We All Long

We all long for glamour ~ Linda Lee

Due to some life changes, I am currently no longer taking the subway but I can’t help but always think of blogging (which, clearly I never get to).  Life has a way of dipping and curving in ways we never expect.  I feel trapped sometimes by my lack of ability to do such simple tasks as parallel parking.  Coming from a town in which there were no parallel parking spaces and thus was never tested for it, it’s actually REALLY annoying to have people look down on you because you can’t parallel park.  I’d much rather they say “that’s too bad, why don’t you let me teach you some time?” versus mocking me or making me feel inadaquit. I digress. One of my friends recently found her current beau while riding on the subway and I can’t help but want to write along those lines. 

We all long for something more.  It’s the core of our exsistence.  Why are we here?  Do we have a purpose?  It’s the thing that drives us to do more, reach farther, and become a better person.  It seems though, that every person views it a different way (as per par for we humans).  Those such as Ms. Lee long to be seen by many.  I myself sometimes long to be seen by just one.  

 At this point in my life I’m not even sure who that is; I just know whomever it is that God wants me to end up with, I wish He’d reveal him NOW.  Recently, I have been telling people that all I want is some guy to cook with and chat about whatever with over dunkin donuts/starbucks. I personally (occassionnally when the mood strikes me) long for that crazy connection you can get with another human being in which you feel “you get me and I feel like I could get used to learning all the interesting and different bits of you that there is.”  

“Human speech is like a cracked kettle on which we tap crude rhythms for bears to dance to, while we long to make music that will melt the stars.” 
— Gustave Flaubert

I once wrote for one of the drafts of my Sr. Thesis Project that I am the sum of many bits of me.  There’s the church side, the work side, the school side, and then there are the parts that people have never seen: parts of childhood scars, my personal demons, the part that loves to play piano by myself late at night in the quiet of the evening, and more.  I remember I had once, almost, been willing to start that process with someone.  The pain when it all fell through stayed with me for years.  It wasn’t so much the loss of him, it was the loss of the possibility.  He was this VERY hansome, kind, Godly, talented guy and I was just a young high school sr. trying to find her way in the world.  In the end I found out that even without ever going on a date or even meeting up face-to-face (due to living 3 hrs away we never met up while we were “talking”— this was NOT an online connection), one could put your heart on the line more than you thought you would.  

And so it makes me wonder… how does one know who’s the right one?  Can we truly just look to “make eyes” at the cutie to the right of us on the subway and eventually hope to find love?  My friend had been eyeing her current man for a week or two prior to actually speaking to him and I just couldn’t see myself EVER doing something like that. It seems that I’m only best at connecting with males once I know that they and I could never, ever be.  That way I feel safe.  Such a paradox (!!), but I think it’s because if we could never be then there’s no danger of rejection.  Friendship rejections I can take but romantic rejections cut deep and I’ve never really let anyone have that ability to hurt me- just a handful and all but one never knew they had that power… and apparenlty even he didn’t realize it at the time (this I know because we reconnected on Valentines Day last year— yes, very strange timing— and it also still fell through, sometimes if you’re just not right for each other, you’re just not right for each other).

What is the gospel according to Jesus? Simply this: that the love we all long for in our innermost heart is already present, beyond longing. ~Stephen Mitchell

In the end it boils to this: Jesus is all I need.  It’s hard to remember at times and when I hear of friends randomly finding a man they’re willing to share themselves with by just riding on the T, I can’t help but wish I could make a connection too.  My heart wishes that someone would see that treasure in me, see the mire of dirt and ugliness that is me, and yet still love me.  And then I remember: He already does.  Jesus died for me and loves me and found me worth the price of His life- regardless of my faults.  I am willing to have that connection with someone one day, but until God gives the greenlight, I am learning to be content waiting. 

MUUUAAAAHHHHHH!!!!

It’s Kiss-An-Asian Day so if you see one on your travels today- feel free to blow them a kiss– and who knows?  Maybe the one you blow a kiss to will be me

Friends

You’ve got a friend in me.
You’ve got a friend in me.
If you’ve got troubles, and I got ‘em too.
There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.
If we stick together we can see it through,
Cause you got a friend in me.
Yeah, you got a friend in me.
~Randy Newman, Theme from Toy Story

As I was on the subway today I saw a guy get on who, from the corner of my eye, I judged to probably be a thug or someone equally into being macho ‘cuase all I saw was a leather jacket and someone who seemed jacked (again, let us note this is using my peripheral vision lol).  Upon further inspection, however, he turned out to be rather very good looking and well dressed with a nice button down, black slacks, and nice (SHINY as in well kept!) shoes.  And so I did my usual observing from looking in the window and seeing his reflection- however- he was sitting diagonally across from me so the window only proved to show me his head.  Oh well.   I gave up and watched as people came and went on the subway until a few stops later when Mr. Not-A-Thug got up and walked over to another guy who I had seen (via reflection in the window) on the other side of the subway car (who was also rather good looking).  Surprisingly- they were friends!  (not that they were friends but it always amazes me that people meet their friends on the subway considering just what those odds are when you consider they subway comes every 5 minutes during heavy volume hours and how many cars each subway train has) 

I observed the interaction between the two musing about having a friend along on the ride and how tomorrow I myself would have a friend along with me since this weekend is my birthday weekend.  It’s interesting how oftentimes I find myself either bored on the subway, absorbed in reading, chatting with a co-worker who was going in my direction, observing others, or many times passed out from exhaustion since I get an average of 5 hours of sleep every weeknight (hense the lack of regular posts).  How many others deal with the humdrum of communting?  How many others deal with this monotony that I sometimes wish I could escape?

An Ode to Mothers

“Being a full-time mother is one of the highest salaried jobs in my field, since the payment is pure love.  ~Mildred B. Vermont”

So as I was on the subway today I saw a woman with her child.  The little girl was absolutely adorable and the mother looked rather young to have a toddler (probably early 20’s).   You could see that she was a good mother and that she really cared for her child.  The little girl, in turn showed signs of coming from a loving family with all the curiosity and rambunctiousness that toddlers from a secure environment have.  Climbing all over the seats, she eventually asked her mother for a hug.  It was so endearing to see such genuine affection between a mother and child. 

Sweater, n.:  garment worn by child when its mother is feeling chilly.  ~Ambrose Bierce

It made me start to think on the whole concept of who we are.  I realized that this child will probably grow up to be very physically affectionate, like myself.  Stemming from the comments others have made to me in the past of what they deemed my overly (and therefore overtly flirty) affectionate personality, I wondered how the norms for this child will change once she meets more in this world of ours.  For now her mother is her world.  It was evident in the easy affection and connection between the two.  It was evident by seeing their pattern of “play.”  The little girl laid on her belly across a seat and the mother playfully tapped her bottom as if playing a drum.  To them, this was a normal action but to others, they may have thought what a strange thing to do with their child! 

Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime.
~William Shakespeare

As time goes on I realize more how much our family shapes us.  It makes me wonder at the whole concept of love and marriage too because in a way- when you marry someone you meld all your “norms” with their “norms.”  They may not understand though, why you do things the way you do.  They may not comprehend at first that it’s due to your upbringing that you always do it x way.  In a way we daughters are our mothers just in younger form.  They form us, show us what is normal and acceptable, and send us out into the world.  Clearly there is a melding with the “father’s norms” but it is the mothers who normally spend the most time with the child.

What we do for love. . .

My mother used to say that there are no strangers, only friends you haven’t met yet.  She’s now in a maximum security twilight home in Australia.” ~Dame Edna Everage

As I sat on the train the woman sitting next to me began to mumble to herself. I looked around, wondering if anyone else found this odd and realized, like Charley, no one wanted to act as if they noticed. She kept up her mumbling and then took a sudden interest in my reading: articles on Osteoarthritis. She starts asking me about it and, not wanting to be rude, I answer her back. This seemed to encourage her and I found myself with an unlikely traveling companion who quickly realized I could speak Mandarin on a semi-fluent level.

“Love: a temporary insanity, curable by marriage.”  ~Ambrose Bierce

She told me about how she had been happy down south when a man promised her a Greencard if she’d move up this way. She, thinking this ment marriage, gladly quit her job and soon found herself working for about $300 a week hoping her next job would provide free housing so she could at least save up a bit of money. This man who promised her a bright future was her boyfriend and refused to marry her and instead suggested she find a job that would support her in her effort for a greencard.

“My advice to you is not to inquire why or whither, but just enjoy your ice cream while it’s on your plate — that’s my philosophy.”  Thornton Wilder, The Skin of Our Teeth (1942)

So where she had once been happy and semi-successful here she was now close to broke and worried about being deported. I wonder what I would give up for the promise of love and security. It seems to me like I have already found that in God but then again, sometimes it is SO HARD to be assured of Him and His role in my life. It’s hard to feel He’s tangible sometimes. It’s hard not to question Him. It’s hard not to question His exsistance. I have to believe His promises are not empty. I have to believe He is real and loves me. I have seen too many wonderful things. I have felt Him so strongly in my prayers in the past. I have witnessed too much for Him not to be real. He has used me too much for Him not to be real. How can one deny His exsistance when He has used you to rely a message to someone and they say “That is EXACTLY what I have been praying about ALL WEEK!!!” You cannot deny Him after that point.

And yet… it makes me wonder about what I was teaching the kids on Sunday… what are we willing to give up Heaven for? What are we willing to sacrifice our relationship with God for? There should be NOTHING in this world that we would be willing to sell out for. There should be NO ONE who can take the place of God in our hearts… and yet… sometimes I wonder if we do just that. The cares of this life pull so hard and tie me down. I feel I am drowning in the weight of all that needs to be done.

Dance Your Dance Princess

“We dance for laughter, we dance for tears, we dance for madness, we dance for fears, we dance for hopes, we dance for screams, we are the dancers, we create the dreams.” ~ Anonymous

As I was waiting for the subway one day a woman was dancing all by herself in the corner.  She had earphones on so clearly she wasn’t crazy but like Charley- she was breaking out of the mold of “normal” subway behavior.  She had on a black baseball cap and black, shiny jacket, and it was clear she  had to at least be in her late 50’s or older.  When the train finally pulled up she continued to dance her way to a seat.  Once in the seat she “wooted” and the young men also in our part of the subway car started cracking up noting how awesome she was.  

“A person needs a little madness, or else they never dare cut the rope and be free.”              ~Nikos Kazantzakis

It’s interesting- break out of the mold and people will perceive you one of two ways: crazy or awesome.  In this case since she showed understanding that she was purposely stepping out of the mold (she acknowledged the looks by wooting towards the guys, doing a little dance in her seat, and looking at the guys and telling them “I’m Princess”) they all felt she was cool.  

Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name,
and they’re always glad you came.
You wanna be where you can see,
our troubles are all the same
You wanna be where everybody knows
Your name.  ~Cheers Theme Song

I couldn’t help but observe her during the ride and was amazed that more than one person knew her on the ride in.  The more I observed the more I realized she was most likely going to class at a college and those who knew her were most likely classmates also on the same mission of attending class.  However, of those that greeted her some did actually get off at other stops.  I wondered at the fact that if it were sheer coincidence that they were meeting up on the subway either she knew a LOT of people or else she had met them on her commute home prior to this day.  I have NEVER met anyone that I knew- granted I live pretty far outside the city of Boston but still- as I observe people on the T no one else has ever had that many people greet them.  

It’s been weeks since that day but I can still see her, at her end of the T platform listening to her music dancing her heart out.  I wonder if I’ll ever learn to break out of the mold or if I’ll continue on in the basic T rider mold: book/newspaper, earphones, and bored look. 

 

 

 

Last Leg

“All parts of the human body get tired eventually – except the tongue”  ~Konrad Adenauer

So it seems the world came out for the Boston Marathon today.  I normally take the first train into Boston on the commuter rail to make it into the office by 7AM and today I saw a different kind of crowd than usual. . . as I walked through the Garden and over to the T, an older gentleman and what I would presume to be his granddaughter (she looked about five) were walking ahead of me.  Seeing as I was incredably tired and just wanted to crawl back into bed- can I just say that doing pilates at 10PM at night when you wake up at 4AM isn’t the smartest thing in the world? – I was walking much slower than usual.  Normally I almost clomp to the front to beat the slowpokes who decide that taking the stairs= I-can-go-down-them-VERY-slowly-&-take-up-the-WHOLE-staircase-by-walking-in-the-middle-w/bags-on-all-sides-of-me.  Today- today was different.  You could feel the anticipation in the air and yet I couldn’t have cared less.  I know- calous of me.  I have been sleepin about 4-5 hours every night for almost two weeks now.  I can’t keep this up. I digress.  Even at 6AM you could see them- the marathoners with their red bags.  I myself basically passed out once on the T. 

Silver in clothing keeps odors away ~book title by Michale Rubinkam

On the way home I also was basically passed out until North Station but about a minute or two before the stop one guy near me struck up a conversation with a marathoner and found out the man had run 23 Boston Marathons in total and that today he had done just about 4 hours.  I kind of wish I could have stuck around to hear if he had any more stories but my train beckoned me.  There were other runners coming out of the subway though- a young man with “Beverly” written down both his calves walked slightly gingerly towards the Garden wrapped up in the shiny blankets that look as if someone pulled out the aluminum foil.

Brain: It must be inordinately taxing to be such a boob.

Pinky: You have no idea.   

I couldn’t help but be annoyed with the spectators who don’t understand the commuting system though.  The athletes- I had respect for them regardless of if they know how to use the trains because they’re probably low on eletrolites and they’ve worked SO HARD; but the spectators annoyed me.  I can’t help but feel that if I had to toil all day at work, these people shouldn’t be messing up my commute by not knowing which train to get on, which track was where, in the mean time just STAND in the MIDDLE of the station trying to figure it out.  It was almost like the time Disney on Ice came through with High School Musical and all these little children with their parents were in North Station confused and dazed as to how it all worked.  I wanted to be like “GO WALK HOME IF YOU CAN’T FIGURE IT OUT!  IT’S CALLED READ THE SIGNS: IF IT SAYS 5:10 NEWBURYPORT ON TRACK 3 AND YOU WANT THAT TRAIN- GO TO TRACK THREE!!!!!!” 

 

A Man Named Charley

‘If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.’ -Henry David Thoreau, Walden

I sat on the T, worried over the many problems facing me for the day:
-A car that barely started and probably wouldn’t start when I got back to the station
-A new job on Monday in which I was starting to feel overwhelmed by already
-A cell phone that needed a new screen
-Traveling issues due to the car dilemma
-and more

Then Charley got on the T

Before he sat down a cute guy passed me by and I hoped he’d sit down in the empty seat next to me
He didn’t- Charley did
Greyhaired and and with a bushy greying beard, he sat down with his bag and sketch notepad on his lap
Almost immediately he started cracking up, all by himself
I looked around wondering if anyone else was noticing this breach of the code of common conduct
Everyone else- too afraid to break the code- too afraid to look interested in anything but themselves- just sat around, not daring to look
Charley spoke of Harvey and they had a convoluted, one-sided conversation
Everytime Charley would address Harvey he’d put his cane to his mouth
As I looked at the cane, I noticed a metal label with the words HARVEY engraved on it
Soon a young man, probably going to college in the city, struck up a conversation with Charley
He asked him questions as one does to those you think are mentally disabled
I think some of us laughed on the inside- mocking this man who dared to break out of the norm
Charley just ignored the laughter and kept it all up
The young man’s stop came and he said goodbye to Charley
Charley returned to his conversation with Harvey and many would take a glance and then go back to their shells

“I don’t even get paid for this”

He says it under his breath and what I had suspected all along is confirmed:
Charley is doing this in an effort to amuse random strangers
“look at the weirdo, the poor mentally disabled”
in the end, he is probably the only one who ususally knows it’s only a con. . .

As he goes to leave he says goodbye
“Goodbye Charley” I say
“Goodbye sweetheart” he replied

I think all along he knew- I’d caught on to him but I didn’t give him away

March to your own drum Charley, march to your own drum