Priorities

Today I traded in the mocha for a hot mint tea so that I could feel good about buying breakfast along with my coffee. Unfortunately, my mocha has become sort of ritual for me, telling my brain when it's time to write for the blog-world, and I'm finding that I either need to drink a mocha each time I sit down to write this blog or get myself out of the habit of drinking a mocha every time I sit down to blog. For me, this goes under the category of problems to solve another day, and I choose to make note of it and move on for now. But I couldn't help noticing that as the barista rang up my total, it was less than I normally spend on my one small mocha.

This year has really been about finding priorities. Last semester was busy and hard, and I ended up quitting one job and significantly reducing hours in another. Putting schoolwork ahead of employment is not normally the advice I would give to others, but after looking at our budget and finding that with my husband's income we would have, once again, *just enough*, I decided to spend the year focusing the majority of my energy as a student. But prioritizing isn't always easy.

I have a friend who is in a training program to become a pastor who tells me she can't do anything around the house until her homework is done (with the exception of taking care of her children when, say, they need food or a diaper change). Her husband, on the other hand, can't focus on writing a sermon or speech or making a budget until the housework is done and he can be free of distraction. They're lucky, they have it figured out. They know exactly what they need to do in order to focus and complete their tasks.

I have met students here who are killing themselves over grades. I met one girl whose philosophy is to get all of the homework done, sacrificing sleep, work, anything she can cut out of the day to get work done. She and others strive for A's and anything less is unacceptable. Of course, I can understand this, but I don't think it's any more healthy than putting everything off until the last minute and doing a minimalist job.

What I have found this year, especially after spending a year in the "real world" where you have to work hard and make a sustainable income, pay bills, etc, is that there are no A's in life. I am learning that most of the time family comes first, gainful employment is important for a sustainable lifestyle, community involvement helps more than the individual.

It's hard to find a balance in a world where everything is graded, but you can't neatly file learning, understanding, gaining of knowledge. As my colleagues and I get closer to graduation, it's harder to regurgitate exactly what the professor wants. What professors want these days is not to see how much we can remember from text books but how we apply what we learn in class to our own work, and how we develop. In the real world, we need to know how to prioritize.

Because ultimately, what we become is far more important than what we know.

Vulnerable Me

 About a week ago we discussed vulnerability in one of my writing classes. The class started with some uncomfortable shifting in seats and possibly some eye-rolls. However, it turned out well, and we had a good discussion. Maybe it's just the dynamic of a classroom setting, but most students left agreeing with the professor's main point: we must learn to be vulnerable.

While writing my short story for that same class last weekend, I was struggling with the ending. I will point out to you here that to talk about this I must make myself vulnerable. So, I was writing my short story, trying to figure out where I went with the ending because my professor didn't find the first draft believable. In the first draft, my main character finds out she is pregnant after a rare and accidental one-night stand, and decides, since she is pretty fresh out of college, to get an abortion. I just couldn't let her go through with it and had to find a way out, so I had her call the baby daddy at the prodding of her roommate to ask for some help with the decision. He, of course, is far from okay with the thought of abortion and offers to raise the child if she will only carry to term, which ultimately causes the main character to change her mind and not get an abortion.

Don't worry, I now see where the story went wrong. I think I did at first, too. But I was having a hard time really being open to taking a risk in this story. I decided that a risk had to be taken, and while I was re-working the end of the story, the end became a story of it's own, and it is now the beginning of the piece. Yup, I chucked out the whole first draft, and basically, started over. All because I was willing (finally) to become vulnerable. In allowing myself to potentially be hurt by taking a risk, I actually wrote a much better story... which would be tooting my own horn if I didn't know from the writing process that it really is a better story.

Our culture tends to think of vulnerability as synonymous with weakness. It makes sense, considering the dictionary definition: capable or susceptible to being hurt or wounded; open to moral attack, criticism, temptation (definition from dictionary.com).

Vulnerability is the main topic of Brene Brown's Ted Talks, which can be found on the Ted Talks website or on YouTube. Brene Brown studies shame for a living, and found that while dealing with shame one must become vulnerable. She is pretty inspiring and I would recommend taking the time to check out some of her speeches.

Now, we have established the definition of vulnerability, but does that make it synonymous to weakness? Yes and no, I think. If you've ever looked in a thesaurus you are aware that looking up the definitions of words is also important; not every word listed as a synonym actually has the meaning you may be looking for. So, where vulnerability is synonymous to weakness, it is not necessarily weakness.

In order to be vulnerable, you need to be willing to make yourself susceptible to weakness - to being hurt. These days we work really hard to close ourselves off and be strong so that we can't be hurt by anyone; we won't allow anyone to hurt us. But in order to be real, and according to Brene Brown in order to be truly happy and free, we need to learn to allow ourselves to be vulnerable.

Vulnerability is honesty. Openness. In being vulnerable we do open ourselves up to be hurt, but we also learn to trust that way, too. Meaningful relationships can't be built through a wall. To develop a truly strong relationship with anybody - a friend, a potential dating relationship, a therapist, even - we must be vulnerable.

In opening up we learn the freedom of trusting people, and find little pieces of ourselves on the way.

Preview

Good morning, Tuesday readers. Thanks for doing this day with me.

Today, I have a theology paper due, a short story to re-write, a personal essay to look over, and an essay about SPAM to edit. Needless to say, I'm short on time. Spring break is just a week and a half away, and I have so much to complete before that big fat due date next Wednesday.

Hey, maybe I'll post something new and exciting for you in the next two weeks. It's about time I become a real writer, after all. I'll admit, though, it's hard to feel O.K. about showing my work. Really dang hard. I'm currently overcoming my fear of letting things be finished and presented to the public.

Yesterday in my fiction writing class we spent most of the hour talking about vulnerability. Yeah, I really need to get better at opening up and being honest, allowing my work to come through me and not just out from wherever a mediocre Twilight-type story comes from. Popular doesn't always mean exceptional.

Come back next Tuesday for a discussion on vulnerability.

About the College Student

It's a little bit funny, sometimes, to think I live in a climate where underground tunnels between buildings are necessary. Downtown Minneapolis got it right, maybe, when they built the skywalk (an above-ground system of hallways connecting buildings). At least you can experience the beauty of day from above ground through the windows that way. Either way, in Minnesota winter, it's just too dang cold to be outside for more than five minutes. Especially when it's under 10 degrees with a windchill that brings it to 35 degrees below 0.

As I tunneled over from the cafe to the library this morning, I noticed a Coca-Cola machine with a sticker on it that read, "Open bottle carefully." I thought it was kind of funny that the school felt it necessary to remind college students that their pop would be shaken after tumbling down the chute, but then I had a picture of a sticky mess of caramelized drink in that hallway made by a delirious student wanting the immediate satisfaction of caffeine, and realized they probably had good reason for putting up the sign.

I have noticed lately that college students, though considered 'adult' and 'independent,' aren't vastly trusted by the general public, especially by those who run educational institutions. When I first realized this, I was a little offended, I guess. But then, just as with the sign on the pop machine, I thought that maybe it is for good reason.

College students, almost by definition, are irresponsible, whether intentionally or unintentionally. Hey, we have a lot going on at this stage. We have to balance homework, relationships, social functions, and if our parents don't have the desire or means to give us everything, gainful employment. For the most part, we're all generally sleep deprived and, if my own recent experience is any indication, bewildered. Maybe from lack of sleep or maybe from the sheer volume of what we cram into our heads, but I think all college students develop some form of attention deficit during the learning years.

 I have a writing professor who always tells her students that we know nothing, that we're not good at what we do, and that we can't be. This is always offending, but I understand. After all, I, only six years older than students in high school, think of them as inferior in art and thought, even if they're decent at anything for their age. Yet, when I was in high school, I thought I was kind of on my way to something. I thought I was okay. So I forgive my professor, because I know she's right, even if I feel that my effort warrants thinking there is some form of possible talent on my part.

It's true, we're inexperienced and still learning. I just wish we could be told when we're doing well. I think people forget to tell us we're doing well at this stage. Life is an unending venture of trying, failing, and finding success, after all. Is there ever the fabled satisfaction of a job well done?

I guess this comes from feeling a little on the end of worthless these days. How should I feel that going on is worthwhile if I'm only ever told what it is I'm doing wrong, and not what I'm doing right? How do any of us decide it's worth it to go on? To prove someone wrong? That is true for some, I know.

These are the years that we learn whether we're worth our salt. We work hard, strive, seek, and keep getting batted away. It's not failure, but it is something like trial. When we make it to the end, at least we know what doesn't work. Maybe life will prove what does.

Morning Mocha

Coffee and I have a love/hate relationship. It beckons to me from distant places, and I follow its call like a little lost lamb. Once the craving hits, it can't be satiated by mere substitutions. My cafe drink of choice is the mocha, and it has to be dark chocolate. I love my mocha, and my mocha, well... it tries. It brings me momentary satisfaction, but often only to let me down in the long run.

I suffer from migraine headaches, which I'm beginning to find are more common in people these days, especially in young people close my age. Millennials, we are too heavily caffeinated a generation.

If caffeine helps when you have a headache (even a little one), if you get headaches after a few days without caffeine, if you get headaches regularly, then you may also suffer from migraine (as if you haven't suspected, because you're one smart cookie). These are questions my father-in-law (who is a doctor) asked me when he heard me complaining far too often of my headaches. My mom gets migraines, my sister gets migraines, and I never thought that I suffered from them, too, but as it turns out, I do.

The only way to deal with migraine headache is to try to find what creates it (i.e. caffeine) and basically stay away from that thing. People, even doctors, will talk about "triggers" (red wine, chocolate, red meats), but I've heard mixed commentary on whether triggers really exist or not. Caffeine withdrawal is what normally causes migraines, which I've found by experience when, say, I drink coffee or Dr. Pepper every day for three or more days, then don't drink any caffeine for a day or two. Those are the times I get the worst migraines: first the dull headache, then tightness in my shoulders, nausea that radiates through my fingertips and pounds to my head until it feels like my head will split open. Such an awful experience, and if you can relate, I feel for you.

My husband works hard at keeping me away from caffeine entirely. He implemented a similar tactic that I took in high school, for health purposes rather than avoidance of migraine, but I didn't realize then how much I may have been helping myself.

In high school, I would allow myself only one pop each week, two under special circumstances (I wasn't a coffee drinker in those days, but I did love my Red Bull). I rarely, if ever, experienced migraines, so when they manifested in more recent years, I was shocked to find that migraine is basically a life-long condition. It wasn't until college that I found the magical powers of a morning coffee and started feeling the effects of long-term caffeination. So my dear sweet husband now allows me only one or two caffeinated beverages a week, because avoiding the addiction is the best way to avoid the withdrawal.

So, it is Tuesday, once again, and here I sit with my weekly mocha. The added benefits to drinking less caffeine of course are that it's easier on the budget and the waistline. On Tuesdays my husband and I get up and out the door earlier, and surprisingly, it's actually the weekday I  look forward to the most. I get my blog, I get my mocha, and the day starts off well.

Life is good when you don't have to give up something you love in its entirety. In exchange for my caffeine addiction, I get comfort from being enslaved to it (those who drink caffeine every day and suffer from migraine must drink coffee every day).

 It's about compromise.

Grappling Understanding

It's not quite 8:00 yet on a Tuesday morning, and here I am. This is the one day each week I take the time to sit down and write whatever I have a mind to write. No theology papers, no forced, edited, tweaked, deconstructed and entirely re-written essays or short stories. Just my thoughts, my experiences, my own judgment.

Today I have to write a paper on what I believe about God's character, His works, and His Trinity. I know what I believe about these things, but I never realized how much theology has to say about just these aspects of God. For centuries people have put a lot of thought and time into trying to explain God. Truly, there is nothing new under the sun.

The Trinity. Three in one. It's hard to grasp, yet Christians insist it is the true nature of God, and we try to explain it, attempt to understand. In the end, only to find it's impossible to fully understand.

God is Father, God is Son, God is Spirit (or as my theology book put it, an inversion: Father is God, Son is God, and Spirit is God). All three separate, all three equal, all three one. It's paradoxical. It doesn't make sense to our little human minds. It's been argued that it's not even biblical. But it is, isn't it? It certainly explains how Jesus spoke of God and himself. If it's part of God's nature, why is it so hard to understand? Why can't we just know?

It's part of God's nature for us not to understand. He's so big, so much more than we are. How could we begin to understand the mind of the one who created the universe. It's impossible. We are just the tiniest reflections of the Creator, and we are consistently imperfect creatures trying to reflect on the nature of One who holds all things together and abides outside of time. It's crazy to even try to understand.

But we have to try, don't we? Our knowledge grows with trying. And though the more we know the more we realize we don't understand, still the closer we come to Him in our attempt to know Him.

God is good. All powerful. Gracious, loving, merciful. He is patient and constant. He is eternal, infinite. This is what I know, and as I explore and falter, it's all that matters. To know Him.

A Coffee Break Study of Nature

Writer's block. A masked man with a gun to your head when you don't have the answer.

Eventually he goes away, right when you expect to be shot through the head, usually. Still, it's paralyzing.

I took a break this morning when I got to campus at 7:30, bought a mocha and sat in the campus cafe to sip my drink and nibble my strawberry Pop-tart in peace. It's funny how if you go to a coffee shop without a laptop these days, or at least a book, you get funny looks. One sir even stared directly at me as he passed after saying hello. It's mysterious, I guess, to just sit and take in life.

I just needed time before retreating back inside myself and relinquishing the precious knowledge of anything I've learned about writing, about theology, about analyzing style. Time to clear out the corners of the mind and find all that's there, if possible. With a laptop in your lap, a cellphone in hand, a book to hide behind, it's hard to take in the world around you without distraction. So I sat, undistracted, and watched.

It is said that writers pay closer attention to nature, have more reverence.  I don't know if that is necessarily true, or if we just document our observations more than most. This morning, at the window in the cafe with my coffee, I was a student of nature.

I watched the birds in their flight patterns, swell and dive, swell and dive, two by two. I contemplated the ice cracking and melting and running, forming puddles. I saw the few people here this early take slow, safe steps, cautious on today's ice layer.

Sitting as a silent observer, I overheard the different volumes of the baristas, listened in on the topics of their discussion. What's important to strangers. We're all a little bit the same.

This morning, I took the time to soak in the mysteries and revelation of the flitting birds, the tedious steps, the words that say nothing but reveal more of us than we know.

I watched the trees, reaching up, always reaching up. Even when the snow and ice weigh down as if to break their strength they remain firmly planted, reaching. But even strong trees sometimes fall. Yet they maintain their upward stretch until their time is over.

I want to reach up like the ancient pines and great oaks. Up, beyond the trees and clouds and stars. I want to stop being so conscious of the ice sheet on the ground, afraid of falling, and focus on what is all around. In front, behind, above. Reaching for the answer, the reason, the strength against the things of this world that weigh down. Always up.