Disorienting Dis-location

With my tenth move underway, I can safely say that relocation is a strange and disorienting thing. It's both refreshing and incredibly exhausting. The first move is exciting; I was a spring chicken, long-ready to fly the coop. It was so great starting to acquire things like...dishes and furniture. Which now, again, on my tenth move in [laughably] just over five years, I am annoyed to have acquired so much, namely because I have to carry it from one place to the next what averages to be every six months.

Each time, I've either been naive or optimistic - given the context I can never tell which - about a variety of factors. It seems my track record has proved me wrong either way many a time, and something has caused me to only stick out one full-year lease since leaving the nest. To be fair, various things.

The first few moves were exciting, but the older I get and the more I move, I hate moving.

Now it's disorienting. Even any of the times where it was a bad situation worth leaving, moving has still been hard. It may just be that I'm wildly sentimental, but I also think that there's something to be said for the comfort of the familiar. When I started really packing yesterday, I was anxious at the thought of the overwhelming process. Once I'd gotten over the hump and the room was all boxed-up sans furniture, I felt relieved; on to a new chapter. On to the new place, I felt overwhelmed thinking about putting it all together again. I thought about making this place feel like home. Learning the fastest way to get to my usual destinations.

Even if this place hasn't been comfortable for weeks, when I have the choice of my new place, or the place where all of my things have lived for the last seven months: I am not at my new place. It's comfortable here, even if only in its familiarity.

But after many address changes, among the myriad valuable things I've learned is the importance and necessity for my home to be a safe, peaceful place of respite. And so I remind myself that I can find that anywhere, it just takes some time.

Maybe this time I really won't move again until I get married or keel over.

Rants of the Day

So, who are these magical people who can drink coconut water? I think it is the grossest thing I've ever put in my mouth - and I tried a dog biscuit once, I've eaten beef with hairs on it, and plenty of food off the floor of various coffee shops! It's supposed to be really good for hydration, and turns out Naked makes a Lychee version - yum, right? WRONG. Blech, still disgusting. Disappointment and dehydration, colliiiiiiide (music reference anyone?).

The Rainbow I live by is the worst. I always claim that the reason I grocery shop at midnight is because no one's there. While that's true, it implies that somehow the trip goes faster; that it does not. Somehow the cashiers are still slow as molasses, and appear to be completely unaware of this fact. Grocery shopping has in fact turned into a test of patience, who knew? And then there was that coconut water...

I was inquiring of a friend the other day, why a post-education adult would bother to get tested for ADD (you know, out of curiosity). She said it can help understand some of the reasons one does the things they do, for example interrupting. Which sounds a little familiar. Lately, I've noticed that sometimes in conversation if one is taking too long to formulate a thought, I try to finish their sentence. That must drive everyone mad! I mean, I've noticed it before but forgot; probably got distracted. If I've ever done that to you, I don't mean to be rude, I'm actually just really excited for you to get to the point.

Speaking of ADD, I just got distracted Pinning Dave Grohl, because.

Which leaves the standings at Pinterest: 1,633 Alicia: 0.

Today, while imbibing some mud along with a donut, I thought to myself: I should've been a cop! I love kicking ass and taking names (though I've never actually done it), coffee and donuts, and speeding. Suffice it to say, I missed my calling.

Dear Navy, I'm Over It

This weekend was the first time that I was really over the Navy. I told myself, Okay, I'm over it; it can be done now. When Joe left, I thought I got out all the crying I needed to in that one day, and figured I'd be fine because I am most certainly not the 16-year-old I was when he was last deployed. Sometimes I am so utterly wrong. Or maybe it's "wildly optimistic".

The military is an interesting concept, it's something I'm neither here nor there about. It puts people through incredibly difficult things that will mark them forever, it dictates their lives, but it also protects our country. It's also a choice.

When I was younger and much more aimless, I was very patriotic (mostly because that's how I was raised). I still am patriotic, but I also see a decline in our country in way I doubt it will ever bounce back. That's a whole other story. Now, as an adult formulating my own ideas about things based on how I see the world before my own eyes, I love where I was born and am very grateful for that, but also don't always love what we do.

All this to say, it's a bittersweet thing to appreciate and respect, when it makes life hard in a way that wouldn't otherwise exist. And a part of that is that I'm ignorant of strategic politics and warfare; I think, can we just be done now?

Saturday, some poo hit the fan - there's no better way to say it - and I was headed to a family gathering. I thought, Right now is about when I could really use a big bear hug from my big brother. And it became hard again.

I don't even know what the point of writing this is. I certainly don't want to guilt-trip him, or anyone else. It's just such a thing; it is such an inexplicable, unimaginable thing to deal with. It's not my choice, and I don't even have it the hardest. If my brother was here instead of training, I still wouldn't see him every day. Then there are those times, when you would see them, and you know what it would be like to get that hug you need...and it's just hard.

Hardly as a Fleck of Gold

Still you tell me,
not to hold my breath,
unless I want to die
yet another death,
-that I shouldn't wait on you, except
I want to.
Though hardly as a fleck of gold,
that shot past my eye,
in spite of how I try,
I can't seem to stop wondering;
dreaming of that magic,
your sparkle.
I'd never seen anything like it,
and I feel I never will.
In some ways that's okay,
because then you remain special;
not replicated, not imitated,
but in one small, far away fancy,
appreciated.

Running: Pointers from a Former Skeptic

I probably shouldn't refer to myself as an "amateur", it might imply some level of professionalism or competitiveness - neither of which are present. Unless you count my drive to be better than myself.

Four years ago, I felt inspired and decided I was going to run a half marathon. A marathon is a little much, but a half seemed doable. I went and bought the fancy shoes so my feet wouldn't cramp; I learned I pronate (speaks to how your foot hits the ground when you step, it's often why people get shin splints). I followed the running plan, even though I found the whole run/walk situation confusing - shouldn't I just run? As if getting into running wasn't hard enough as is, June came and it got hot. I gave up.

Flash forward to deciding to start a healthier lifestyle by joining Weight Watchers in August 2012. After the initial big drop, I decided I needed to actually get physical. I joined a gym in February, probably didn't use it twice in the whole month. I wasn't about to waste money, so in March I stepped it up. Somewhere in my new-found ambition, I got the bright idea that I could run a 5K. I thought, in the unlikely event of a zombie apocalypse, I would like to be able to run for my life. Or if my purse got nabbed, I could not chase the person down. The reality was that I could not, and so that was the real-life logic behind my decision to take up running. Oh, and because it's good for you.

Enough prefacing.

In my journey over the last year from anticipating runs with dread to anticipating them with excitement, I've learned a lot. I feel like I went through this transformation of thinking that it just wasn't for me, but it was for other people, to being a runner. Here are some things I hope encourages anyone who might need it, to reconsider:

It's Going to Be Hard
I'll be honest: it's no walk in the park...unless you start by walking in the park. But eventually, you have to put aside your fears of struggle and just do it (Nike, I finally get you). Your body will literally fight against you and will gang up with your mind. It is mind over matter, and there's something incredibly satisfying, when you first start, in even the crappiest run. There are major psychological components to running, that I feel like so many people I talked to never acknowledged, or at least not clearly.

It's Bad-ass, and There's a Zone
Eventually, when you get past the initial, I daresay natural aversion to running, you may feel kind of like a bad-ass. There's not really a better way to say it. There is something ego-boosting when you finish a run, and you're both exhausted and exhilarated.

I've also found there's a point in some of my runs where it's make-or-break; I can psychologically ignore my body, and push through. It's this weird phenomenon that I love. It usually happens more on the treadmill, because that's where I listen to music (which I'll get to in my next point). I get to this point where I could slow down, but choose not to and it's like my body is just working. It sounds like a trip, and it kind of is. It feels like I'm floating. I think of this as The Zone. The body feels like a machine, and somehow it gives the mind clarity. This is why I find that it's incredibly cathartic, as well.

Your Ego Can Go Harder and Farther Than You Can
Often, this is what carries me to the Zone. Admittedly, my ego needs to know that I can press on, even though mentally I feel like I might break in half. While there is a point at which to slow down and you need to know that about yourself too, I think (unscientifically) that it's a lot farther than we think it is. You will feel like a bigshot, and that's okay; enjoy it quietly...until you feel sore later.

The Treadmill is Different
I started simple, by boosting my mile time in the gym on the treadmill. Then I hit the pavement, and it was hard. When you aren't forced to move based on the ground moving beneath you, it's harder to keep pace. Yet again, it's far more satisfying to have the control; to speed up when you want and slow down when you want, without seeing numbers which can make you feel incompetent. While I can up my speed on the treadmill to challenge myself, I found that when I started running outdoors I could cut my time because it was easier to change based on how I felt instead of what the numbers said. Another difference, for me, being that I don't have an iPod armband, so when I run outdoors it is me versus my mind in a whole other way.

Snow is a Gnarly Jerk
Running in snow is simultaneously awesome and terrible. It's like running in sloppy sand. Thus far, I've only really done it three times, the first of which wrecked my body despite being familiar with the distance. I could feel it challenging my muscles in a different way, and different ones. This is like BA Level Two. Even though my 5K time went up by eight minutes on the snowy trail versus the treadmill, when I finished I felt like a victor...over winter, over myself. Similarly but on the other hand, running in falling rain makes you feel like a freaking Navy Seal (while I know that is far more difficult, this is how I felt).

Research Helps
When I started, I wanted to do it well, so I did a lot of obsessive research. While I don't recommend this (the obsessive part), I do recommend looking into the questions you might have. It helped tremendously! I would get side-stitch all the time and thought it was just from being out of shape. Turns out I was breathing wrong. Can you breathe wrong? Yes, the answer is yes. I also learned form of how one should posture their body, and that static stretching (i.e. sitting down and doing specific stretches) is bad - you should warm up instead. Once I gave that up and left only a five minute warm-up, I didn't have cramps or twists. Research also helped me to find out a lot of things are opinion-based. Read up, but make it your own.

Really, No One Wants to Hear About It...
I still hold that when people brag about their runs, it's really annoying. It makes others who feel incapable of ever connecting to that exercise, feel like crap. If you get into running: don't do that. Also, don't be insincerely nonchalant about it. We all know false modesty is unattractive on anyone. It's okay to talk about, just don't make it a boastful lecture to the uninterested.

...But There's Company
On the flipside, there is a community and it will make you feel awesome! A few weeks ago, I braved Lake Calhoun's running trail on one of our 30+degree days. I was in front of two men who were chit-chatting while running, something I can't fathom, nor am I interested in. Though for a while I was determined not to let them pass me, I eventually needed to catch my breath and I slowed down to a walk. As they passed, the one shouted out to me, "Keep it up! You're doing great!" Needless to say, I was elated; I am one of them. How did this happen? Cliche as it is: by putting one foot in front of the other.

Unemployment: A Photo Series

(Also known as "The Boredom Reel of a Lifetime", or "I'm Still Getting Used to Having a Built-in Webcam") 

                                   

A New Lens For Generosity: Our High Cost

In all honesty, I used to not be a big fan of Paul. He's such a hard-hitter that I had a tough time with his writings. I think I often misunderstood his angle (which, at times who could blame me?), not usually noticing the great care and skill with which he wrote.

Not unlike getting to know a person, the more time we've spent in small group over the last year or so in his different letters, the more I've come to understand and appreciate his style. He writes intentionally, and he is humble but in a way that in the past I never saw as humility. I always thought his claims to be "the worst of sinners" were just a false-modesty, martyr thing - and it drove me nuts! What I've come to learn about Paul's writings is that he is secure in his understanding of who Jesus is and the higher standard He has called us to, but he also recognizes, deeply, that he is human and needs grace just as much as the next person. Which made me love Paul all the more! The juxtaposition and tension of chasing after a holy, serving life, and being human and weak; as he says in Second Corinthians, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."

I've come to love trying to wrap my brain around Paul's concepts.

Twice while recently reading First Corinthians in small group we came across an interesting phrase that, for growing up in the church, I had never been shown in such a way that it struck me. It has been bouncing around in my mind for a few months like a pinball effortlessly floats between the levers. As I like to think is the point of internalizing the Word, it has been altering the way I look at a lot of things, particularly Generosity.

The phrase that Paul uses in two places in this letter, is this:

"You were bought at a cost."

The first time I read this, for a day or so I couldn't get my mind off of it. We were bought at our price, though undeserving. We were paid-in-full, for the cost of our debt to sin; our slavery to it. It stood out to me that it did not say we were purchased at a bargain. Though we are not truly valued at the high price [as some translations put it] that was paid, we were worth that much.

Then I thought, what does this speak to us about our generosity? To follow in the footsteps of Christ, we are to be generous beyond what is reasonable. I was so struck by that! And not just our generosity with our finances, but with our time and resources. We were bought at a cost; our debt was bought by one who would not come calling for repayment. How should that look as it trickles into our lives?

Don't Knock What You Haven't Tried

Short-term missions gets a bad rap. Having participated in several different types - one of which I didn't know was even considered "short-term" until I returned from it - of these trips, I understand where the rationale comes from, but also chalk it up to being outsiders.

The trick about these trips is that they serve some sort of basic need at the same time as growing the individual who is "serving" there. I do put this in quotes because I returned far from jaded but eyes opened to the reality that it's not everything you think it will be before you go. Someone tried to tell me this and I only got offended at the attempt to parse and condense my experience before it even occurred! I, of course, could not recognize this untimely gesture as a valid point until after I had had the experience myself.

My faith became real to me on a week long building trip with my youth group the summer before my freshman year of high school. I never admitted, or even really knew that I hadn't fully understood what this whole Jesus thing was about; not in my heart of hearts, anyway. I got something out of the message of the program that we put on for the local community we were there to serve. Now, I don't mean to advocate for missions trips to save the people on them, but my story is one of a life changed by something so simple. Being a punk of a fifteen-going-on-sixteen-year-old, I needed to get beyond my suburban bubble and see how others lived, and when we were telling them about how they need Jesus, I realized I need Him too.

Youth With a Mission (aka YWAM) was an experience of personal growth on a whole other level. From my naive and loosely-factual knowledge of the point of a Discipleship Training School, I thought somewhere along the line I'd just get comfortable with street evangelism and someone would give their life to Jesus...even though street evangelism how it was (and still is) in my mind is far from who I am and what I would do. When it came down to it, after the fact I can say that the most influential and important part of that trip was going out into the world and seeing others; knowing that they need love. And in seeing them, loving them in just a second because they exist and they need it. That will change your life forever.

Seeing the world will change your life forever.

So even though a large part of why I didn't go back was because I didn't feel comfortable attempting to raise support again, I would absolutely support someone I knew going on to that experience because you never know what will come of it. They might go on to help end human trafficking, or they might spend a few years as an aimless career-wanderer blogging about...stuff. But I still hold that it is absolutely worth it.

I've said before, and I'll say it again, there is incredible value in getting out in the abyss and looking beyond the end of our proverbial nose to see that there's others, and they're beautiful. We find that the things that we are so preoccupied with don't even begin to matter. Suddenly, that new iPhone or the thing whose purpose is unknown on slight discount at Target are just not worth it. Prostitution becomes not a joke but a painful reality. Food standards. The ability to live for your dreams! I hear a lot of talk about privilege, and one hell of a way to shatter all of our ideas about how we don't have enough, is to go see how little others live with and on.

And this is not to say no one on the street has ever been brought to Jesus through these kinds of trips, but that there is invaluable experience to be had in getting beyond your borders and seeing what else is out there. That the transformation of simply seeing other people, and trying to love them for a second in the scheme of your life, makes an impact. Like anything else, we may not fully be able to quantify that impact, but we need to stop perpetuating the baseless falsehood that it's meaningless.