Normally, I am quite quick to share my political leanings and opinions freely and opening. Lately, however, I've been shying away in an effort to be a) less combative and b) more open to those who are of opposite opinions. It seems to have the opposite effect though; I've been more and more apt to "hide" or consider deleting friends from facebook due to their sheer inability to make a rational, informed argument. Privileged individuals who have never had to work hard in their lives moaning about high taxes for those who "work hard" and those who "are lazy." I devote my time working at a non profit; I don't make a lot of money. Am I lazy? Do I not work as hard simply because I choose to devote my time to a cause rather than the paper chase?
Healthcare is another instance that gets my riles up. Individuals who have never know what it's like to get sick and not have their insurance cover it. People who have never had to worry about scraping together $45 a month for birth control, or the fact that pink eye medication costs some ridiculous amount. Have those that are insured never looked at a prescription to see what the "true cost" is? Now think about if you're terminally ill or with a serious disease, or an accident strikes. Something over which you have no control happens - you are ruined. Credit, savings, debt, often bankruptcy will be the language you speak it.
I don't often get involved in politics myself. I have my opinions, which to be summed would be that everyone should be allowed basic human rights, peace, and the allowance to have equal opportunity for success. Does that make me a socialist? Hardly. What I do try and do is educate myself, not form opinions based on conjecture and rumor, and live my life as a good person, doing my tiny part to make the world a better place. Sadly, I seem to be in the minority of my age group by doing this.
Which brings me to the uprising about President Obama receiving the Nobel Peace Prize. Is it preemptive? Perhaps, but President Obama has made anti violence and peace a priority of his life, which started far before his presidential campaign. Even based on simply the merit of his short presidency, he's utilized his position to try and bring the United States out from its ethno and egocentric values, improve diplomatic relations with countries alienated from collaboration by previous presidencies, and created revival for positive social movement. This man has done more in his 8 months of presidency than I know I'll probably ever do in my lifetime for peace. As someone who works in the "peace" arena I promise you - to have even accomplished anything in 8 months seems impossible. In a country (and state) that spends more money on war than education, we now have a president who is actively working to change the approach; proactive from reactive. This doesn't happen in 8 months, it may not happen in his presidency. Regardless, he's doing it. Fundamental shift changes take time, as they say, Rome wasn't built in a day. Barack Obama is not just fixing problems, he's making changes.
My whole point of this is how ethnocentric Americans are. The response to his award oversees has largely been positive. Why? Probably because other countries get it; post globalization, we can't afford to bunker down and discuss amongst ourselves. The decisions we make impact other countries. Americans do not live in a protective bubble, but the majority conduct themselves like swarthy teenagers, with an almost narcissistic focus on the "greatest country in the world!" without recognition of the larger context.
Amongst my babbling is this take home message; too many people are quick to respond with nothing to back it up. I wish that more people my age would take their heads out of their beer cans and bar hopping on a Saturday night to read some international news, or probably any news at all. Read a book. Take some time to reflect. Travel and experience other cultures. Volunteer. In general, just try understanding your fellow human beings. I think you'll be overall better off for it.
10.10.2009
8.05.2009
6.18.2009
father's day.
Typically, I am a research fiend. By that, I mean I read everything about everything - internet, text, I'll watch tv programs on just about anything. In the last week, I've read about transgender, intersex, mormons, primordial dwarfism, and exercise (not in any particular order). Typically, I read a lot of medicine, health care, and psychology. I will read about cancer, blood diseases, autoimmune diseases, mental health - you name it.
Tonight, I realized that not once have I ever investigated the disease that will take my dad from me.
My dad was recently put on hospice; he has been suffering from emphysema/COPD for very many years now. It's at the point where there is so little elasticity in his lungs, that his next cold could very well kill him.
Highly likely that this is my mind's way of coping, by not even acknowledging this disease. This must be a highly protective defense mechanism of mine, because usually I am not a head-in-the-sand type; typically, I learn all that I can about something, because if I feel proficient, I feel protected. I don't go into things blindly or uneducated - I do my research.
In this instance, I can't bring myself to know any more about the disease that's killing my dad, or to know ways to deal with the unsettled feeling I get when I know my dad is not ready to die, but has no choice. I don't know how to deal with the guilt of not having done more in a situation that was clearly out of my control to begin with. With the realization that I don't know my dad all that well comes no desire to learn how to reconnect. I can't bring myself to try and reconnect with old friends to try and talk about this, because I've wrapped myself in the cocoon of newness that is my life, my job, my relationship without working on maintaining the close friendships that I have. In fact, the idea of talking about this to anyone seems exhausting.
My dad and my family have always had a rough relationship. I love my dad dearly - when he's sober. I hate him for not taking care of himself sooner, for not quitting smoking when the doc told him he was eligible for a lung transplant. I hate him in advance for not being there when I get my doctorate (he was too sick to go to any of my other graduations) and for not being there when I get married, or have my first baby. I love my dad for the fact that even though he was incredibly unhappy and chronically depressed, he did everything he could to put some money away for me for school, working two jobs and taking out parent loans to try and cushion the blow a bit. I hate my dad for ruining some of the best years of my mom's life, and ruining their finances, but I love him because he sings Sir-Mix-A-Lot and dances around the kitchen, making Betty Crocker spice cakes. I love him even though he makes stinky eggs and eats fish dinners from Palace Pizza every Friday. I hate that he's only met my dear love of 2+ years only once. I hate that my brothers have had to bear the burden while I've been in California for two years, but I love that they both grew to be strong, successful men regardless. I hate my dad, but I love my dad. My therapist in high school cried with me as I mostly tried to avoid the topic of my dad - as you see, it's a heady one.
I am generally good at compartmentalizing; for the stuff that I study, and the work that I do, I have to. I did not cry the first, second, or third time my father was in the ICU. My brothers were inconsolable, and someone had to be strong. I think it would have pushed them right over the edge to see me cry at that point.
Father's day presents a challenge for me. How do I express how I feel to my dad? The mushy father daughter cards apply to a certain extent, but seem frivolous and trite in light of the situation. How do you express in words, such a complex set of emotions all centered around a person with admitted faults, but dad is always a bit of a superhero in their kids' eyes. My superhero dad, with the Hulk Hogan mustache and taste for parliaments and miller lite, is nearing the end of his life. My dad, who still to this day can't operate a computer and has no real clue as to what it is I do, still recognized how important my dreams were, and was proud of me no matter what - even if he didn't believe in psychology.
His best friend died a couple of months ago, of smoking related cancer. His daughter was married about a week ago - without him. I imagine that she understands how I feel pretty well.
I tried half heartedly to read the information now, to process it - but for some reason, my thirst for knowledge is off on this one. I don't need to know the ins and outs of how my dad is dying. I don't need to read sick dad forums, or talk to others about my beginning to form grief; instead, I just need to live, love my dad, and forgive him for past transgressions. The research and reading will remain devoted to other topics.
I guess the point is I'm just not ready for this. I'm not ready to accept that my dad's death is imminent. I feel selfish, because he's living but a shadow of a life, yet I still secretly hope for many more years. Feelings that will not be sorted out in years of therapy will not be worked out on a brief blog post though, so to bed I will go.
Tonight, I realized that not once have I ever investigated the disease that will take my dad from me.
My dad was recently put on hospice; he has been suffering from emphysema/COPD for very many years now. It's at the point where there is so little elasticity in his lungs, that his next cold could very well kill him.
Highly likely that this is my mind's way of coping, by not even acknowledging this disease. This must be a highly protective defense mechanism of mine, because usually I am not a head-in-the-sand type; typically, I learn all that I can about something, because if I feel proficient, I feel protected. I don't go into things blindly or uneducated - I do my research.
In this instance, I can't bring myself to know any more about the disease that's killing my dad, or to know ways to deal with the unsettled feeling I get when I know my dad is not ready to die, but has no choice. I don't know how to deal with the guilt of not having done more in a situation that was clearly out of my control to begin with. With the realization that I don't know my dad all that well comes no desire to learn how to reconnect. I can't bring myself to try and reconnect with old friends to try and talk about this, because I've wrapped myself in the cocoon of newness that is my life, my job, my relationship without working on maintaining the close friendships that I have. In fact, the idea of talking about this to anyone seems exhausting.
My dad and my family have always had a rough relationship. I love my dad dearly - when he's sober. I hate him for not taking care of himself sooner, for not quitting smoking when the doc told him he was eligible for a lung transplant. I hate him in advance for not being there when I get my doctorate (he was too sick to go to any of my other graduations) and for not being there when I get married, or have my first baby. I love my dad for the fact that even though he was incredibly unhappy and chronically depressed, he did everything he could to put some money away for me for school, working two jobs and taking out parent loans to try and cushion the blow a bit. I hate my dad for ruining some of the best years of my mom's life, and ruining their finances, but I love him because he sings Sir-Mix-A-Lot and dances around the kitchen, making Betty Crocker spice cakes. I love him even though he makes stinky eggs and eats fish dinners from Palace Pizza every Friday. I hate that he's only met my dear love of 2+ years only once. I hate that my brothers have had to bear the burden while I've been in California for two years, but I love that they both grew to be strong, successful men regardless. I hate my dad, but I love my dad. My therapist in high school cried with me as I mostly tried to avoid the topic of my dad - as you see, it's a heady one.
I am generally good at compartmentalizing; for the stuff that I study, and the work that I do, I have to. I did not cry the first, second, or third time my father was in the ICU. My brothers were inconsolable, and someone had to be strong. I think it would have pushed them right over the edge to see me cry at that point.
Father's day presents a challenge for me. How do I express how I feel to my dad? The mushy father daughter cards apply to a certain extent, but seem frivolous and trite in light of the situation. How do you express in words, such a complex set of emotions all centered around a person with admitted faults, but dad is always a bit of a superhero in their kids' eyes. My superhero dad, with the Hulk Hogan mustache and taste for parliaments and miller lite, is nearing the end of his life. My dad, who still to this day can't operate a computer and has no real clue as to what it is I do, still recognized how important my dreams were, and was proud of me no matter what - even if he didn't believe in psychology.
His best friend died a couple of months ago, of smoking related cancer. His daughter was married about a week ago - without him. I imagine that she understands how I feel pretty well.
I tried half heartedly to read the information now, to process it - but for some reason, my thirst for knowledge is off on this one. I don't need to know the ins and outs of how my dad is dying. I don't need to read sick dad forums, or talk to others about my beginning to form grief; instead, I just need to live, love my dad, and forgive him for past transgressions. The research and reading will remain devoted to other topics.
I guess the point is I'm just not ready for this. I'm not ready to accept that my dad's death is imminent. I feel selfish, because he's living but a shadow of a life, yet I still secretly hope for many more years. Feelings that will not be sorted out in years of therapy will not be worked out on a brief blog post though, so to bed I will go.
5.28.2009
5.26.2009
Pomp and Circumstance
Just a few quick notes here, before I head to the gym, but wow. This weekend was amazing. It felt so nice to be recognized for my achievements. There was a great dinner (filet mignon at the president's house!) and lots of congratulations. My speech went very well, and just seeing Mike so proud of me really made me smile. It was really awesome. Then we went off to Santa Barbara and had a really nice, romantic, relaxing weekend. I love my boyfriend :)
I just want to note quickly that truly academia, in many respects, is what I love. I love learning, and I love the celebrations that come with each step. True, I hate the red tape and politics, but it was really just as rewarding to see how many people were truly excited to be earning their degrees. I wish I could be that proud of myself, but all it never seems like an accomplishment for me. I even think that choosing a "professional" psychology school for my doctorate will seem like a sell out. I don't know. Either way - I don't care. I had a great weekend!
I just want to note quickly that truly academia, in many respects, is what I love. I love learning, and I love the celebrations that come with each step. True, I hate the red tape and politics, but it was really just as rewarding to see how many people were truly excited to be earning their degrees. I wish I could be that proud of myself, but all it never seems like an accomplishment for me. I even think that choosing a "professional" psychology school for my doctorate will seem like a sell out. I don't know. Either way - I don't care. I had a great weekend!
5.05.2009
ahh, push it..
I started a new workout routine tonight (which isn't saying much, since I haven't been doing much working out beyond my yoga on Sunday). I'm pairing eccentric training with interval training (see here http://health.msn.com/fitness/articlepage.aspx?cp-documentid=100235451>1=31048). I've upped the challenge of the cardio (included some running where there was fast walking).
I thought this workout would be a bit too easy for me - but my arms are still shaking from doing the beach ball crunch. You really feel a burn when you slow it down. I'll post in two weeks any results, as I'm following closer to a 1500 calorie diet. It's a little less boring than my usual workout routine.
I thought this workout would be a bit too easy for me - but my arms are still shaking from doing the beach ball crunch. You really feel a burn when you slow it down. I'll post in two weeks any results, as I'm following closer to a 1500 calorie diet. It's a little less boring than my usual workout routine.
5.04.2009
welcome to the hotel california...
San Diego is an interesting place to be a upwardly mobile, increasingly close to thirty-something, champagne taste on a beer budget, not-single-but-not-married woman. The fact that I'm nearly 30 (ok, almost 26) makes me older than probably half the population, and at any given time, 3x more sober.
It's an interesting feeling, wondering if your relationship is moving forward at an appropriate pace when most people my age in San Diego are wondering whether they want to spend the cash to go out downtown, or get face-down-in-the-gutter wasted in PB. I worry about how much money I'm putting into savings (read: none) and the fact that yet again, I'm starting a new degree when the majority of people my age in San Diego seem to be struggling through that Wednesday morning hangover to make it to their retail or serving job.
Contrary to how this might read, I don't judge. San Diego is a tough place to grow up - and I'm not talking the tonka truck to big wheels grow up. So many people have told me, "you can't settle down and start a life in San Diego." Which is, of course, what I'm working on. I've got a decent, albeit poor paying job, starting my doctorate, and I've got a great boyfriend (2 years in about 12 days!). I'm starting to think about "the ring" when others are still thinking about "the hookup" and daydreaming about how I'm going to decorate my fabulous seaside Carlsbad house when I make a zillion dollars (I did say dream!).
San Diego is a land of perpetual youth - filled with people content to live in the moment; riding that wave from the fountain of youth. I wonder what happens to these people? I know some move "home" and get a move on, unable (or unwilling) to shake off that youthful grip San Diego has on their lifestyle (who wants to tarnish that?) San Diego's a land of youthful dreams for those who are edging away from youth - those who aren't ready for the c's - commitment, career, children, conformity.
The moral of the story? It's hard to find good roommates in paradise.
It's an interesting feeling, wondering if your relationship is moving forward at an appropriate pace when most people my age in San Diego are wondering whether they want to spend the cash to go out downtown, or get face-down-in-the-gutter wasted in PB. I worry about how much money I'm putting into savings (read: none) and the fact that yet again, I'm starting a new degree when the majority of people my age in San Diego seem to be struggling through that Wednesday morning hangover to make it to their retail or serving job.
Contrary to how this might read, I don't judge. San Diego is a tough place to grow up - and I'm not talking the tonka truck to big wheels grow up. So many people have told me, "you can't settle down and start a life in San Diego." Which is, of course, what I'm working on. I've got a decent, albeit poor paying job, starting my doctorate, and I've got a great boyfriend (2 years in about 12 days!). I'm starting to think about "the ring" when others are still thinking about "the hookup" and daydreaming about how I'm going to decorate my fabulous seaside Carlsbad house when I make a zillion dollars (I did say dream!).
San Diego is a land of perpetual youth - filled with people content to live in the moment; riding that wave from the fountain of youth. I wonder what happens to these people? I know some move "home" and get a move on, unable (or unwilling) to shake off that youthful grip San Diego has on their lifestyle (who wants to tarnish that?) San Diego's a land of youthful dreams for those who are edging away from youth - those who aren't ready for the c's - commitment, career, children, conformity.
The moral of the story? It's hard to find good roommates in paradise.
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