Life Lately

Hi guys,

It's been a while. Okay, it's been two years, but who's counting? Two incredibly challenging, eventful, and enriching years. I quit my job and started another. I moved (again). I started an Ashtanga yoga practice in earnest, after many years of dabbling. I met my best friend and the love of my life, whom I continue to love more and more each passing day. I began to recover from my eating disorder, after finally finding a therapist who understood me.

Underlying all these changes, though, has been a constant unrest, a desire for something more. I suspect I'm not alone in this yearning for fulfillment, but I'll admit that it's been a challenge to stay afloat. Who am I and what am I doing with my life?

I was recently thinking about the fact that so far, my life has been bound by extremes. Studying late into the night to be at the top of my graduating class; eating the least amount of food I can; stuffing myself until I'm immobile; exercising every day, even if I'm ill. I've never given myself a chance to achieve balance. This all-or-nothing mentality just isn't sustainable, which is why I constantly find myself vacillating from one end of the spectrum to the other, when I really should be seeking the relief that comes with the in-between.

Coupled with this interminable floundering, life feels pretty directionless. Perhaps I'm not giving myself enough credit, but when I find myself sitting at a computer and taking people's credit card numbers forty hours per week, one has to wonder. I don't mean to denigrate this occupation: I just know in my heart of hearts that I have so much more to offer, and I almost feel myself regressing from the monotony of these days. How can I ever leave entry-level positions when this is what I have to show for myself? I feel terribly depressed just thinking of this prospect.

I am trying, however begrudgingly, to inspire myself outside of work. I'm working on a short story, which I hope to finish by July 1st. I'm applying for volunteer positions at other non-profits, with the hope that I can once again engage and challenge myself intellectually. I'm trying to read more books, despite the overwhelming desire to collapse in bed at the end of the day and watch Netflix until I fall asleep. I even started to write to an LGBTQ prisoner, with whom I hope to begin a nice pen pal exchange. And I guess that's really all I can do right now, until things look up.

And I know things really aren't that bad. But in the thick of everything, when the days drag on, when the weeks are devoid of hustle, when quiet solitude is all I know, nothing feels easy. Here's hoping spring comes at last.

xo

An Untitled Poem

Happiness looks like

floating, and

quiet whispers of ill-fitted fabric

stitched as heavy drapery around a body.

Solitude looks like

sordid nights of crumbs and

guilt-stained pillows

or

brittled bones and

quaking fingertips.

Sadness looks like

months of gray static

forever lost in a perpetual storm.

So I breathe in the reality

and I breathe out the self-fabricated lies.

Simply Information

Late night writing. I don't do it often, but there's something particularly romantic about slumping over pen and paper (or computer, as the case may be) and letting thoughts float freely into the ether. Something unrestricted and liberating--almost separating oneself from consciousness and letting the words align, flit about, and settle into nothingness.

I'm slowly acquainting myself with mindfulness-based principles. Almost voraciously, I'm reading books and articles that can contribute to what has quickly become an enlightened path for me. Everything is endlessly interesting, but one particular line has stood out: "Someday...all that has happened will simply be information for you." I love this. It might seem harsh and a bit unfeeling to the untrained eye, but to me, it signifies an end to longing. An end to wondering, picking things apart, running scenes through my mind as though they're salient moments in history. Information isn't good and it isn't bad: information is a set of facts that has no bearing on my present faculties.

And endings. They come sharp and fast, but they're everywhere. The days are fleeting, the seasons pass, and we're left in a constant state of flux. And, as someone who has no faith in a god, I'm left to believe that there's no everlasting eternity for us and our loved ones to unite in unadulterated bliss. Therefore, I believe this is it. The endings enrich the beginnings, and our everlasting bond is but a fleeting moment in this we call life.

I've encountered a lot of people who are impatient with feelings. The "bootstrap" mentality is not something I could ever subscribe to. No one has a right to tell us how deeply we should feel, how much happiness we should radiate, or how much sadness we incur. In fact, this approach only compounds the problem. As we resist and deaden our pain, it festers inside and taints our every interaction. To feel pain, heartbreak, or disappointment--to understand the triggers and patterns--we only need to open ourselves fully. It's there that we can bring loving kindness to ourselves.

Thank you to my dear friend, a, for this beautiful song that remains a favorite.

A Comeback

Riding the train over the Charles on a soggy September morning.

It's no secret that I dropped off the face of the blogosphere. I don't feel bad about it, as I never expected this blog to be a daily recounting of my mundane musings, but I do miss it. Really, I just need a place to share; I need an outlet for my tangled thoughts and criticisms, for my pain and longing, and everything in between.

Of course, since I last described my "new life" in Boston, things have aged, rusted, and frozen over in an interminable winter. I spend way too much time thinking about the busy new life I described here just a year ago; comedy clubs, late night cocktails, jaunts around Harvard...it all seems so picturesque, yet I know the pain that was lying idle beneath the shiny words. With loss comes newness, even if it is raw and jutting and awkward. In the fall I moved to Somerville, my parents and sister visited, and I started writing for Peaceful Dumpling. I celebrated 22 years of existing on this Earth. In December, I traveled to Phoenix: it welcomed me in a warm, 70 degree embrace, and lots of nights by the fire. January was rough, with blistering winds and a general existential angst. In February, my second cousin Ellen visited, and we wined and dined and Vagina Monologue-d.

Now, on a Thursday in March, I am gathering my belongings to move back to my first apartment in Jamaica Plain. I will be living with my old roommates, my very first friends in Boston. I like Jamaica Plain and its charming architecture, cozy cafes, and lush flora (when the weather decides to cooperate). Would you like to see a photo tour of this part of Boston? It's fortunately and unfortunately the site of a lot of happy memories for me, the kind that take residence in the soul and refuse to make room for other, happier memories. This is a constant struggle of mine, to release what isn't available to me and surface the multifarious things that are.

At work, I'm in the beginning research stages of a new paper we're writing. We have also just submitted a paper for publication in which I'm listed as an author! Hooray! I like working downtown. Sometimes, in the spring and summer, I can hear seagulls flying overhead and I'm reminded of the vast ocean that lies so close. I'm reminded of how lucky I am to be here.

I look forward to rainy April days when the hundred-year-old buildings drop in
muted tones of grey and charcoal. I look forward to nights inside my new apartment, watching terrible movies with friends. I look forward to brave times, when my strength and beauty and intelligence are made self-evident, when I no longer need to rely on others to buttress my own feelings of self-worth. I look forward to friendly tea dates, picnics, mornings at the laundry mat, smiles and hugs. 

I see an unveiling, something clear and discernible. Let it be mine.

On Being Free

Since moving to Boston, I feel as though I've been catapulted off a high diving board, left to feel all the customary sensations that follow. At first, I'm flying--if only for a moment--feeling the wind rush past my cheeks and the weightlessness as I rise higher. What comes next is always expected and yet, each time it feels at once wonderful and uncertain. As gravity gives in, my stomach turns. I've long enjoyed this feeling, and so I welcome it and attempt to avoid the anticipation of what will surely follow. Inevitably, I reach the water. Of course, I don't have to belly flop: I can cascade into its surface without so much as a splash. But I'm not a seasoned diver. In fact, I'm very much new to the trade, and while my start and execution might impress the judges, the finish is flat and uninspiring.

I'm not afraid to take risks in life, and I'm highly attuned to my wants and needs. Nevertheless, change isn't easy for most people, me included. I'm constantly struggling to find that right combination of behaviors and thoughts that might provide me some solace, relief, and freedom from the near-constant battle in my head. A friend once advised me to trust the process and know that, while positive change comes in fits and starts, its not always apparent. But that doesn't mean it's not there.

Right now, I'm climbing the ladder to reach that high rise once again. Only this time, I don't plan to return to my default dive. It's antiquated and the judges are tired of watching the same motions again and again. I want something new and fresh, not because I want to impress the judges, but because I want to finish with grace and confidence.

Right now, I'm sitting in a café near Harvard, drinking wonderful coffee and listening to John Coltrane--my favorite. The chill of fall is in the air (my first fall ever, really) and I'm excited to wear boots and scarves and nubby sweaters in the muted tones of the trees that surround me. And yet...I wonder how long this feeling will last. Maybe by characterizing it as fleeting, I'm presupposing a relapse. I'd like to believe that the progress will continue trending upward, but fear and uncertainty plague me and I question my own strength. Ultimately, it's a moot point: I've decided that this life is too precious, too devastating, and too wonderful not to take part--with every fiber of my being.

And so: 

“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” Albert Camus

xo

The Hardest Part of Being Vegan: A Case for Acceptance

As a seasoned vegan, I’m accustomed to the typical questions and criticisms that have become stereotypic of the lifestyle. “Where do you get your protein?” “Plants have feelings, too.” “I could be vegetarian, but there’s no way I’m parting with cheese.” These are just a few responses that vegans know all too well. I’ll be honest: there have been times when I’ve been less than patient with others, often becoming defensive or upset when prompted to justify my choices. However, I know these hostile interactions are counterproductive at best. They lend veganism a bad name, one that is founded on a “holier-than-thou” attitude.

This weekend, I came across a graphic that speaks directly to this issue. Titled “The Hardest Part of Being Vegan,” a pie chart shows small percentages that are labeled with common issues such as dining at restaurants or with friends, obtaining adequate vitamins, and accessing vegan products. The majority of the pie is reserved for a “Dealing with Idiots” category. I find this analysis to be problematic for multiple reasons. First, the chart appears to address veganism on only a superficial level. Veganism encompasses more than restaurant selection and nutrient intake; it is a way of being that informs every decision and interaction that one makes. Moreover, the chart gives power to the misconception that vegans are an exclusive group, one that treats outsiders as uneducated and ignorant.

Most importantly, an image like this is reason enough to deter someone from experimenting with a plant-based lifestyle. No one enjoys being verbally attacked for his or her choices (as vegans, we should understand this issue intimately), and taking issue with something so fundamental as one’s character is sure to elicit a strong reaction.

Of course, I know this popular meme was created in jest. Its author was obviously catering to a select group of individuals, all of which find solidarity in commiserating over veganism’s challenges. Certainly, we can all identify with feelings of being misunderstood, judged, or alienated. It is easy to feel spiteful in these situations, but we should never let ourselves reject others simply because their world view does not parallel ours.

Whenever I’m feeling defensive or impatient with friends and family, I like to remind myself that before I was vegan, I wasn’t. Before I understood the business of animal exploitation, I didn’t. Before I learned about animal sentience, tasted delicious vegan food, and understood the concept of non-violence…I didn’t. In my opinion, the hardest part of being vegan isn’t about the food, the tenuous relationships, or maintaining my health. The hardest part of being vegan is extending the movement’s principle of compassion to humans, and learning to accept that we are all simply trying to find our way.

Recent Happenings (or, I'm Sorry it Took Me So Long to Update the Blog)

Hi everyone,

I think it goes without saying that I’ve been a bad blogger. I apologize profusely for my lack of posts and general absence from the World Wide Web, but I’ve been busy! In order to address all of the recent happenings in Bean Town, I’ve decided to publish a series of posts, thereby increasing the likelihood that you’ll return to read more.

First and foremost, I’ll address my job since it’s really the reason I moved to Boston. In a word, it’s great! Unlike some entry level positions that restrict one’s capacity to grow and evolve, this organization places a lot of responsibility in my hands, allowing me to become a better researcher, writer, and AR activist. Plus, employees sometimes bring their dogs to the office. It’s a great excuse to procrastinate.

AZ friends, I’m sorry for what I’m about to say, but we’ve been in the 60s and 70s for almost the entire time I’ve been here. Sure, we have some inclement weather, and there have been some hellishly humid days, but I can confidently say that I do not miss the Phoenix heat.

So, when I’m not working or reveling in the Spring-like weather, what have I been doing? Lots of things! My nights and weekends have been peppered with PRIDE parades, concerts, movie nights, drinks at Top of the Hub, walks around Harvard and much, much more. I finally feel like things are falling into place, and I couldn’t been more grateful.

Life is a funny thing. Some people curse their misfortune, commiserate with others in similar circumstances, and wait for some form of external approbation to know that their feelings are valid. Others are optimistic and meet new challenges with determination and conviction. Despite these two very different approaches to life’s adversities, I've always found that we have a limited amount of control over their ultimate outcome. Many worthy individuals experience hardship and despair while their more pessimistic counterparts encounter happiness and (sometimes) wealth. In my situation, I have unequivocally been blessed with friendship, love, family, and unwavering support. While some may bask in the brilliance that is this good fortune, I have a difficult time accepting that I deserve it. But I know it’s true. I deserve to be happy. I deserve to be loved. I deserve to live a life of richness, depth, culture, and passion.

Please forgive the highly tangential paragraph, but I wanted to share some of my recent musings.

Have a great weekend, everyone.

xo