Christmas Place Setting //// 9/11 Inspired Art at Tempe Arts Center
Wednesday 31 December 2014
Tuesday 30 December 2014
2014: The Year I Found my Voice
I have grown more in this year than any other time in my life. This could have been the worst year of my life, and I think in April I would have said that it was. But with solid support and some really difficult, no-nonsense introspection (and months of therapy), I'm happy to say that, right now, I'm pretty damn proud of myself.
Because this is the year I...
I grew up in a nervous family. Any sniffly nose or sore limb was treated like I had the plague. Hypochondria became a habit.
This year, I learned to stop freaking out when I sneeze. I learned to accept my low pain tolerance, rather than beat myself up over "feeling weak" all the time. I learned to stop feeling guilty if I want to lay in bed and eat snacks all day. I learned that relaxing isn't a symptom of failure. Even bears hibernate.
But one of the biggest kinds of hypochondria I had to get over was when I felt sad or tired. While recovering from depression, I was really worried that I'd ignore its symptoms again. I learned that it's not good if you feel sad every day, but not every sad day is depression. It's not good to feel tired every day, but you might just be tired because you've been on your feet for 6 hours, paying attention to 30-something people at once. I've stopped downright ignoring my body when I feel sad or tired, but I've also stopped obsessing about it. Some days are happy, some days are not. And that's fine. Because obsessing about whether "this day is the best it could be right now" is a recipe for disaster.
This year, and for many years before it, I don't think I would have said I had low self esteem. I didn't have the typical symptoms. I don't really wear makeup or do my hair, so I don't obsess about it. I don't fuss about my weight or clothes either.
If I had gotten a desk job out of college, or anything that didn't require me to see the same people almost every day for a year--no do-overs--I don't think I ever would have confronted this about myself. Or, hell, done something about it. I would have gone along my life taking things a bit too personally and being a little offended all the time.
This year, I learned that confidence doesn't mean walking into a room believing everyone will love you. It seems that way, it's what I was taught, but it's not true. Confidence is walking into a room and knowing that, even if everyone doesn't love you, you'll be fine.
I've spent a great deal of my life trying to be agreeable, for the reasons I explained above.
I've sat through an excruciating hour of a creepy old man calling me "a delectable specimen" five times. A full hour with a man who, after learning I was a math teacher, asked me to "give him a call" once I really figure out what I want to do with my life. I didn't tell him off when he responded to "from India" with "dot India?" I sat completely still while he hugged me from behind. I didn't want to cause a scene. I cared about being agreeable more than being respected.
This year, because I cared less and less about being agreeable, I also became more vocal. I participated in conversations about heavy, sticky topics--education reform, poverty etc.--with confidence. I'm (now) okay with commenting on people's unintentionally-racist analysis of what's going on in Ferguson, instead of staying silent (i.e. neutral, i.e. liked by everyone.) I'm okay with believing that I'm right. With taking bets. With taking risks.
I've chosen authenticity.
And don't get me wrong, I'm not an "I don't care what any of you think" type of person. I don't think I ever will be. But the difference now is that I don't think about it 5 minutes later. Positive or negative.
Because this is the year I...
I grew up in a nervous family. Any sniffly nose or sore limb was treated like I had the plague. Hypochondria became a habit.
This year, I learned to stop freaking out when I sneeze. I learned to accept my low pain tolerance, rather than beat myself up over "feeling weak" all the time. I learned to stop feeling guilty if I want to lay in bed and eat snacks all day. I learned that relaxing isn't a symptom of failure. Even bears hibernate.
But one of the biggest kinds of hypochondria I had to get over was when I felt sad or tired. While recovering from depression, I was really worried that I'd ignore its symptoms again. I learned that it's not good if you feel sad every day, but not every sad day is depression. It's not good to feel tired every day, but you might just be tired because you've been on your feet for 6 hours, paying attention to 30-something people at once. I've stopped downright ignoring my body when I feel sad or tired, but I've also stopped obsessing about it. Some days are happy, some days are not. And that's fine. Because obsessing about whether "this day is the best it could be right now" is a recipe for disaster.
This year, and for many years before it, I don't think I would have said I had low self esteem. I didn't have the typical symptoms. I don't really wear makeup or do my hair, so I don't obsess about it. I don't fuss about my weight or clothes either.
But I did have low self esteem. It just looked different in me.
I was particularly susceptible to "Keeping Up with the Jones" syndrome. I've lived it all my life. Any life decision I made--even though I was never explicitly taught this--had to impress others. I'd always relied on people liking me. I was rarely self conscious about my physical appearance, but almost always self conscious about my abilities. I spent too much energy caring about what people thought, too much time hesitating.
I was particularly susceptible to "Keeping Up with the Jones" syndrome. I've lived it all my life. Any life decision I made--even though I was never explicitly taught this--had to impress others. I'd always relied on people liking me. I was rarely self conscious about my physical appearance, but almost always self conscious about my abilities. I spent too much energy caring about what people thought, too much time hesitating.
Remember Robert Frost's poem The Road Not Taken? Imagine if the poem ended, instead, with, "I took the one less traveled by, and everyone gasped the whole time."
Ridiculous.
How self absorbed to think that everyone is watching (and judging) your every move? And how terrible to think that scrutiny is going to do anything even if it exists?
When I became a teacher, I was forced to bare myself in front of 200-something people every day--whether I felt up to it or not. There weren't "big presentations" you prepared for weeks. You had a big presentation five times every single day. And the possibility of something going wrong (i.e. being less than absolutely impeccable) made me so anxious so often, that I felt like the victim of a sappy movie.
If I had gotten a desk job out of college, or anything that didn't require me to see the same people almost every day for a year--no do-overs--I don't think I ever would have confronted this about myself. Or, hell, done something about it. I would have gone along my life taking things a bit too personally and being a little offended all the time.
This year, I learned that confidence doesn't mean walking into a room believing everyone will love you. It seems that way, it's what I was taught, but it's not true. Confidence is walking into a room and knowing that, even if everyone doesn't love you, you'll be fine.
I've spent a great deal of my life trying to be agreeable, for the reasons I explained above.
I've sat through an excruciating hour of a creepy old man calling me "a delectable specimen" five times. A full hour with a man who, after learning I was a math teacher, asked me to "give him a call" once I really figure out what I want to do with my life. I didn't tell him off when he responded to "from India" with "dot India?" I sat completely still while he hugged me from behind. I didn't want to cause a scene. I cared about being agreeable more than being respected.
This year, because I cared less and less about being agreeable, I also became more vocal. I participated in conversations about heavy, sticky topics--education reform, poverty etc.--with confidence. I'm (now) okay with commenting on people's unintentionally-racist analysis of what's going on in Ferguson, instead of staying silent (i.e. neutral, i.e. liked by everyone.) I'm okay with believing that I'm right. With taking bets. With taking risks.
I've chosen authenticity.
Authenticity is being okay with telling people you don't want to drink tonight. It's being okay with telling people you don't cook, that your fridge is empty and your freezer is filled with frozen Trader Joe's food. It's actually TELLING people these things. It's sharing your feelings, your hardships, your successes.
And don't get me wrong, I'm not an "I don't care what any of you think" type of person. I don't think I ever will be. But the difference now is that I don't think about it 5 minutes later. Positive or negative.
As long as I'm living my life with honesty and kindness, I'll be fine.
Monday 29 December 2014
Review: Starbucks Via Peppermint Mocha Latte
Every year, I patiently wait for pumpkin spice season to pass and peppermint season to arrive. I'm not even a regular at Starbucks (#ForeverDutchMafia) but their peppermint mochas are one of my favorite drinks of all time.
This year, I got the Starbucks' peppermint mocha packets so that I could have them more often.
It was a terrible decision.
This drink has a chalky aftertaste that wouldn't go away even after I added more sugar and coffee. See that little part that says made with natural dairy? That means you don't add your own milk. It means powdered milk. I thought at first that the aftertaste must be from the powdered milk, but I've had Cantata's instant coffee before, and it doesn't have the gross aftertaste Starbucks' latte does.
The individual packets are pretty big:
But so, so gross. I couldn't even finish a cup.
This year, I got the Starbucks' peppermint mocha packets so that I could have them more often.
It was a terrible decision.
This drink has a chalky aftertaste that wouldn't go away even after I added more sugar and coffee. See that little part that says made with natural dairy? That means you don't add your own milk. It means powdered milk. I thought at first that the aftertaste must be from the powdered milk, but I've had Cantata's instant coffee before, and it doesn't have the gross aftertaste Starbucks' latte does.
The individual packets are pretty big:
But so, so gross. I couldn't even finish a cup.
Saturday 27 December 2014
Dark Places, by Gillian Flynn
"My heart!" I yelled, then crawled up the stairs and curled up next to Bianca. "My heart... This book..." I rolled around on the floor while she finished writing a paper.
No, I wasn't overreacting.
This book broke my heart.
I usually love Gillian Flynn's stories for their plots, but I love Dark Places for its characters.
I'm glad Libby doesn't overcome her obstacles to become anyone's savior. I'm glad she wasn't somehow immune to mental illness after losing her entire family. I'm glad she's not likable, and I'm glad I like her anyway.
I'm also consistently impressed with Flynn's ability to describe things. I've already pulled some particularly good sentences from Gone Girl, and Dark Places, too, is full of "wow, I would never think to describe it that way but you're totally right" moments. Here's what I mean:
Lyle isn't just some nerd. He's a guy who "leans out from behind [Libby] like a squirrel." A guy who, when drinking a sweet cocktail, makes a "whoo! noise like it had been whiskey." He's a guy who still watches bad TV with Libby when he no longer needs her. And if he wasn't these things, I wouldn't like him as much. I wouldn't like any of them as much.
Flynn's excellent characterization is why I didn't see the end coming. And it's also why I was writhing on the floor in front of my friend.
After all, an action-driven story can make your heart race, but only a character-driven story can break it.
//Find me on goodreads//
No, I wasn't overreacting.
This book broke my heart.
I'm glad Libby doesn't overcome her obstacles to become anyone's savior. I'm glad she wasn't somehow immune to mental illness after losing her entire family. I'm glad she's not likable, and I'm glad I like her anyway.
I'm also consistently impressed with Flynn's ability to describe things. I've already pulled some particularly good sentences from Gone Girl, and Dark Places, too, is full of "wow, I would never think to describe it that way but you're totally right" moments. Here's what I mean:
"That he took them out to some farm area and performed... acts that are associated with ritualistic Devil worship." He said those words--Ritualistic Devil Worship--the way people who don't know cars repeat what the mechanic said: It's a broken fuel pump."Flynn doesn't go into this much detail about everything, but when she wants you to experience the story a certain way... man does she do a good job of including concise, specific details.
Lyle isn't just some nerd. He's a guy who "leans out from behind [Libby] like a squirrel." A guy who, when drinking a sweet cocktail, makes a "whoo! noise like it had been whiskey." He's a guy who still watches bad TV with Libby when he no longer needs her. And if he wasn't these things, I wouldn't like him as much. I wouldn't like any of them as much.
Flynn's excellent characterization is why I didn't see the end coming. And it's also why I was writhing on the floor in front of my friend.
After all, an action-driven story can make your heart race, but only a character-driven story can break it.
//Find me on goodreads//
Sunday 14 December 2014
(Sentimental) Christmas Decorating
I don't have any Christmas traditions because my family doesn't do Christmas. I do love holidays, though. And I have a (fake, plastic) Christmas tree from last year that I wanted to use again. I've seen lots of really cool, themed trees all over the internet, but I wanted my tree to be really freakin' sentimental.
So I called my friends and asked them to make things for my tree.
Construction paper, markers, Coby's homemade limoncello, candles, and holiday music. It was the kind of warm and fuzzy gathering Christmas is all about.
Here are some of the things they made:
Collin's "Portraits of Us"
An excerpt from Erica's favorite Brothers Grimm story.
Coby's favorite quote of all time.
Collin's favorite quote of all time.
Christina's beloved Robert Frost poem with some sweet doodles.
Rose gold colored ornaments that look like melting pinecones. Made by my pal, Target.
Sunday 7 December 2014
Marsala: Pantone's 2015 Color of the Year
I always take Pantone's color predictions with a grain of salt. I don't know if it's because they outright claim that their color pick is definitive, or because, well, it's their business to try to convince you to buy things in that color, but the whole "color of the year" brouhaha always leaves me underwhelmed. My designer friends and architect friends and engineer friends all use Pantone color guides, so I know Pantone's good at what they do. But their color of the year feels like a campaign, nothing more.
I like colors though, so I look anyway.
Pantone is sick of springtime-bouquet colors. Here's a quick recap of their color forecasts from previous years:
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I like colors though, so I look anyway.
Pantone is sick of springtime-bouquet colors. Here's a quick recap of their color forecasts from previous years:
This year, Pantone predicts that "Marsala" will be big:
(photo via solopress)
Ever since I started paying attention to fashion designers and their work, I noticed that the colors they chose always trickled down months afterwards. That cerulean sweater scene from The Devil Wears Prada is real talk.
Here's where we've seen Marsala so far:
From Chanel's fall 2014 campaign:
(photo via fashionheavenrants)
Charlotte Tillbury's 2014 Matte Revolution series:
(photo via fleurdeforce)
Most designers seem to pair Marsala up with warmer colors, but I actually think it looks gorgeous with grays and whites:
(photo via designbinge)
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