash... 

Insert high pitched scream

17) Those butts...

18) They're finding a cure to the diseases it inevitably causes by animal testing. 

This is your fault, smokers. I'm calling Sarah McLachlan on you. 

19) You lose your sense of taste. This could be like, twenty reasons on its own. Chocolate, Mac n Cheese, fine wine and cheese, your mom's best baked goods, LATTES! What if you could never taste LATTES again!?

20) Literally everything you own smells. Bye bye resale value... 

21) It reduces your circulation so you are colder. All. The. Time. 

22) You know what else happens when you can't get your blood pumping? 

SO MUCH HIMYM. Not even sorry. 

23) Friends are like potatoes; if you smoke around them, they die... or something like that. 

24) People around you (cough FRIENDS cough) won't make "that face" when they're trying not to be bothered by your smoking smell. (Double bonus, the coughing will go away too). 

The Original HIMYM

25) Oh! Those people that cough at you when they walk by! 

26) You aren't even allowed to do it anywhere anymore. But sometimes you're allowed to do it outside, segueing perfectly into...

...BONUS: 27) This. You don't wanna be outside in this.

So maybe this was all just an elaborate framing technique to bitch about the weather. Maybe this WAS just a petty "challenge accepted" post in response to a Facebook comment.

But for realzies, don't smoke. 

12 Signs You're Growing Up

12 Reasons You Feel Old Enough To Be an Adult
But Not Quite Old Enough to Be Good At It

A Smattering by Yours Truly

1) Your vocabulary
The words "rent", "payday", "budget", and "busy" have replaced "lunch money", "allowance", "curfew", and "exhausted", but you haven't quite yet phased out "Mom! I need money!". 

2) Your habits are old habits

Your favorite movie as a child just produced a promising sequel and you have yet to see it in theatres, may even be planning on waiting for the RedBox.
"Oh. Yeah, I guess so..." says Person Who Dressed Up For Every Harry Potter.
"Why were you not at the midnight premiere in full costume?" says Person's reflection.
Person shrugs, and accepts that dressing up for animated movies is better suited for the screaming tweenagers and toddlers Person wanted to avoid by not seeing it in theatres.

3) Your social life

"I can't, I have to work." has become an acceptable and viable excuse for not going out. 

4) Your hours of operation
You have become aware of the establishments in your area that function on your time, which is any of the 24 hours in a given day. And you've needed them during each of the 24 hours.

5) You're good at numbers

Social Security

Credit Card

Drivers License
Phone (at least 7)

You have ALL OF THOSE NUMBERS memorized, as well as a few more. And you know which box to check on a W4, but still call your parents during tax season.

6) Your biological clock

You see a child, you want a child...

My ovaries ache.

...But know you cannot have a child. Nor do you actually want one, it's not practical, shut up instincts! No one likes you!

7) Your palette, and its associated skill set
Suddenly, Ramen and PBJ and EasyMac don't quite cut it. You know the intricacies of your oven, its quirks and shortcomings. You can season pasta sauce to perfection. You can convincingly lie about your ability to discern the difference between basil and oregano. You are an adult. 

An adult who still buys enough Easy Mac, Ramen, and PBJ to feed your college-student self for like, a day. Maybe. 

8) Your driving habits

No longer are you the extremely cautious, speed limit minding 15 year old just trying to pass your test and get your license. You have given yourself wholly to the driving gods, and kiss your sun visor under every yellow light. You shoot the gap and have driven 80 miles an hour through residential areas. 

But still call your parents when you get in trouble. 

9) Your reaction to music 

Suddenly you feel a distinct disconnect between your playlist and that of the younger generation, and are somewhat surprised when you hear anyone younger than 15 listening to anything remotely like your iPod. 

Or maybe it's when Thrift Shop comes on in the car when your nannying and the children sing along with the Kidz Bop version that you feel distinctly older. 

10) Your presence of authority

Little kids have no problem asking you for your professional opinion. They expect you to know the answers like their mommy would. 

Then you go and ask an adult before you answer them. 

11) Your humble abode

You have started living on your own. You cook, you kinda clean, you even decorated your own room. You buy your own groceries and pay your own rent, and then anxiously check your bank account and maybe call your parents for more money, just this once. 

12) You didn't prove me wrong.

Be honest. Am I really all that wrong? 

Hospitality, Holy Water, and Other Flooding Thoughts

Thursday, September 12, 2013, 26 hours since the first puddle.
Tipi Loschi house

I remember how this started. It was a small drizzle, harmless. This crept up on us, soundlessly, as though Thor took no part in its design. Then drizzle became flood.

I'm not entirely sure how this happened, but somehow I've found myself in a house I'd never noticed with people I've only just met, and nowhere else to go, and no way to get there, even if I did. 

The place I've come to call home, my apartment here in Boulder, my haven after a year of displacement, was invaded by millions of raindrops as aimless as I am, just trying to find where they're meant to go.

I am not alone in this. In either, really. I am not the only person sleeping on a floor I've only just set foot on. Nor am I the only one searching to find a home, a niche, a destiny, even just a destination.

I've been drifting through this process. I don't know what the appropriate course of action would be. Natural disasters are things that happen to other people, not to me. I'd not been touched by the chilling fingers of tragedy without a few layers of "someones" I may or may not know, not without layers of distance keeping me safely within my comfortable existence, virgin to the experience of first-hand devastation. 

I still don't really feel devastated. I'm used to couch surfing, and it's nice to have company. And the company I'm in, it's quite nice.

It started with the girls, Filiae Dei, the group my roommate found while converting to Catholicism. These girls, their hospitality is overwhelming. A hot shower, a dry bed, a few good meals... these simple necessities otherwise out of my reach were given to me with a concerned smile and a sweet, understood promise that nothing was expected in return. They just want to help, and I will never forget my gratitude for the solace they folded into the blankets they handed me.

Their house was safe. It was sturdy, spacious, and untouched by the overwhelming amounts of water careening through the streets of Boulder. 

Until about dinnertime today, just as the roads became treacherous to navigate and the sun had laid to rest the joy of the day.

The games we played, the stories we told, the great sense of relief after a night of blind purpose, the sun that shined today was somehow brighter from behind the clouds, because we were safe, we were clean, we were dry, and the problems of my apartment were in someone else's hands... All was well.

It was a bubble, a small flaw in the otherwise placid ceiling, a tell-tale sign of our dream's end.

The bubble, we knew, was the tip of the iceberg. The sanctuary of 15 people had been breached. Water was pooling above the living room, anxious to do to this haven as its sisters had done to mine the night before: slowly creep into the comfort we had found.

People react in different ways to almost everything, this I've learned. Danger is part of everything. Some enforce their brow and sternly divulge a plan. Some suggest ideas riddled with fear. Others broaden their shoulders against the brow enforcers. Some weep, some pray, but then there are those who watch and listen, back against the wall, leaning as much on it as their faith in the future to stave off the memories of ceaselessly shuttling water from the floor to the sink, fighting the most losing of battles. Leaning on their resolve to never have to fight a losing battle again. 

The plan was decided, to brave the river-like streets and find a new refuge. 

Packing was simple, I hadn't had time to unpack, really. I looked to the prayer group, and was drawn by their anchored souls. My determination paled in comparison of their faith. While the house bustled in upheaval, I sat on the floor, listening to the entire rosary, 4 tear-choked voices led by Micah's strong faith. 

The trucks came and were loaded in the standard fashion, women first. Few by few, we climbed into the cabs of the lifted trucks, and by chance I wound up in the pick-up bedecked in camouflage and draped with an American flag.

My driver, Colby, embodied a different kind of faith. His was a faith in freedom, the kind that only the country-blastin', flood-bravin', red-blooded American can know. His confidence fording the 3 and 4 foot currents in the streets must have come from those deep roots of liberty that beat his blood racing through his veins.

I'm not sure where those truck boys wound up (Colby's basement had flooded, I don't know if he had anywhere to go), but more than anything I hope they're safe. I hope their faith didn't misguide those souls who believe in the land of the free, and would risk their lives to fight disaster in the homes of the brave. 

When we got to the new place, Tipi Loschi, the home of the enforced-brow, we made new friends, our refugee group growing with every passing hour. 

We sat down to watch a movie of desert tales and drank cups of tea. Some started storing as much water as we could. Some made calls to family. Some had to look away from the screen, could only look at the walls below the windows, waiting to see the silvery, creeping line of displacement making its way into this new haven. Some fought memories of the last time an evening was spent watching a movie, at home before all of this started, when the rain was nothing to fear. 

Now I'm sitting by the bathroom door, listening to the laughter and pop music emanating from the main room, charging my phone before they cut our power. We have stored as much water as we can before they shut that off too.

I can hear everyone speaking around me. I hear hospitality colliding with convicted morals as boys and girls alike try to find a place to sleep. The tears of the girl so concerned for her image that she is sobbing at the thought of sharing a town home with boys tonight. 

These boys, who sent us in the trucks first, to save us before the roof collapsed, I trust them. These good Catholic boys who share the same morals... she would cast them out into the rain, through the doors they opened for us, to walk to a new home in the pouring, relentless, perpetual rain.

I hear friends consoling each other, I hear the awkward silence of those who have set amusement aside for the sake of deep emotions brought on by the storm. I hear the smiles on the faces of those who cling to amusement for sanity. I hear my own thoughts fighting to make me worry, to make me dwell on the loss, the absent security, the unknown events that are barreling towards us like and with the wall of water down Boulder Canyon. 

Today, tomorrow, yesterday... All of a sudden I've lost touch with time. I'm floating through on heavy breaths and unsure steps toward what I hope is the right future.

At this point, I know very little but this: when it was almost time to give in, when panic was imminent, what kept it at bay was the faith I could see, that reminded me of the security of childhood when I knew I believed in what Christianity stands for.

And tomorrow is a new day, full of new battles, and I go towards it, armed with nothing but hope.

Then and Now: Home Alone

Remember when staying home alone was absolutely the coolest thing you could do when you were like, 8? When you broke into the sugary cereals and that stash of Oreos your mom hid for herself and didn't know you had found? Remember when being left home in middle school was awesome because it meant watching all those crappy cartoons that were on while your parents normally watched the news or other adult-y shows? Remember in high school when being left home alone was the best because you could make all the bad decisions you couldn't make when your parents were there?

REMEMBER WHEN BEING HOME ALONE WASN'T THE SCARIEST THING IN THE WORLD?

Here's the story.

I'm in my new apartment in my new town, listening to old punk rock and web surfing for night stands and rugs. The album of old punk rock runs out, which is fine. Quiet is nice, too. It's odd, I usually have my iPod on 'Repeat All' but that's okay. I'll turn it on if the quiet starts bothering me.

Then there's a bump in the hallway. And another. And another right in front of our door. The handle bumps and jiggles. There's shuffling about in the hallway. There's another bump.

"Hello?" I call. Maybe my roommate got back and couldn't get her keys out.

*Mumble grumble*  says the hallway in a deep, masculine voice. Not my roommate.

The shuffling in the hallway continues; I become acutely aware of my lack of defense weapons. I'm getting lightheaded from holding my breath. I count to ten and let it out, then go toward the door. The shuffling shuffles away.

There's an Amazon package on the doormat. And one at the door across the hall. I laugh, grab the package, and go back inside, being sure to lock the door.

I get back to my computer, I keep surfing the web, la da da da da.

Then THIS starts playing out of the dead silence with the great acoustics of an empty apartment.

And I'm practically in tears.

Now, I'm blogging about it, and I'm laughing, but still practically in tears. Oi vey. So now I remember what a racing heart feels like.

Somehow, when you're supposed to be the adult, when you don't have the protective figure granting you independence, and you're just the one who's supposed to be in charge, you feel a lot more vulnerable.

Being home alone now is much less fun than when I was 8, 12, or 16. Now it's not about the freedom, it's about the responsibility. Amazing how growing up does that to you.

On a final note before I get back to surfing: Congratulations, New Found Glory. You've successfully pranked me like no one else ever has.

2:40 am

I am entirely convinced that everything happens for a reason. There is a design to life and each moment is some small piece of that design, like tiles in a mosaic.

So there's got to be a reason I woke up at 2:40.

I wasn't woken up, nothing happened, there were no bumps in the night. I simply dreamed myself out of sleep. I think that's probably a good thing, I was dreaming about a night of waiting tables. How in the world that became the late night solace of my psyche, I will never understand, that job is far from a haven.

I'm quite frankly unhappy with the direction this blog post has turned, I was hoping that maybe I would have some profound thought, some intense realization that would change the course of someone's day, anything to make it worthwhile to be up at this hour (now 3:10). Here comes an abrupt change of topic, I'm sorry, but consider yourself warned.

I love late nights. I love when everything else goes so still, but the air is still buzzing with the heat of the day and all the insect songs. Simple sounds, like footsteps on a stone pathway, make echoes you don't hear in the day. I love the shape of nighttime, how shadows don't show what you know to be there, how suddenly perception can't be trusted. I think there's a metaphor hidden in there somewhere.

Maybe nighttime is more than just a time of day, but entire eras of life. It's that time when you can't see what's around you quite as well as you normally can. It's that time when everything just feels different, you feel like your movements are against the turn of the Earth, like the path you're walking is somehow newer and different, though you've been here time and time again. It's that time when you feel a little scared of what you don't see. It's when you lose sight of what you've been so sure of before, and that scares the Dickens out of you because anything could be waiting for you around the corner. The thing is, if something was waiting around the corner, you wouldn't be able to see it in the light either. That's the point of being around the corner, it sneaks up on you just the same.

Nighttime is exciting, you don't have to look around, you aren't missing anything if you're not looking everywhere at once, you can look dead ahead and see almost everything. You can look up at night and feel incredibly small, but part of something much bigger, like a tiny tile in a massive mosaic. Because everything happens for a reason, like waking up before 3 am, because now I feel calm about the changes coming my way, because it's just a little bit of nighttime. And my world is just in a state of calm around me now, and I just hear my footsteps a little better now. They've always echoed this way, I've never been able to hear it. And sure, maybe there is something big and scary lurking ahead, but maybe not. Maybe the biggest thing heading my way is a sunrise, but if that waits a little longer I don't mind. It's only 3:30 now, plenty of time to fall back asleep if the sun stays away.