'Having It All': Becoming Stronger and Weaker

In light of the "Having It All" debate, I have been thinking a lot about the kind of adult woman I would like to be--and, I suppose, the one that I am becoming. In case you aren't familiar with the controversy surrounding Anne Marie Slaughter's recent article featured in the Atlantic, here's a summary:

Her original article, "Why Women Still Can't Have It All": http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2012/07/why-women-still-can-8217-t-have-it-all/9020/1/
Blurb: It's time to stop fooling ourselves, says a woman who left a position of power: the women who have managed to be both mothers and top professionals are superhuman, rich, or self-employed. If we truly believe in equal opportunity for all women, here's what has to change...

Interesting, thought-provoking responses:

"Why is 'having it all' a women's issue? by sociologist," Stephanie Coontz: http://www.cnn.com/2012/06/25/opinion/coontz-women-have-it-all/index.html?hpt=op_t1
Coontz: We need to push for work-family practices and policies that allow individuals to customize their work lives according to their changing individual preferences and family obligations, not just their traditional gender roles.

Who said "We could have it all?" by Ruth Rosen: http://www.opendemocracy.net/5050/ruth-rosen/who-said-%E2%80%9Cwe-could-have-it-all%E2%80%9D
Blurb/Rosen: What Anne-Marie Slaughter and so many other privileged women have failed to understand is that the original women’s movement sought an economic and social revolution that would create equality at home and at the workplace...Missing from the media’s coverage of these Mommy Wars are the millions of working mothers who will never have it all, but still must do it all. Millions of women cannot afford to care for the children they have, work dead-end jobs, and cannot begin to imagine living the life of a superwoman. These are the women that the radical women’s liberation movement addressed and for whom they sought decent jobs, sustainable wages, and government training, social services and child care. These are the women who are stuck on the sticky floor, not held back by a glass ceiling.
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This debate illumines various interpretations of feminism and the extent to which women's goals and ideals tend to be influenced by these intepretations. Responses to Slaughter's article also demonstrate how a woman's socio-economic status can affect her paragon of feminism. Slaughter's 'superhuman' feminist prioritizes independent achievement over solidarity and sisterhood and embraces perfection and efficiency moreso than weakness and vulnerability. In reaction to Slaughter's article, authors such as Coontz and Rosen deconstruct and clarify the historical and sociological flaws in Slaughter's argument. They address the macro-perspective: How can we re-think gender roles so that 'having it all' isn't just a women's issue? What was the original intention of the feminist movement? How does Slaughter's privilege affect her view of feminism?

These articles touched me on a more personal level, though. I value having the opportunity to better understand and deconstruct the institutional forces that shape my decisions and "coming of age" as a young woman, but I often find myself focusing less on sides and issues, and more on something like...John Mayer's lyrical melodies from "Stop This Train": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5BTzNX5OMN4.


Stop this train
I want to get off and go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't but honestly won't someone stop this train

For me, the "train" are those institutional forces that can be hard to control and mitigate, the ones that can prevent me from figuring out what I want as an imperfect, quirky (weird!!), sensitive and vulnerable young woman. Slaughter's right: on the one hand, I want power, strength and perfection. For me right now that usually means I want to have an interesting job and stylish clothing; I want to be fit (and tan); I want to gain entrance into the graduate program of my choice; and I want to be a wordly, smart and accomplished woman, which is really more prototypical than uniquely me.

But then on the other hand, I want nothing more than to stop that crazy-ass train that probably made John Mayer grow out his hair, move to Montana, and record his uncharacteristic, subsequent Blues/Folk album, "Born and Raised." He clearly needed to get back in touch with some personal/spiritual roots, and, therefore, don't we all?

I am reminded again of a philosopher I referenced in a previous post, Jean Vanier, who maintains that we become more human when we become weaker. Oftentimes maturity is measured in terms of mastery and control: "I am a mature woman now. I am strong, accomplished, and 'together'. I have a life plan and an efficient, balanced daily schedule." But Vanier suggests that we mature as we find more ways to live at peace with our own and others' imperfections. He believes that "highlighting the universality and centrality of our shared fragility has the potential to unite us in commonality, [and that] the weak teach the strong to accept and integrate the weakness and brokenness of their own lives."

I still have a desire to be strong; to 'have it all'; to look good; to feel good; to accomplish great things; and to strike that awesome balance in life and work. Managing certain responsibilities, striving for goals, and contributing to society are also important milestones in maturity. But so far I have also been convinced that one of the hardest things to do is to know that where you are, what you are doing, and who you are at any given moment is always enough. I don't know why this can be so f*@$(*9 hard sometimes, but it really can be (#growingpains). Perhaps to be mature is to love yourself to the extent that others know that there is something worthwhile to be had when they're in your presence--and so that others, in turn, are affirmed in who they are as well.

Good night! :)

Rhymes with Tuna

My culinary creativity is often limited when it comes to lunch foods. I start anticipating the hassle and cost involved with purchasing, packing and storing various foods and so I usually end up buying the same things for the sake of convenience. Or maybe I'm just afraid to take a risk. I have all of these ideas for scrumptious lunches--such as shrimp & avocado tacos, strawberry and walnut spinach salad, grilled steak fajitas with peppers and onions, and exquisite healthy snacks--but I often find myself traversing the same paths at the local Market Basket. I buy a bunch of whole wheat wraps (with flax seeds for extra nutrients), some goat cheese, hummus, Purdue chicken strips and spinach, and then usually also some cheap yogurt and fruit. I vary the kinds of fruits and the flavors of the hummus, chicken, and yogurt that I buy, but I rarely deviate from the wrap/snack combination. I know this meal: it fits in my tupperware; it provides a good amount of energy; and it requires little to no thought at the overcrowded grocery store. I can also usually zip onto the 12-items-or-less line, saving myself minutes upon minutes of unnecessary stress or waiting.

This lunch works for me: it gives me what I need and doesn't cause me any trouble. But then there are those days when everything you ever thought about lunch changes. Like when you are walking over to the office fridge as your stomach anticipates a certain amount of satiation (or lack thereof) and then your co-worker walks in with the Santa Monica sandwich from Espresso Royale. "Temptations don't phase me," I thought to myself; "I know that my lunch is nutritional, economical, and convenient." I open the fridge and the view through my clear plastic containers of mediocrity has never seemed more unappealing or discomforting. Nevertheless, I stand by my decision to embrace my low-maintenance ways. Until the Santa Monica sandwich was unwrapped and unleashed, that is.

I started casually talking to my co-worker as I nibbled on my semi-ripened plum.
       "So, umm..what ya got there?"
       "The Santa Monica sandwich from Espresso Royale across the street," Kyle replied through bites of his freshly toasted everything bagel.
       "Oh, haha," I commented nervously, since my olfactory and ocular senses predicted that my entire lunch schema was about to be destroyed. "Yea, those sandwiches are like seven bucks, right?"
       "Yea, but it's so worth it," he replied casually and confidently. "This sandwich has a layer of guacamole, a layer of smoked salmon, a juicy slice of beefsteak tomato, your choice of any cheese, and freshly cracked peppercorn."

I have never held anything more insignificant in my hands than my tupperware at that moment. I excused myself from Kyle to fill up my water bottle down the hall so that I wouldn't rashly run across the street and spend $7.22 in a fit of passion. But then I returned to my desk and replaced my water bottle with my wallet. I crossed against the light (twice) and then fixated on the lunch menu as I waited in line. Oh, how numerous the options are for a decent lunch! Pastas, salads, sandwiches; fresh ingredients from distant places; varieties in spices, breads, cheeses, vegetables. I don't know why the extensive menu was so novel to me, but 'twas indeed!  (Sidenote: Did my use of 'twas make you laugh here?!)

The menu options enticed me on so many different levels--even psychologically, apparently. I couldn't quite grasp the sandwich title "Rhymes with Tuna" based on the description: toasted bagel, homemade tuna fish, Havarti cheese, alfalfa sprouts, and capers. "Is 'rhyme' a spice?" I wondered. No, that's thyme. Why would a sandwich be called "Rhymes with Tuna"? Which part of the sandwich rhymes with "tuna"? Is there a secret ingredient? An unlocked secret in the way it's made...which rhymes with "tuna"? I couldn't believe how many neural networks I was building just by venturing out across the street and changing my lunch routine. Sandwich discernment was the equivalent of three games of Sudoku and one crossword puzzle for my brain (approximately), and who knows the extent to which this process has affected my soul. I just hope "Rhymes with Tuna" is a slice of heaven rather than the work of the devil. "Kyle made me try it! I had no choice!" <--Me preparing for the latter (just in case).

Needless to say, I ordered that sandwich with (polite) pride and gusto, as if I were ordering my family's homemade brew at the local pub. "Rhymes with Tuna on a toasted whole wheat everything bagel, please; to go; K-a-t-h-e-r-i-n-e (never reveal your real name); thank you!" Five minutes and seven dollars and twenty two cents later, the sandwich was stacked, wrapped, and handed off to me on the other side of the counter. Two jay-walks later I returned to my office with a smile, a sandwich, and a new outlook on lunch and life.

My bagel bliss was an experience of truth, beauty, and goodness. If I never questioned Kyle about his lunch, I would have never been exposed to the savory sandwich. He unintentionally upended my concept and routine of "Monday-through-Friday around 1 p.m." and permanently bedazzled my idea of lunch. As a result, I may end up indulging more--spending more and eating more--but I will also have more enriching experiences. In the half hours that I choose to eat lunch at Espresso Royale I will feel more alive and spirited; life will have more potential and meaning.

At the same time, though, now my Purdue chicken wraps and carrot and almond snacks will seem plainer, less appetizing, and more often unsatisfactory because I will frequently be comparing them to whatever magical recipe it is that rhymes with tuna. If I make this a somewhat regular routine I will also have less money to indulge in other uplifting outlets--or perhaps I will just have to seek newer, less expensive outlets in order to keep a balanced budget. If I were to overanalyze my life decisions, I could begin to wonder if I value a sandwich more than a trip to the beach or a charitable donation, or if I care to research more about my food options so all of my choices reflect my commitment to certain values, and thus my closeness to whatever it is I believe is true, beautiful and good (e.g., justice, health, solidarity, love).

I think joy is one of the simplest, most wondrous emotions, but it can often be complicated and seemingly diminished by comparisons and ethical considerations. If I enjoy my sandwich exceptionally so today, will I enjoy my other sandwich less so tomorrow? Varying routines often helps enhance such experiences, but these efforts can also plateau. Additionally, it's easier to enjoy your sandwich sans cost-benefits analysis, but such considerations are important in the long-term and for the community. My Purdue chicken is cheap and convenient, but I'm not sure how those chickens and the Purdue workers were treated, and they are all fellow community members. It's not joyful to think about these things, but it's important to consider the joy of others--and the long-term and indirect effects of our own experiences and decisions.

But then there's me and my sandwich, man. The perfectly toasted whole wheat everything bagel; the juicy tomato; the unique blend of carrots, red onions, and tuna fish seasoned with capers. The Havarti cheese. The "Rhymes with Tuna"/Espresso Royale lunchtime experience. Pure joy.
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I meant to just write this post about my sandwich because it was extra delicious, but my stories always take weird twists. Out of time for this post, but comments are welcome!

The (Unfinished) Parable of the Extreme Skier

“He must be Nordic,” I thought to myself as his long blond hair glistened in the sunshine, set against the backdrop of the arctic terrain.  His features were physically harsh but spiritually soothing: an Anglo-Saxon jaw, icy blue eyes and 6’4” muscular frame brought power to his tender gaze, congenial smile and graceful gait. His image and persona created an interesting paradox—in my mind, that of a Viking and a saint: a white man capable of conquering, exploiting, pillaging and pummeling, but ultimately choosing to align himself with the marginalized, the earthly, and the immaterial. 
            For seven years Alec worked as an immigrant rights activist, advocate, and educator in a Christian hospitality house in El Paso, Texas, a city that straddles the westernmost border between Texas and Mexico. On a daily basis he provided nourishment and counsel to impoverished and vulnerable Mexican immigrant populations: orphaned children and elders, distressed parents, eager workers. Que es lo que usted busca? Alec would ask his fellow housemates; “what is it that you seek?” In the Gospel spirit of service and solidarity, Assumption House, located on the fringe of El Paso’s biggest barrio, has been home and sanctuary to thousands of refugees and homeless poor. In this community there were no mojados, no aliens; strangers were greeted and treated as kin. Alec tilled the land and shared meals with these seekers, and he tended to them: he accompanied them to various social service agencies; he listened to them; he translated for them; he respected them. Alec was an integral part of the mission of Assumption House, a community dedicated to transforming their understanding of what constitutes more just relationships between people, countries, and economies. 
            Each year Alec was affirmed in his commitment to Assumption House—to his faith in his work. But during the summer of his seventh year in El Paso, Alec’s mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and he decided to return home to Colorado to accompany her in her illness—and to reconnect with her after his seven-year absence. Nestled on a slope of frosted evergreens and mountain peaks and amidst luxurious ski resorts and cottages, Snowmass Village, Colorado contrasted greatly from Alec’s former El Paso home.
            Back at home Alec helped care for his mom, and he worked part-time shifts at “La Luna” Ski Resort in exchange for permission to ski on the trails during off-peak hours. Having grown up in Snowmass Village, Alec possessed the skill and confidence to navigate the treacherous land on skis. His stay in Colorado was a return to his home, to his mother, and to his passion. His daily routine: steel-cut oatmeal at 5 a.m. with a side of energizing calisthenics, a swift grab of his skis and equipment, and out the door to hit the slopes. His time with the wind, the sun, the ice and the potential and limits of his body was both meditative and thrilling.
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            …I’m not sure where I should go with this story. Perhaps some mystical creature or elder sage who works in an old ski resort on an abandoned path poses a question that causes Alec to wonder if extreme skiing is as meaningful and important as his work in El Paso. I chose Snowmass Village, Colorado as Alec’s hometown because it has a famous course for professional extreme skiers. I wanted Alec to train intensely for this competition, and I wanted to experiment with unique adjectives to describe the endorphin-induced highs that resulted from him following his passion. Then I would pose the question: what is the place and value of such pursuits? Maybe Alec’s downfall would approach as his fame escalated in extreme ski circuits—and as his reflections on ultimate meaning deepened in light of his mom’s illness and of his El Paso memories.  The (hypothetical) climax: Alec is at the starting line atop “Pitkins Point,” the fictional apex of the Snowmass Village extreme ski course. Two lights are reflected off of the icy path in front of him: that of the sun (perhaps a metaphor for God or something ultimate) and that of the thousands of photographers preparing for his exhilarating descent. Alec is inundated with memories of his now deceased mother and of the many people he helped in El Paso. He wonders: are there greater goods to strive for in this life? And even: does God exist? What would He want for and from me [Alec]?
            The horn is about to sound. The lights are still glowing and flashing as Alec’s thoughts stir anxiously. Is there a path he must choose? “Beeeeeeeep.”Alec instinctively digs his poles into the snow, propelling his body down the mountain with gusto. What happens next? Does he fall and injure himself in a way that corresponds with whatever realizations he comes to, providing readers with a clear-cut “moral of the story”? Does the author (moi!!) emphasize Alec’s internal experience of the championship race, which symbolically reveals that life is about the journey, man. That Alec’s worrying about whether one path or way of thinking is more meaningful than the other is not necessary; how can it not be right to pursue your passions completely in an effort to live a fulfilling life? …But even in light of the tragic suffering of the world?
            Maybe instead, the [ridiculously good-looking] author of this short story decides to leave readers with a cliffhanger. Perhaps Alec wins the race by a ton or by a hair; or he loses the race. And then the story ends describing the scenery: the look on Alec’s face; Alec’s subsequent comments to reporters; Alec’s gaze into the dually meaningful sun…his “tender gaze, congenial smile and graceful gait”? (The steel-cut oatmeal churning in his stomach since 5 a.m.?) Does Alec still fit the image of both a Viking and a saint if he dedicates his life completely and entirely to his newly rediscovered passion for extreme skiing? Does this matter at all—in terms of the hypothetical storyline and/or in some different, transcendent meaning of the story?
            It’s 4:19 p.m. on a Friday and work is slow!!! Now I understand why authors (and “seekers”) often employ deus ex machina endings to their stories and questions. It’s hard to stay engaged when wrestling with life’s complexities. Example: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LZ0epRjfGLw.

…..#weirdestpostever
#iwonderifanyonewilleverreadthis
#31moreminutesleft!!!

Ballin'

I have been itching to buy a basketball for months since there is a hoop across the street from my apartment (and since this song gets randomly stuck in my head sometimes: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r-3Ds1p5r48).  There's just something about the sport that's so expressive and nostalgic for me. I love that I always played on these very imperfect "Catholic Youth Organization (CYO)" league teams. I have so many memories of having to guard opponents with awkward protective eye gear, "trendy" sweatbands and matching braces. By seventh grade I had joined a more competitive travel soccer league in order to "prepare" for high school soccer, but basketball was always pressure-free and, frankly, hilarious. Having younger brothers, I had a gender-role-crossing level of aggression for my age; that is, I actively sought to steal the ball from my opponents (and I may or may not have fouled out of a game once or twice). In an amateur middle school league, this is quite the exciting move. Or at least my mom made it seem exciting even when I'd consistently miss the breakaway lay-up: "GO KATHLEEN! WHO LET THE DOGS OUT??!"

Eighth grade basketball was the ill na na. I was in a league with a few friends from soccer, and we were all playing on two soccer teams, six or seven days per week. After intensely structured practices with international trainers (#NYsoccer), we'd let loose in a local basketball league that included players from 5th-8th grade. I didn't fully grow until junior year of high school, so it was nice to have a developmental advantage for once. I still remember how exciting it was to play in a packed gym and to hear the impassioned words of Coach Alan Krause, a 4'10" retired deli owner and youth basketball enthusiast. The games were sloppy and awkward, but real and fun. No pressure, no...high school scouts, no angry parents. Lots of characters. I remember the last "official" game I ever played: ten seconds left, two close friends from soccer on the opposing team, championship game, down by one point. My fourth grade teammate (who slipped under the radar for the 5th grade cut-off) scored her first basket in the last minute of the game. She and her mom started crying, but then we had to remind her she couldn't celebrate with her mom until after the game; this was serious stuff. Back to those final ten seconds...My two fingers were jammed, but I was driven. In reality, I probably had one partially jammed finger, but we'll stick with two. Nine seconds left. I towered over the sixth grader under the hoop and grabbed the defensive rebound after a shot from the opposing team ricocheted off the rim (or maybe she shot an air ball, who knows?). I just remember dribbling towards our side of the court with intensity and then getting fouled at the three point line. I missed the first shot; Coach Krause cringed. I didn't know it then, but this was the last competitive basketball game of my life. Or maybe I did know it then? My mom was silent (a rarity). Three seconds on the clock. I made pretend I had a superstitious pre-foul shot ritual because that made my moment seem more dramatic. I spun the ball and took a deep breath. Swish. First shot in. My mom screamed; Coach Krause did not. He knew we were only tied, and he did not want to mess up my fake superstitious ritual for the second foul shot. I spun the ball and took a deep breath again and banked it in. Still three seconds on the clock but no 5th grader or 8th grader could pull something off in that amount of time, and everyone in the gym knew it. The only thing they would be pulling off was their pinnies (I think I just tried to trash talk...).  Coach Krause went nuts; it was the last game he would end up coaching, as he told us after the game. That moment was so important, imperfect, and sincere. In hindsight, I feel really bonded to my mom, my friends and their moms...and, even to Coach Krause to have shared that experience with them. My mom especially; we would get such a kick out of the players, coaches, and crazy antics of the game.

So I have been wanting to buy this basketball because the sport has always been fun for me. I also used to attend basketball camp at a local high school during the summer, and my brothers and I played in a local summer league. No pressure; mostly games instead of practice; fun drills. It was also a way to meet new people and accumulate more free T-shirts. Lastly, I have so many memories playing basketball outside with my little brothers since we had a hoop outside our house. I remember when I used to foul my brother and he would call it I would say something like, "This is street ball; there are no fouls in street ball." But yet somehow I was still able to call fouls on him... We also used to take shots from faraway--from "downtown, Jimmy Brown." Or there was the time my brother thought the hoop was too low and then my mom somehow confirmed this after shooting an air ball: "Oh yea, there is definitely something off with this hoop. I can tell."

My love for the sport came full circle when I worked in a middle school last year in San Jose, California. Each day, I supervised several recesses and activitiy periods in which I played "knock out" or shot around with the students and some teachers. The school even hosted a mock "March Madness" tournament. The students took it so seriously; their whole school cheered them on. The games mattered; hustling mattered; team names mattered. And it was still all in good fun.

In any case, so back to this basketball I bought. Basically, I just broke down one day and bought it. I say "broke down" because I kept thinking it was a silly purchase since my roommates aren't interested in playing. With whom would I play? Fourth graders? (Again?) But Saturday was the perfect day for some bball. It was hot, and I had two hours to kill. The nets on the hoops had been fixed, and no one else was playing on the court. I threw on some gym clothes and headed outside. Talk about a walk down memory lane. Or more like a sprint. I got so excited and nostalgic I ended up running "suicides." I also found myself sprinting to the ball to try to save it before it went out of bounds: I would sprint to the sideline, abruptly stop, reach out and grab the ball, and tuck it in as if I just saved the game by keeping the ball in my possession. I wouldn't be surprised if I motioned the "time-out" signal when this happened in the corner of the court...

I missed a bunch of shots, but I also made a bunch. Sunk them. Nailed them. Swished them. Banked them. Most people prefer the "swish" of the net, but there is something beautifully harsh about the rim-rattlers. "I shot that with force, and I knew I was going to make it!"...I thought to myself. I'd make one shot and do a little nod: "Okay kadd, not bad." A double nod for making the second shot: "Eighth grade ain't too long ago, aye? Still got it!" Third shot in and I want to point to people on the street: "Did you see that? That was the third shot I made. Six points, baby!" It's a good thing I did suicides to keep my ego in check.

In any case, I really wanted to write about the experience because it sparked so many memories. Sometimes I wonder if I lack certain "rich" memories because I was often a really studious, rule-following kid and our family didn't have any cultural rituals or family traditions (weird reasoning). But things like basketball, soccer, Irish step dancing, Catholic schooling, camps, and all the characters and crazy thoughts and observations in-between return me to myself and to those unique, meaningful, imperfect, fun experiences that have formed me and will always be a part of me.

This song has nothing to do with basketball, but, much like basketball, it reminds me that life is good :): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWDPcz-xWqQ.

"Vocation": A Global Perspective

I spend a lot of time wondering (and worrying about) what I want to be when I "grow up." How can I channel my skillz into the ultimate career? Or, from a faith perspective: how can I best use my gifts to serve others? We see this emphasis manifested in career centers, discernment retreats, lectures, career counseling, etc. One can become obsessed with finding the perfect job: what degree will get me where I want to be? What kind of profession allows for the ideal work/life balance? If I want a family, how can I make x career work (and still maintain my feminist ideals)? What salary level do I need for my projected lifestyle choices? People consider similar questions in the act of faith-based discernment, for they are relevant to real human anxieties.

Sometimes I try to eliminate my "practical" concerns when discerning how I can be the the most loving version myself. For example, I have always wanted to work in South America. I have a desire to drop the paper-pushing and 40 hours of sitting, and I think I would be more inspired by exotic flora and fauna than the pigeons and industrial buildings across the street (no offense, pigeons!). There is something romantic and exciting about taking such a risk, and that can render other choices safe and boring. Furthermore, office culture can seem exceptionally disconnected from that which is real and human (no offense, laptop!).

But what I have only recently realized is the extent to which my view of "vocation"--whether secular or faith-based--has been limited by my particular experiences. My sage-like friend, Micah, pointed out that my vocational anxieties stem from something that most people in the world don't have when it comes to careers: choice. Agency. Control. In this light, the question at the heart of discernment is not, "What am I called to do?" Perhaps this is still an important question to ask, but it cannot be the ultimate question since it is a question of privilege and it only applies to a limited number of people. Instead, Micah suggests that vocation ought to be centered on "being" instead of "doing." Who am I called to be? How am I called to live?

Of course, practical concerns and aspirations ought not to be neglected, but this perspective challenges anxieties that stem from "doing" and "achieving." Personally, I find it difficult to focus on questions of 'being' after having become accustomed to a routine. I often evaluate the present in terms of what I'm  'doing'; I am immersed in a particular job; I am in a transitional phase of life. How can I all of the sudden focus on "being" and self-improvement in this realm of life? I can read some Thomas Merton and consider enrolling in a course about Paul Tillich (check!); I can try to be more intentional about bringing life to the workplace and to my relationships (maybe I'll bake pumpkin bread next week and smile more?). But sometimes it's hard to break routines of thought and ways of being. How does one have a "conversion" of being given the oft mundane reality of the day-in, day-out?

This post is charged with the faith-based language of 'calling', but I intend for it to apply to secular, career/life decision-making as well. We have good days and bad days, but what does it take to transform our everyday selves? How can we best seek to focus on that which is most real and human, and, thus, important? In general, change can spring from an array of things, such as: Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy, love (encounters with and experiences of), travel (I prefer somewhere pigeon-less!), prayer/contemplation, yoga (?), mentors, new relationships, opportunities, education, etc. But I wonder: is something deeper or more specific required to change the way one 'is' in the world--and to sustain that change?

The call to be a person of integrity--to be consistent, whole and loving no matter the place or circumstances--is demanding and profound. I am convinced, though, that it matters most.
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Props to tschmall for sharing the inspiring (and related) reflection below (!):

The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain! I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after a night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

Kickboxing Lobster

I have been trying to post more regularly--and to vary the style and content of my posts--to better understand my strengths and weaknesses in writing. Lately, I have been blogging about personal experiences as sort of a preliminary step to discovering what feels most natural to write about. (Sometimes when I try too hard to make a post "deep" or perfect, the writing process seems more forced and torturous than natural and enjoyable). Once I get those immediate experiences off my mind, I can then start to process them more deeply and put them into a context that would make them less focused on my experience, and more interesting for other people to read. So, I apologize to my followers during this me/me/me/I/I/I phase of my amateur blogging.

In any case, check out the kickboxing lobster above. Unfortunately, I have never met a kickboxing lobster, but I heard they have a mean one-two pinch. I get such a kick out of the picture, too...#kickboxingjokes! Basically, I have two stories to tell: one about kickboxing; the other about a lobster. In an effort to come up with a pinchy (!) title, I decided to combine the salient features of each story. Plus, I found that cute picture online..how could I resist? (*Scrolls up to look at picture again while smiling and slightly tilting head*)

So, first: kickboxing. I have been trying out a bunch of different exercise venues in the Union Square area in Somerville: yin yoga, vinyasa yoga, Healthworks gym, "Cardio Cutz", Zumba, and "JAM'N CARDIO KIX." All of them have their merits, but the JAM'N CARDIO KIX really intrigues me: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CYQbAyL9tmQ&list=UUXIpi1ZT2OoTxr38zLs7FbA&index=2&feature=plcp. (Check out the first two videos in a row from the link.) It's just so kickin' awesome! I stand in the back because I don't know any of the combinations, but basically you do these martial arts/kickboxing moves to contemporary (kickass!) songs, and you just never stop for an hour. The routines work your muscle memory and coordination to train your mind and body to work together when exercising. You're building neural networks (and confidence!), recharging the ole nervous system, and training your brain how to multi-task. The whole Corpbasics gym is grounded in this unique exercise science and philosophy (http://www.corpbasics.com/).

I am awful at all the routines, but they have been helping me counterbalance the 9-to-5 lethargy. Sitting in one position the whole day in front of a computer can really drive down your energy levels. It truly takes some effort, motivation, and initiative to seek out other outlets. I have a lot of respect for people who are able to balance work, life and health with ease and grace. Shoot, I digressed. My main point is that I really value innovative exercise philosophies and creative approaches to maintaining health and fitness. It's a shame that sometimes exercise can be forced into a boring box: e.g., doing the same ole things at the gym, pounding away on the concrete, running faster and longer, etc. Kids also struggle because exercise outlets are often limited to competitive sports in the younger years. While I very much enjoy competitive/team sports and think they are a healthy, fun outlet, they're not for everyone--and there are so many other ways to exercise (and a variety of different exercise goals to set besides "more" or "go harder" or "get into a routine"). A lot of my yoga instructors used to talk about how they are "enamored with the body" and all that it can do. What an interesting way to approach exercise. Many people are embarrassed or ashamed by their bodies. But exercise is a learning experience--one in which you come to know your body. Working out builds confidence and it's empowering. You don't always have to be the best or the fastest or the strongest. (This is the point where I realize a lot of my posts sound preachy/soap boxy...trying to work on that!). On a different note: I want to bring a friend to this kickboxing class sometime because it's hilarious to experience when you don't know the routines and the entire class does. Any takers? (Or you could even bring a date! Those kinds of experiences immediately build bonds since they break down insecurities and vulnerabilities. #easiersaidthandone!).

Alright, so now for the lobster part (*scrolls back up to picture*). At this point in the post, I'm realizing the core thought behind this post: I love ideas. I love that Corpbasics gym and exercise philosophy was founded by Andrew Haynes, a martial arts instructor who saw a market (and need) to share martial arts techniques (and the exercise science behind it) with a variety of audiences. So, he created these routines to popular, contemporary music and founded studios in young, hoppin' areas in Boston. Then, he started a Corpbasics instructors' training program so that he could expand the initiative. His idea is fresh, fun, and healthy--and it caught on. Awesome.

Back to the lobster (almost). Since moving to Boston I have been trying to learn more about great ideas--especially in areas in which I am passionate (like urban education, psychology, social justice, faith, service, etc.). At this point I'm not looking specifically for a job or for "official networking"; I just want to connect with people who saw a need, had an idea and a passion, and then created something. Most recently, my search led me to email the founder of "Earthen Vessels" (http://www.evkids.org/), a faith based non-profit comprised of three parts: 1)Harvard and BC students provide one-on-one, multi-year after school tutoring and mentoring to inner-city Boston students; 2) EV provides family and school advocacy, building a strong community of support; 3) EV's summer camp in the green mountains of Vermont challenges EVkids to build character, community and sportsmanship. The non-profit was founded by Marie-Claude Thompson and her husband, Brian. After moving to the United States from France, Marie-Claude became perturbed by the disparity she saw in Boston: the city is chock full of prestigious colleges, but low-income students never even dream of attending one even though Boston is their community, too. She learned from many of her sons' friends that a lot of inner-city kids fell especially far behind in the summer--a time in which they could have been doing something fun, exploratory, and constructive, but instead they were doing nothing or getting into trouble simply because they had no outlets.

One could see this problem as one that is not their own or as an overwhelming, hopeless situation, but Marie-Claude saw it as an opportunity to do something and make a difference--even if it were a small one. She and her husband had a friend with 65 acres of land in VT so they founded a non-profit and began taking twelve kids each week to the property. The camp includes many character-building hikes, outdoor experiences, sports, arts, and relaxation in the countryside. Additionally, there is a faith-based retreat aspect to the camp, in which students (sometimes for the first time) are invited to believe that they are loved--no matter what. Marie-Claude, now a chaplain at Harvard University, explained to me that sometimes this is the first time these kids would ever consider this idea: that they are loved and valued no matter what. Additionally, she held workshops to help students better understand and manage overwhelming experiences and emotions such as grief, disappointment, anger, and defeatist attitudes. The camp was small and might not seem like much, but the alternative would be the absence of all of these positive outlets for the kids. So in Marie-Claude's decision to "do something" she chose hope over despair--an act of faith indeed.

Since EV was founded 35 years ago, the program has added a tutoring/mentoring program in which Harvard and BC students commit to a 3-4 year relationship with a student. The idea is that it is in this relationship that both students (inner-city and university) grow; the perspectives of each student are enriched. Tutors' experiences are supplemented with reflections on social justice and spirituality, and tutees come to know that people care--and they benefit from the consistent, personalized attention. The program is grounded in the belief that it is in relationships--and in coming to know each other--that we build understanding, hope, community, and brighter futures.

Marie-Claude's theological grounding and the way it shapes her approach to justice work--as well as her understanding of the needs of underprivileged populations--really resonated with me. And here's the providential twist (and forthcoming lobster connection): I happened to email Marie-Claude on the eve of discussions about initiatives for expanding the program. EV is discussing adding a college mentoring program--and expanding to other cities. So the organization is looking for more ideas, more conversations, and more growth. Marie-Claude kindly invited me to an EV event in Cambridge at Fire + Ice so that I could learn more about the program, its impact, and the people involved. It.was.awesome. I guess the lobster isn't a huge part of this story at all, but basically EV raffled off free tickets to ride the Swan Boat in the Boston Commons and one of the trivia questions was: "According to the Guinness Book of World Records, what is the weight of the largest lobster ever caught?" For some reason I randomly blurted out the correct answer: "44!" So, I won three Swan Boat tickets (how romantic!) and I now know a fun fact to start future conversations (I store these and use them (too) often). The event also had an open wine bar and lots of exquisite appetizers. The event in a nutshell: Good food, bueno vino, great conversation, awesome ideas, and wonderful, inspiring people. Interested in learning more about EV? Check out these informative (and heart-warming!) videos: http://www.evkids.org/videos/. 

Okay, time for bed! I don't want to be crabby (lobster-y) tomorrow!