Clearing the (mental) decks

Ugh. Writing is hard. Can I just say that? It's not just coming up with words, but organizing thoughts. Expressing feelings. Sorting through ideas. Let me tell you, that is a monumental task for dreamers like me. I think in metaphors and feel in pictures. Trying to capture all of that with mere words is like trying to catch a cloud and pin it down (name that movie reference!). But it is a good kind of hard. The stretching kind. The say what you mean kind. The makes you think for real this time kind.

But it is tiring. So here are some of the more frivilous thoughts I've entertained lately.

I am having a battle with a single strand of white hair that insists on protruding from my scalp. Now, I'm not afraid of going gray or white or whatever. A woman's glory is her hair, yeah? And I'll wear my white tresses like a crown. But not now. How can I, three years shy of 30, possibly have earned that white hair? I feel like I need to have a few decades of fruitful labor behind me before I'm allowed to join the club. Begone, white hair. Be. Gone. You may come back in 20 years. Or 50.

Where is fall? Well? Where is it? The weather is nice and all... for August. But it's October and I have bug bites. And I want to wear flip flops. Okay, bug bites, flip flops and October. Which of these things is not like the others? I'll give you a hint. It starts with "O" and ends in "ber." As in BBBRRRRR. I want my sweaters and thick socks and warm blankets and crisp apples and steaming mugs and general coziness to ensue. My one hope - knock on wood, cross my fingers and say a prayer - is that mild fall = mild winter. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease. I like being chilly but I don't like freezing. Or driving in the snow. Or on ice. Though at the rate we're going, we'll just end up having a winter-long fall season. I could get on board with that.

I guess this one isn't terribly frivolous, but contemplative. I was looking through some old (well, by old, I mean three years ago) pictures on Facebook (isn't that weird to say? I bet our mothers never imagined a day when the word "Facebook" would replace "photo album.") and I was struck by how much things have changed in three years. So much. I go to a different church. I live somewhere else. I work somewhere else. I drive a different car. I have a new family member. I do different things with my spare time, when I have it. Back then, I had oodles and oodles of spare time and not in a good way. Three years seems like a long time. Five years seems like a lifetime ago. And I still maintain I'm not old, despite what my white hair is trying to tell me. But I'm feeling more keenly the passage of time and I know it only goes faster as I get older. That makes me a little nervous. And a little excited, because I have only the faintest glimmer of what's ahead. But it will be grand. So, so grand.

I have a question for you. Yeah, you. Not the person next to you or five cities away. You. Y'know how I tried doing that What Would You Ask thing? I'm wondering now, what would you say? Instead of me feeding you information about hearing loss, what do you want someone with hearing loss to know? Maybe you're a friend of someone who wears hearing aids or you are raising them or you have to talk a little louder to your grandma. Or maybe you've been living with hearing loss for a long time and have some wisdom to impart. I don't know anything everything. I have things to learn and I'm in the mood to listen. So spill it and I'll share it. You'll be famous. To all three of my readers, anyway.

I'm going to bed now. Because I am old. Let's just call it what it is.

Impromptu

Just a little housekeeping here. I've been thinking that maybe the What Would You Ask feature has been getting a little annoying. So I'm moving it to once a month-ish. Or when I remember to do it. If I remember. Whichever comes first. Kthanxbye.

Dear blog, I've missed you. To be more particular, I miss pounding out thoughts by tapping a series of keys on my computer. Writing, friends. I finally came to accept that it's one of my things. But just one of them. When I write, write, write, what that really means is that I am talking, talking, talking. I fill white spaces (both online and in my head) with words and sentences and misplaced modifiers. Oh yes. There is a lot of talk going on from me to "out there." It is good. I am, at last, finding my voice.

But I forget that listening, it's one of my things too. It was my thing before writing and talking and saying and sharing was. So I prayed for opportunities to listen. And when you pray, friends, God delivers. I listened to stories this week, about faraway lands and new love. Of broken dreams and sleepiness. Of plumbing the depths of God and never coming up empty. What sweet things to get to listen to. To share in and be a part of. Thank you for telling me your stories. Thank You, Lord, for the loveliness of listening.

And how are you?

The unofficial major

I was an English major in college. Sometimes I still act like one. I was also a psych minor. It feels very important to mention that I have 18 whole hours of psychology under my belt, putting me a mere 43 credit hours away from a degree that actually matters. But I also like to tell people I was an unofficial journalism major. Just for fun.

When I started out at college, I rolled my eyes when I discovered that writing for the campus yearbook and newspaper were requirements for my degree. I really did not want to work on the newspaper. I thought it would be too fast-paced and political and stressful and boring. My plan was to do whatever I had to do to get the credits I needed as quickly as possible, then focus my energies on the yearbook, which, I thought, promised boatloads of learning experience and fun.

Haha. That's a funny story to share with my fellow English major friends. We laugh at the irony. Because what happened, friends, was quite the opposite. I took the newspaper course because I had to and by the time I graduated, I was managing editor. I didn't mind yearbook, but I just found newspaper to be more interesting after all. I liked seeing my name in print - and often - and as it turns out, I work well under a deadline. With the yearbook, we wouldn't see the fruits of our labors until the end of the year and it was hard to motivate myself to write something I wouldn't see for a while.

Oh, the memories we made on the newspaper staff. Late nights. Quizno's runs. Inside jokes. Red ink everywhere (my friend A and I were not shy with our copy editing chops. Not even a little bit). We dealt with plagiarism, deadlines and scandals. When our school was added to Facebook's list of networks, it made the front page. I'm not saying we were the sharpest journalists all the time, but we had fun with it regardless. Leaving the paper was probably the hardest part for me about graduating.

When I went to college, I really thought I would end up as a book or magazine editor. By the time I left, I was seriously considering a career as a journalist. But out in the real world, I didn't do as well. I freelanced for a couple of local papers, but it just wasn't the same. I worried about misunderstanding information and writing the wrong article. I stressed over deadlines and found my little pile of money dwindling as I poured it into my gas tank so I could drive all over town pursuing stories. Even though I never stopped loving words or writing them, journalism - the hardcore, breaking news, scandal-exposing, following-up-with-leads kind - wasn't quite for me. Instead, I found a job at a publishing company and now I prepare comics pages for newspapers around the country. Not exactly the hard-hitting journalism I had envisioned, but I'm okay with it.

Sometimes in my cushy comics job, I forget what it was like - the thrill of getting a story, the particular joy that comes from seeing your byline. Some might call that narcissistic, but writers write to be read, no? It's what we do and having a byline just validates a passion. I visited a newspaper office a few weeks ago. It was old and lovely and crumbling and full of history. As I followed my guide past a maze of gray cubes, through dilapidated hallways and over worn tile, I inhaled the mustiness. It's a particular smell, one that can only come from history, deadlines, ink and passion. It smells like journalism, I thought. And I smiled.

Got a question? I'd still like to know what you'd like to know, you know? This may or may not also be a shameless plug for comments. Either way, I'd love to hear from you!

The Thing

What's your thing?

That was the question posed on today's Stuff Christians Like (stalk it with me, will you? Your life will never be the same). And it's also the same question I've been pondering lately. Jon asks, "What’s the thing that makes you feel alive, that talent or gift or art or activity that feels handcrafted for you?"

My gut reaction is to say kids, but that could be the hormones talking. People are always (lovingly) pushing me towards writing and yes, I like writing. I do. I wouldn't have this here blog if I didn't. I wouldn't have a job in editing if I didn't. But it's not all I feel equipped for or gifted with. I already deal with words, words, words in my day job and during some evenings with the blog. I wish, though, that I was doing more with my life in addition to that.

One of the highlights of my week is babysitting 3-year-old J and his 1-year-old sister, E. UH-dorable. I love watching them grow. J is still learning about sharing and following rules. E has just discovered her tongue and walking. I got J a bubble gun for his birthday last week - he LOVED it. So did E. They were outside playing with it for a while. Then J got bored so E wanted to play with it but she hasn't quite mastered all of the dexterity required for such a skill. ;) A lot of times when I leave their house, I'll hug J goodbye and he runs off. Then right before I step out the door, he comes running back. "I wanna give you a kisth!" E couldn't care less when I leave but whenever I come over, she waddles right over to me with a toy in hand so we can play. I do love those kids.

A lifetime ago, I was on the leadership team for a deaf youth ministry. As I've alluded to before, it didn't end well. At the height of it, I was really in it for myself and not for the Lord and that's never a good deal. But what I did love was the mentoring. I was not a rock star at it by any means, but I genuinely wanted to see the young ladies I spent time with grow up in the grace and knowledge of God. And I wanted to help equip them for the world, for life (which was a pretty presumptuous goal for my 19/20 year old self!). Maybe I wasn't the best person to fill that role at that time because I was so young but since then, the desire to encourage those just a few years behind me never really went away. I'm a mother hen, really. My friends hate me for it sometimes ;) and while I'm learning to scale it back, I don't know how to be anything else.

So despite what I said yesterday, I really do want to be a mom, a wother, a mife. I know myself and I know my sin and I tremble at the thought of filling such roles. They are precious and great responsibilities and so easily confounded by sin. But I always forget that grace is part of the equation, too. It's been hard for me to admit, even to myself and to the Lord, that I want to be a wife and a mom. Maybe because I spent so many years convincing myself that "I don't need a man." I can also be kind of a closet feminist and sometimes worry that being married or raising children will mean losing me. And really, I've never been one of those girls who just alwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaays wanted to get married and needed romance and flowers and sunshine and long walks to be fulfilled. I'm sure that when/if the time comes, I'll relish the lovey-dovey crap and make everyone around me sick, but honestly, what I'm excited for the most is the partner-in-crime part. ;) The one who's in my corner and holds my hand and doesn't take my crap. The knowing and being known part.

I'm not an idealist. I know marriage and parenthood are hard. So is singleness. There are good things about both and there are hard things about both. There are things you can only learn by being married and things you can only learn from a lifetime of singleness. As a single woman, there are times when I just reallyreallyreally wish I had a husband. And I'm sure that if/when I'm married, there will be times that I will reallyreallyreally wish I was single. Whatever my marital state is, I want to savor the season. I want to savor this season (life? months? years?) of singleness. And I'd want to savor marriage if the Lord called me to it.

So going back to the original question. My thing? Writing and loving on kids. I hope that other things include being a wife and being a mom but if not, that's okay. Because the Thing that all of those things rest on is Christ. If I didn't have writing or babysitting or a husband or kids, I would still have Jesus... and that is the greatest thing of all.