Category: Thoughts and Reflections

Blessings in Disguise

I have a tendency to feel rejections keenly, thinking that they are a personal judgment of me. But what if they’re blessings? What if they’re there to keep me from really embarrassing myself with a mediocre (or worse) submission?

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I’ve been going over old works I have written. I’ve written so many half-developed character sketches that aren’t stories, so many poems of the same, with no hook. Novels with plot twists that became deal-breakers.

I’m not a poor writer, but I want to be a better one. I want to be accepted for publication more often. Someday I want to have a novel professionally published. This won’t start happening unless I see these rejections as blessings in disguise. (Or even if I do, I suppose, but I’d like to be optimistic.)

Some Days We’re Not So Lucky

This errand trip is zero for three so far.

First errand: Get the car bra replaced on our ’09 Honda Fit. I don’t know why the car needs a bra, having no breasts, but there you go. We’re waiting for the dealership to call back. The dealership hasn’t called back.

Second errand: Get a digital picture for online application for passports. Walgreens takes passport pictures. They do not take digital passport pictures because there’s no such thing. So much for experimental government programs and red tape.

Third errand (current): Go to coffee and write. The atmosphere is fine, with its rough brick and floor tile and surplus of wood. The coffee is too acidic for me, as is every coffee I get here, which tells me their brewing parameters are off. For me to reject a coffee is strange; in consolation, I ate half a honey lavender bar. So there’s writing, but no coffee.

Fourth errand: I hope this errand goes better. There’s now an Asian food market in town. That might go well, if by well one means purchasing half the store. I cook Thai food enthusiastically, Indian vegetarian food casually, and Chinese food lackadaisically. I have a goal of picking up a package of frozen durian to make a durian custard over sticky rice, and some cans of curry paste, and some seaweed, and maybe some vegetarian chow mein, and some Thai eggplants, and … good news! They’re open today!

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So I guess 1 out of 4 isn’t bad.

In Defense of Ugly Days

Can I compare thee to a summer’s day?

This day does not belong in a love sonnet. The skies are a mid slate-grey; the air is so humid it feels like I could wring a cup of water out of it; and I am underwhelmed by a scenery dominated by weeds.

Today is not a beautiful day by any measure of “beautiful” unless there is something in it to attract hydrologists. But I find something about it appealing.

This day is my inner child

Somewhere at home I have a stuffed toy whose fur sticks up in every direction and has a googly eyed smile. (See below) This is how I envision my inner child, so homely it’s delightful, ingratiating, happy.

Today is like my inner child. Nobody would seek it out or list it among their best days of summer. Yet I sat on the porch swing earlier, feeling attuned to the endless clouds and the slight breeze. Smudged nose, scraped knees, unkempt day. My inner child mirrored in the day.

Learn to love the imperfect

I am reminded to love the imperfect. The gloomy summer’s day, the homely stuffed toy, the scruffy child. They have their own appeal.

Contempt

What the overturning of Roe vs Wade comes down to — not protecting the unborn, not improving the supply of children to adopt, not any moral stance.

It comes to contempt of women. “How dare you sleep with me!” the voice demands of a woman, as if he did not sleep with her. “I should punish you for this transgression.” It is contempt for women that extends back to the tales that became the basis for the Garden of Eden.

I, for one, am tired of the contempt. And angry. I am angry.

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I am not alone. Women are angry because of being marinated in this contempt all our lives. You, the individual man reading this essay, may not be one of the guilty parties. Women are still subjected to contempt as a low simmer.

I am hopeful of my anger. Compliance has not solved the problem — in fact, it increases the contempt I am exposed to. Maybe my anger will clear the way for resolution — or maybe it will foment a fight. Either way, I will feel the power of facing the contempt.

Action = Opposite Reaction

Actions might have unexpected results that are the opposite of the intended results. Milton Friedman, renowned neoclassical economist, would say that the unexpected results would be probabilities, not possibilities.

Romania tried the “no birth control, no abortions” laws (and Clarence Thomas has signaled for birth control to be on the axing agenda). Even with the threat of death, birthrates did not go up. Romania couldn’t legislate birth. The fear of raising a child in an oligarchy prevailed over the fear of death.

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China legislated a one-child policy. This led to a nation of unacknowledged daughters in the country and a shortage of females. Matrimony is a woman’s market; men are finding themselves short of money to captivate a woman’s heart. An unintended consequence.

In the US, angry voters who feel disenfranchised will overwhelm the gerrymandered conservatives. People vote for the status quo unless it sneaks forward to destroy the rights they have become used to, and then they will fight back. More people will vote, having an issue to fight for. Anti-choice states like Missouri may lose much of their populations, which will lose House seats. Companies may boycott Missouri, losing much of its revenue.

Maybe this will lead to National Healthcare, to stymie all those who want to box children and families into an impoverished circle. The grass roots women’s networks will exist again. Women will fight together. We may even see the Equal Rights Amendment passed.

All the tense “good faith” of politicians has crumbled. From this, although I grieve, good things can begin.

On a Trip to Kansas City as a Writer

Why am I in KC?

I’m on an internship trip overnight, getting some away time in. I saw three interns yesterday, and will see another this morning. It’s part of the job of being their internship director. It’s fun seeing where my students are working.

I’m thinking about writing as I sit in a coffeehouse (Opera House KC) waiting for one of my favorite stores to open. I need some spices at Planters, and to look at gardening gadgets. I will also shop for Asian foods and eat Ethiopian for lunch. Life is good.

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Thinking about writing

As I think and drink lavender latte, I realize that, for me, thinking about writing isn’t thinking. It’s more like a sense of interest that envelops me, and I feel like following that interest in writing. Maybe that’s been my problem, thinking that thinking about writing was what I needed. No, I need to be a writer and follow that up with what I need to do to write.

It sounds bogus. First, be a writer; second, write. It’s not, in a way I have trouble explaining.

But it’s that way.

Self-Isolation

Hey. How did I get into this hole?

I’ve been talking around the problem for a while. I have been isolating myself. It has been a slow process that began not with COVID, but with an annual evaluation that didn’t go as well as I thought (three years ago). Then there was a lack of success in getting my book out and some harsh judgments on my part about my personality (which is a little loud, a little weird, and more than a little awkward.)

An insidious slide

I judged myself more and more on everything, sliding from “I do so many things wrong” to “I am wrong.” I avoided people in person, then avoided people on Facebook, afraid to do or say or be stupid.

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This seems to be an odd thing for a fifty-something woman to go through, I know. But a fifty-something woman whose brain is wired to be depressed? We don’t think of how much our emotions influence our perception of reality. And it’s an insidious slide, especially for someone like me, who can suppress problems pretty well.

The way out

I’ll be honest, I’m struggling here. “Nobody likes you” is a hard thing to argue against, and
“Just write on Facebook” is daunting. The thing about adulting, however, is that you’re the only one who can fix your own problems. So I turn back to 1) cognitive journaling and 2) taking risks. What’s the worst that happens if I put a note on Facebook?

I don’t imagine too much of a struggle once I get back to journaling (that’s the problem — I’ve been avoiding it). I will schedule once a day whether or not I think I need it. And I will try to get back into those things that draw attention to myself (talking about my writing, talking about gardening, talking period) and get connected with people once more.

Time for me to join the human race.

The Spiritual Struggles of a Doubter

I wanted to write about belief, and in particular my uncertain belief in a higher power. I abandoned the first draft of the blog entry in frustration.

I believe in something, but I feel more comfortable among the atheists. They seem to have some humility about their position in the universe. (I’ve not met the megalomaniacal type of atheist who sees the lack of a God as the reason to commit evil, which is what Christianity told me exists with all atheists.)

The “Price is Right” God

Some believe an all-powerful God picks favorites. I’ve heard this done by gender, by beliefs, by zealousness of practice, by denomination, by race, by social status, by sexuality. Believers enhance their position with God by hating who God purportedly hates, which is people not like them. His favorites get blessings (material or social). Very rich ministers assure the flocks that God will bring them riches. If they’re good, God will shower the believers with good things. His rejected have bad things happen to them.

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I can’t buy that view of a higher power. A deity who needs worship from bribing worshippers with blessings and withholding them from people who may actually need them seems too insecure to be allowed all that omnipotence. It also turns a sacred relationship into a game show.

If I could make my own higher power

I don’t believe in the game show God. To be honest, I don’t know if I believe in God at all. My belief certainly wavers, and so I feel so much kinship with doubters of any stripe.

But if I could design my own higher power, She wouldn’t ask for church attendance; rather, She would be always available for conversations. We would not call that “prayer” because of the baggage from religion so many carry. I wouldn’t have to prove my worthiness by rejecting those not like me. She would not judge so that all the different denominations, beliefs, sexualities, genders, etc. could find her. I would find her better with other people than I am.

She would not be responsible for good things or bad things happening to people. Those things would happen without Her. I could not go to Her for divine intervention, to fix the problems in my life, no matter how severe, because She doesn’t fix things or make things happen.

Her blessings would be different. Instead of riches or life-changing events, She would give support. She would give me the strength to tackle my own problems. Open my eyes to a different way of seeing things, like opportunities and different perspectives, so I could grow just a little more.

I would be angry at my higher power sometimes because I would want her to make it easy for me or keep bad things from happening or perform my view of justice. But to expect her to do my bidding would cheapen Her, she who is Love to all.

Sunday Afternoon

This morning started with a discovery

Apparently, according to some reading about ADHD I stumbled across, people with ADHD have trouble with non-verbal working memory (referred to in one article as visuospatial working memory). I probably have ADHD given my family history. In addition, I struggle with visual and spatial stuff. I can’t remember what someone looks like very well. Maybe after 50 times. This includes my husband — I didn’t know for a couple of years if I could recognize him in a crowd. I let him walk toward me before I approached him.

Apparently, people with non-verbal memory problems have trouble visualizing, including visualizing what a successful result looks like. Does this relate to my writing crisis, where I’m not sure if I’m doing “well enough”?

Planting thyme

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I segued from analyzing my mind to planting herbs. We have a hill of rip-rap, upon which the past residents laid a bare layer of dirt on top of. I planted herbs there; the mint loved the bottom of the hill but the top killed off whatever was planted there. So my husband and I laid soil at the top and planted herbs. I love to cook, and I like fresh herbs.

I’m a little tired now, but closer to the completion of the planting season. Looking forward to lovage in my soup and mint in my namya (Thai noodle dish).

Music in the evening

Listening to a new singer-songwriter playlist as I type this. It’s a good day. All I have to do is sort out the writing thing and try to figure out how to visualize success to motivate myself. Any ideas?