Food addiction is scoffed at. It's one of the only things you can't decide to never have again if you realize you're addicted to it. Alcoholics get rehabbed and never drink again if they're lucky. Drug addicts get rehabbed and never do drugs again if they're lucky. You literally can't live without food. So for me, every time I wake up in the morning I make conscious decisions to eat in a way that supports me. I don't disallow any type of food except processed fast food and gluten (both of which hurt my stomach).
Addiction, and the judgment it breeds, has on my mind since last weekend when I found out about the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman. The news of his death crushed me; we've lost a bunch of actors and singers to drugs over the years, but this was the first time I felt genuinely rocked to my core about a loss of this kind. And due to the various comments and judgements being laid out about the manner in which he died, I felt like I had to make a statement.
Addiction is not a choice. It's never a choice, and it never will be a choice. It might look selfish on the outside, but it isn't. Some are chemically predisposed to addiction because of genetics. Others decide to do something once and that's the end of that. Others try something and then, because of that predisposition or personality type, will instantly become addicted.
I know I have the capacity to be intensely addicted to things; that's why when
I was in college I never smoked pot and never took heavy drugs even
though the opportunity was presented to me to do both of those things. I think I knew on a cellular level that if I started I would probably get attached to it.
I've talked about my disordered eating on the blog in generalized terms, but I thought I'd go further into the mindset I was in during that time after seeing what's going on with comments being made about Hoffman's death. I'm not equating food addiction with heroin use, of course. But I am equating pain with pain, and the things we keep buried, and the way addiction can grab hold of even the ones we think are the strongest. Cory Monteith had been clean for a while before his death last summer; the addiction makes you think you can handle it again, and before you can grab your mind back, it's too late. It has you. I can relate to that, for sure, even if I've never wanted to use heroin. (I saw Trainspotting when I was 17 and it made me never want to do any sort of drug, ever.)
I'm not going to give you any sordid details on what I specifically did in my disordered days because A) I've already beaten that topic to death in various posts and B) I don't want to give anyone 'tips' for their own addictions. If you are curious as to what I went through in more specified terms, google "EDNOS" (Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified) and look at the lists that pop up. You name it, I probably tried it.
My addictions were compulsive behaviors related to food. I did them even when I knew it was wrong. Addiction cannot be reasoned with or shut off. In the very act of my compulsions, I would feel as if buckets of guilt were being poured over my head. That didn't stop me from doing it. I would hear a voice in the logic center of my brain saying, quite calmly, What you are doing is wrong. This is bad for you. You shouldn't be treating yourself like this. Stop. But then that part of my brain that was entirely overrun with the disease that is addiction would slowly come into room like a burglar and cut the power lines.
EDNOS are still highly misunderstood and de-legitimized, and because of that I felt like my compulsions were normal. The reason I engaged in these disorders is simple, yet pretty life-shattering - I thought I had to be perfect at everything, to be absolutely everything for everybody, and because of that, the cracks got bigger and bigger until I couldn't hold it together anymore. When I left New York I felt like I had failed everyone in my life - despite the fact that I had received numerous phone calls, emails, and text messages from friends and family telling me how proud they were. All of this was created in my head by those lovely Vampires of Despair.
The minute I got off my own back, I started realizing that I didn't want to engage in those behaviors. I wanted to be a better person for everyone in my life. I got better by treating my yoga as therapy, allowing myself moments in the day to take huge, deep breaths, giving myself permission to talk about my issues to friends and family. Now, if I have a problem or I'm feeling panicky, I actually talk through it. I'm much more emotional and vulnerable than I've ever been and I think that's because I give myself permission to be those things. When I don't allow myself to be vulnerable, the addiction pops up like "HAY GIRL HAY, LET'S DO THIS."
Because my addictions were a comfort ritual designed to ease anxiety, my anxiety can become an issue. That's where a lot of addicts of this kind trip up. Without the addiction, they have to live, and for some of us, the idea of facing the world is a lot to handle. Accepting the fact that I am fallible, that I am vulnerable, and that I am broken, actually helps me to accept myself as a pretty great person with a lot of gifts to offer. I can't be everything to everybody, but what I am is pretty special.
Addiction is never a choice. And sometimes, tragically, the addiction wins.
Do yourself a favor and watch a Philip Seymour Hoffman movie sometime soon. He was the finest actor of his generation, and the cinematic world is darker without him in it.
ally
PS. On a similar note, I was incredibly stressed out and triggered by what happened on The Biggest Loser finale; I pacing my room at 1AM, scrolling through all of the messages from people just as freaked as I. But Rachel is the same age I was when I was at the height of my disorder. Hopefully her low weight was a result of body-building type dehydration tactic (which is NOT okay, but competition is competition), not an eating disorder, and hopefully she reaches a place of mental and physical balance. I am a huge fan of Jillian Michaels and what she stands for, and I hope The Biggest Loser eventually reexamines its requirements and standards for healthy living and changing your life. Additionally, I think anyone can be healthy and happy at any weight as long as that weight is one that works for you and sustains you. Thinness isn't a standard of health.
Friday, February 7, 2014
Friday, January 17, 2014
Disney's Frozen: A Totally Rational and Logical Post. (SPOILERS)
I get a lot of questions about my scholarship, most of which hinge around the basic query "So..what exactly do you do?"
My academic answer to that is "I study children's literature from a gender and sexuality perspective with a concentration in theatrical performance; that is, I use my studies to consider the intersection of gender and sexual expression in texts geared toward children while using the constructs of dramatic tradition."
My shorter answer to that is "I get paid to read books and watch movies and beat them to death with critical analysis about gender until I sometimes can't enjoy them anymore."
I like to read very deeply into things. Probably too deeply into things. It can sometimes get in the way of my overall enjoyment of something. There have been plenty of times in which I've watched a movie and come away from it with a small complaint about how the gender roles were treated that can threaten my enjoyment of the entire film. Usually I can keep it under wraps until I can find a good outlet to discuss it, but sometimes it just can't wait. It drives the boyfriend bananas, because he's one of those people who can just watch a film, decide if he liked or disliked it, and then that's the end of that. I find this skill downright magical, although it's caused some headaches at times because he just wants to watch a damn movie and enjoy it for what it is, meanwhile I'm practically writing a conference paper in my head about it by the time we've gotten back in the car.
I have taught on the animated films of Disney in the past, and I plan to teach it again this semester. I find the entire paradox of my enjoyment in Disney films fascinating. On one hand, the single-minded portrayal of all women becoming or being born 'princesses' and that the heroines are always princess with the exception of Lilo (who is what, like, twelve?) is kind of gross, and the story usually ends with a wedding after a very brief courtship, and usually it's a "love at first sight" kind of thing, and the prince or male hero is usually duller than a box of hair (Prince Eric, Aladdin, John Smith, I COULD GO ON, THEY ARE ALL BORING), and the evil villain is usually a stepmother, or alternate female figure, and usually she's insanely beautiful in an ice-cold way, or she's a giant behemoth with enormous boobs.
Do not get me wrong - I am completely obsessed with Disney movies from a genuine place in my heart. It's just that as I've gotten older I've started to see all of the messed-up things that Disney movies teach girls: value is only imparted if you are a Princess, beautiful with a superbly thin waist with a rope of hair the size of most people's upper torsos, and the end of the movie (or life) is the saying of marriage vows to a person you probably met like a day before. It's not that great for boys either - heroics and bulging pecs are the way to happiness (like, all of them) or you have to be a seriously complicated dude with rage issues that can only be fixed with lurve (looking at you, Beast).
This tradition of two-dimensional animated characters - two dimensional in more ways than one - was something that increasingly bothered me about Disney movies in general. I was pleasantly surprised at the giddy vulnerability in Tangled, but I thought they could have done more with the character of Mother Gothel. There was still a cardboard sensibility to the females in the script, and I hoped they would continue to work on this aspect of the tale. (Although how great was it that the girl did all of the saving?!)
When I heard about the newest installment in the Disney Princesses canon, Frozen, based on Hans Christian Andersen's story "The Snow Queen", I assumed Disney would be making a LOT of changes to the plot. After all, this is a story about a woman who kidnaps children by putting enchanted ice splinters in their eyes and hearts. So I was all prepared for the Disneyfication Effect: you know, the same one that made it possible for the Little Mermaid to not die at the end of the story in a weird religious allegory about animals having to 'earn' their immortal souls.
A ton of my friends saw it around Christmas, loved it and begged me to go see it as soon as possible. Then I read some critical articles that argued the merits of Frozen being a 'queer fairy tale,' and immediately made plans to see it at the earliest time possible.
Which explains why yesterday, at 3:10 PM, I was in a nearly empty theatre, ready to watch a Disney movie by myself. While wearing sweatpants, because only girls can wear sweatpants to a movie theater and not look like perverts.
I cannot even begin to describe to you the emotions I felt watching this film. It was as if Disney and the directors took all of things I loathe about traditional Disney Princess movies, jettisoned them, and replaced them with narratives that are downright inspiring to young girls, and even girls who aren't so young like myself. In order to get my thoughts a bit more linear, I've compiled them into list form. And most of these things revolve around Elsa, because ELSA IS AMAZING.
1. It's a love story about two sisters. "Do You Want To Build A Snowman" made me cry like a total loser in the first five minutes of Frozen. Elsa's powers aren't really explained although the Stone Trolls ask if it is something she was 'cursed with' or 'born with' and they definitively say she was 'born with it' (and I could read that in queer theory about six thousand ways to Sunday but I'll spare you) and the entire reason they keep her from using her powers is because she doesn't want to hurt anyone, and because she once nearly killed her sister and has to keep it on the DL. Those little moments prior to that injury, when the girls are swinging themselves around the great castle hall in the magic snow, just gave me so many flashbacks to playing with my sister during snow days and it made me cry even more. THEN they had to kill the damn parents! The moment the film cuts to Elsa sitting next to the door while her room fills with snow - I was blubbering like a damn baby. Not to mention the fact that the 'curse' of the movie's plot could only be solved by True Love, and the True Love ends up being the love Anna and Elsa have for each other, and the big declaration of Disneyfied love is just two sisters being like "I love you! I miss you!" AHHHH IT'S SO GOOD.
2. "Disney marriage plots" are dismissed as the utter bullshit they are. Frozen not only questions the concept of heteronormative 'true love' being the only thing in existence that matters to a young girl, it totally parodies it. When Anna and Prince Hans get engaged (after knowing each other for a total of 3 hours) and ask Elsa for their blessing, Elsa's response is like:
Meanwhile Anna thinks this is all totally reasonable and the two get into a bitchfight that seems so utterly real to my own experiences with an older sister. And then of course Anna does end up with a dude at the end but it's not the entire plot at all and it doesn't culminate in marriage - it culminates in Kristoff nervously asking Anna if he can kiss her and she just plants one on him while he stammers. I gotta admit though, "Love is an Open Door" was an adorable song and the bit "We finish each other's -" "Sandwiches!" made me laugh a LOT because it's an inside joke.
3. Prince Charming can sometimes be anything but. I sort of learned this lesson already in The Princess Bride, but when the twist happens and Prince Hans reveals his true colors, I legit felt my heart sink down in my feet. Because what girl hasn't had that happen to them? Who hasn't thought they had met THE ONE and then suddenly, through means varied and complex, found out that they were putting on their best face for the cameras and were really vindictive, vicious assholes? When Prince Hans said to Anna "If only someone loved you" it immediately sent me back to the sixth grade dance when I saw the guy I had a crush on dancing with someone else. Unlike The Atlantic which argued that this moment in Frozen is bad for little girls because kids want to see people getting married - um, no? - I think this is an amazingly teachable moment. It shows that you have to get to know someone before you commit to them. It shows that face value sometimes isn't all there is. And it shows that sometimes hot guys are assholes.
4. Olaf. Olaf was damn adorable. Not going to lie. Plus, they really made it feel like he loved Anna and wanted to help her out and I thought that was really nice. And Kristoff seriously struggling with telling Olaf that heat will make him melt was kind of fantastic.
5. Elsa.
I have many, many things to say about Elsa. Anna was a wonderful leading character, and Kristen Bell's voice is absolutely gorgeous, but don't get it twisted - this was Elsa's movie. I've already discussed a little bit of the other reasons why Elsa is so wonderfully amazing (her total shade-throwing at Hans and Anna, for one). I think what makes Elsa such a fascinating character is that she isn't a technical villain, nor is she a hero. She's just a human being who had something awful happen to her when she was a child and is deeply scarred by the experience and doesn't want to hurt anyone else again, least of all her sister whom she loves more than anything but can't show it.
I think, however, if I want to isolate my commentary to one moment/scene that defines why I absolutely love this entire movie, it would be this.
Other than the fact that Idina Menzel could sing the phone book and I'd be on board, where do I begin with this flawlessness? Elsa not bemoaning her powers or thinking they are a curse to hide, but actually flipping the switch and deciding to be her true self? The transformation of Elsa from a stiff, fearful block of ice into a RuPaul-esque snow goddess, hip-snapping realness and all? It's a surprisingly sexual scene, especially when she rips her bun out and when she gets into that glittery dress; she is shaking her hips like there's a damn drumbeat underneath her feet. The entire song builds like an orgasm. Yes, I said it and I'm not taking it back. Elsa is literally letting her hair down, finding her voice, and relishing her power. It isn't a curse in this moment; it's a damn blessing. Although it is kind of weird that the song lyrics go "that perfect girl is gone" and then the camera pans up and Elsa is like the literal image of icy perfection. But what can you do.
The metaphorical power of this scene is not to be denied - it can be read as an allegory of kids who are prescribed as 'different' being able to show what they're capable of. Additionally, Elsa doesn't have to give up her powers at the end of the film; she just figures out how to use it in a way that's the most beneficial to herself and others. Let me clarify that point: Elsa didn't have to give up the thing that makes her special. Not even as part of a plot device. Even Ariel had to give up her voice for a dude! Elsa don't give up SHIT for NOBODY.
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| WHIP YO' HAIR, ELSA. |
I could literally write a thousand pages about this one scene, but I will just say this - I think Elsa is one of the most complicated and fascinating characters Disney has ever committed to celluloid. Her big number isn't about love, or metaphorical dreams that aren't really attached to anything solid. She wants to be herself, and she's finally getting the chance to express her emotions. And she doesn't end the movie with a man or anything, she ends it with a better understanding of herself.
And now I'm going to stop, because I'm threatening to overload this post with too many feelings. I'll wrap it up with saying: Even if you don't like Disney movies, do yourself a solid and see Frozen. It'll be worth your while.
"Some people are worth melting for."
ally
PS. Also, playing in front of Frozen was the preview for Angelina Jolie's Maleficent which looks magnificent.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
All Is Coming.
Every year I complete an End of Year survey. This survey is something that I keep for my own personal use, much like other people keep gratitude journals. I've been doing it since 2002, and it's both hilarious and perspective-widening to look back at all of the things I thought were so earthshatteringly important when I was 17 or 18 or even 20.
One of the questions on the survey is "What did you do in (insert year here) that you've never done before?" When I was 20 - in 2005 - my answer to that question was Did two shows in a row, lost almost 30 pounds only to pack on six again in two-three weeks, got down to a size twelve for the first time in probably my life, bought a size-ten skirt, was a redhead for about three months, worked basketball camp for two straight weeks and loved it, stage managed a show and loved that too (Your flag is on fire! oooWHAAA!!), lived in a hotel for a month, moved into a new house when I was fully conscious of it happening (the last time I moved to a new house I was five and didn't really notice anything that was happening), was a lead in a college show, was a 'pretty girl' in a show (hey, it said that we were fair and beautiful of face IN THE SCRIPT), got drunk enough not to be called 'tipsy'.
Damn, this year really was momentous!
BAAAHAHAHHAHAAHAH. I cannot even believe how much of that revolved around my weight. Even my resolution for 2006 was to lose twenty more pounds.
For 2013, my answer to that question was this: Tried Ashtanga yoga, taught two classes at the same time, became an adjunct professor graduated with my Masters Degree, wrote a PhD application (x4), passed a Masters Candidate Exam, went to a friend's mother's funeral, tried a spin class, went to see Muse in concert (two nights in a row!), became a godmother, ran 9 miles, busted my sacroiliac joint, presented at a conference for Children's Literature, flew somewhere without my parents, went to Mississippi, wrote a paper for a critical anthology, went on hormone medication to combat depression, traveled to Cape Cod without my parents, did a bunch of yoga poses I've never attempted before, lived almost an entire summer at the Niantic shore, did a weightlifting program.
This year wasn't about the small things becoming big things, more so about the big things being insanely big life-altering things. This year was a year of change, growth, depression, grief, insane happiness, peace, and general understanding, and 2014 has the opportunity to completely change everything about my life. 2013 had some spectacular lows, but I guess that's part of getting older.
Last year, I told you that 2012 was the year I learned what love is. Oh, to be young and foolish. 2012 was when I was all "LOVE IS RAINBOWS AND LEPRECHAUNS FLYING OUT OF EVERYBODY'S BUTTS". Woof. That's not really love, that's just the first giddy flushes of what love eventually turns into. It isn't just the moments of blind euphoria, but the moments in which there are so many things that make you so.damn.mad and the times that your heart breaks. But then they do one thing that makes you bust a gut laughing or just put your head on their shoulder and breathe and realize holy shit you are the best person in my life because nobody else would not just put up with me but love me, even though I consistently leave my sweaty gym clothes on the floor and laugh way too loud at the movies and I wear all of my emotions on my face at the exact same time shockwave of wonder, at how I landed with this person who is so consistently granite in his support. 2014 will bring many changes, but that will not alter.
Part of that love goes towards oneself, of course...this life isn't much if you don't truly like the person who stares blearily at you from the mirror every morning while you chug some water and figure out what pants to pull on. Sometimes, that means chemical healing. Trying to solve every single physical or mental problem you have by yourself is exhausting. Going on medication this year was the best thing I've done for myself in quite some time; it helped me drop some inflammation, as well as some of the negative emotional weight. Depression and anxiety are not things you can just shake off. It is a chemical predisposition I've fought since I was about 12 years old. People who think it's solved with just yoga and green smoothies are deluding themselves. Depression is real. Get help if you can.
On a similar note...Facebook is a soapbox for everyone and their historical, karmic bullshit. Don't pay attention to it and you'll be much happier. And if it bothers you to have that crap on your feed...the "Hide All From User" button is a miraculous tool.
Speaking of tools...Despite what I just said about yoga not being the be-all-and-end-all medicinal tool, yoga is the one thing I consistently do that helps keep the panic and depression at bay. When I don't do it for longer than a few days I am a noticeably angrier, more volatile and emotional person. It doesn't take much yoga for me to be better; sometimes, just sitting very still and breathing is a valuable panacea.
For 2014, I have a few things on my list of Resolutions that I consider to be very indicative of the notion that's currently stewing inside of me - this next year is going to be crazy.
1. Start working on my doctorate. I find out in March whether or not I will go on to higher education in the fall of 2014, and more pressingly, whether or not I'm going to have to move states in order to achieve said educational status. I'm of course scared at the prospect, but sometimes fear is a valuable asset to one's personal growth. If I don't make it in for the 2014-2015 school year, I'll just keep on keepin' on with what I'm doing right now, which is adjuncting and writing and working part time. Either way, I'll be happy. It's just that one of those options would allow me to get much more sleep and would let me play with my nephews, like, whenever.
2. Continue my current yoga groove. The Salutations for Sandy Hook series has been really inspiring for me to get off my ass and into my asana. Currently I practice yoga 5x a week (2-3 hour long sessions, 1-2 half hour sessions) and I'd like to keep that going into the new year. Of course, it might not last at the intensity, but as long as I get some quality time on my mat 5x a week, I feel like a better person.
3. Read most, if not all, of the books. This year I made it a personal goal to put a pretty good dent into the books I own but haven't yet read; it's embarrassing how many of them there are. I did my best, but I also bought a ton of books and read them as well, so there are still a bunch in my bedroom and clogging up my house. Right now I'm reading Hyperbole and a Half by Allie Brosh and The Raven Queen by Jules Watson.
4. Finish the book(s). Yep. Baby's writing some books, y'all. Not at all what you think; I'm not collating my thoughts into a series of memoirs just yet. I'm only 28. I'm barely cooked. I'm still in the package for God's sake. So I'll just sit on that stuff until I actually have something valuable to contribute to the world of nonfiction essayists. But I do feel like I can contribute to Young Adult literature in a way that isn't about vampires or boy troubles against a dystopian landscape. Well, it's dystopic, but there's more of that dystopic bent to it rather than a treatise on BOYS AND FEELINGS. I should hopefully have it done later on in the year. Check back with me on that one.
5. Reevaluate my food. This summer was the closest I've gotten to the kind of eating that makes me happiest - lots of veggies, fruits, green smoothies, and a serious cutback on meat. I did a good job of keeping up at it this fall; this year was the first time I went through an entire semester of eating mindfully, and it was awesome. I'm going to make a concerted effort to make better choices about the ways in which I fuel my body for 2014. I barely eat red meat unless it's a special occasion, and I refuse to eat pork unless it's been cooked by my mother. This Rolling Stone article about the way we treat animals - particularly pigs - in mass farming systems made me cry and nearly barf. It is incredibly graphic with NSFW pictures involving animals, and it's made me seriously reevaluate my food choices. I just want to eat well in 2014, but in a way that is kinder to both my body and to the world. I know there will be days that I'll be running all over the place and the only thing available will be a protein bar. But I'll make do. I'm going to also attempt to stop drinking soda, if only because it gives me a headache. But it's so delicious, you guys....
6. Get onstage again. I didn't tell you guys about this, but a few weeks ago I auditioned for a play called Noises Off; it was the first play I've auditioned for in four years, and it took place at the same company I did The Vagina Monologues and The Musical Revue, and I was practically dry-heaving in the wings prior to every entrance. But I got through the two hour cold reading session and when I left, I felt the itch to be onstage settle on my skin like a bad rash. I was bummed not to get in Noises Off but it just spurred me to be better for the next time around. I'm auditioning for something else in the coming weeks, and I hope it comes through!
So. Those are my goals for 2014. They may not be very enumerative or even very big, but they're mine. And I hope that this blog will provide a space for me to complain, exalt, or rant. I have a feeling that 2014 will be very, very big indeed. It's why the title of this post is from Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, the modern-day father of Ashtanga yoga - "Practice, and all is coming." I have a feeling something's coming.
2013 was a trip. 2014 will be a rocketship. I've got my rocketship underpants*. Hold on to your butts.
ally
PS. If you don't read Calvin and Hobbes, see yourself out.
One of the questions on the survey is "What did you do in (insert year here) that you've never done before?" When I was 20 - in 2005 - my answer to that question was Did two shows in a row, lost almost 30 pounds only to pack on six again in two-three weeks, got down to a size twelve for the first time in probably my life, bought a size-ten skirt, was a redhead for about three months, worked basketball camp for two straight weeks and loved it, stage managed a show and loved that too (Your flag is on fire! oooWHAAA!!), lived in a hotel for a month, moved into a new house when I was fully conscious of it happening (the last time I moved to a new house I was five and didn't really notice anything that was happening), was a lead in a college show, was a 'pretty girl' in a show (hey, it said that we were fair and beautiful of face IN THE SCRIPT), got drunk enough not to be called 'tipsy'.
Damn, this year really was momentous!
BAAAHAHAHHAHAAHAH. I cannot even believe how much of that revolved around my weight. Even my resolution for 2006 was to lose twenty more pounds.
For 2013, my answer to that question was this: Tried Ashtanga yoga, taught two classes at the same time, became an adjunct professor graduated with my Masters Degree, wrote a PhD application (x4), passed a Masters Candidate Exam, went to a friend's mother's funeral, tried a spin class, went to see Muse in concert (two nights in a row!), became a godmother, ran 9 miles, busted my sacroiliac joint, presented at a conference for Children's Literature, flew somewhere without my parents, went to Mississippi, wrote a paper for a critical anthology, went on hormone medication to combat depression, traveled to Cape Cod without my parents, did a bunch of yoga poses I've never attempted before, lived almost an entire summer at the Niantic shore, did a weightlifting program.
This year wasn't about the small things becoming big things, more so about the big things being insanely big life-altering things. This year was a year of change, growth, depression, grief, insane happiness, peace, and general understanding, and 2014 has the opportunity to completely change everything about my life. 2013 had some spectacular lows, but I guess that's part of getting older.
Last year, I told you that 2012 was the year I learned what love is. Oh, to be young and foolish. 2012 was when I was all "LOVE IS RAINBOWS AND LEPRECHAUNS FLYING OUT OF EVERYBODY'S BUTTS". Woof. That's not really love, that's just the first giddy flushes of what love eventually turns into. It isn't just the moments of blind euphoria, but the moments in which there are so many things that make you so.damn.mad and the times that your heart breaks. But then they do one thing that makes you bust a gut laughing or just put your head on their shoulder and breathe and realize holy shit you are the best person in my life because nobody else would not just put up with me but love me, even though I consistently leave my sweaty gym clothes on the floor and laugh way too loud at the movies and I wear all of my emotions on my face at the exact same time shockwave of wonder, at how I landed with this person who is so consistently granite in his support. 2014 will bring many changes, but that will not alter.
Part of that love goes towards oneself, of course...this life isn't much if you don't truly like the person who stares blearily at you from the mirror every morning while you chug some water and figure out what pants to pull on. Sometimes, that means chemical healing. Trying to solve every single physical or mental problem you have by yourself is exhausting. Going on medication this year was the best thing I've done for myself in quite some time; it helped me drop some inflammation, as well as some of the negative emotional weight. Depression and anxiety are not things you can just shake off. It is a chemical predisposition I've fought since I was about 12 years old. People who think it's solved with just yoga and green smoothies are deluding themselves. Depression is real. Get help if you can.
On a similar note...Facebook is a soapbox for everyone and their historical, karmic bullshit. Don't pay attention to it and you'll be much happier. And if it bothers you to have that crap on your feed...the "Hide All From User" button is a miraculous tool.
Speaking of tools...Despite what I just said about yoga not being the be-all-and-end-all medicinal tool, yoga is the one thing I consistently do that helps keep the panic and depression at bay. When I don't do it for longer than a few days I am a noticeably angrier, more volatile and emotional person. It doesn't take much yoga for me to be better; sometimes, just sitting very still and breathing is a valuable panacea.
For 2014, I have a few things on my list of Resolutions that I consider to be very indicative of the notion that's currently stewing inside of me - this next year is going to be crazy.
1. Start working on my doctorate. I find out in March whether or not I will go on to higher education in the fall of 2014, and more pressingly, whether or not I'm going to have to move states in order to achieve said educational status. I'm of course scared at the prospect, but sometimes fear is a valuable asset to one's personal growth. If I don't make it in for the 2014-2015 school year, I'll just keep on keepin' on with what I'm doing right now, which is adjuncting and writing and working part time. Either way, I'll be happy. It's just that one of those options would allow me to get much more sleep and would let me play with my nephews, like, whenever.
2. Continue my current yoga groove. The Salutations for Sandy Hook series has been really inspiring for me to get off my ass and into my asana. Currently I practice yoga 5x a week (2-3 hour long sessions, 1-2 half hour sessions) and I'd like to keep that going into the new year. Of course, it might not last at the intensity, but as long as I get some quality time on my mat 5x a week, I feel like a better person.
3. Read most, if not all, of the books. This year I made it a personal goal to put a pretty good dent into the books I own but haven't yet read; it's embarrassing how many of them there are. I did my best, but I also bought a ton of books and read them as well, so there are still a bunch in my bedroom and clogging up my house. Right now I'm reading Hyperbole and a Half by Allie Brosh and The Raven Queen by Jules Watson.
4. Finish the book(s). Yep. Baby's writing some books, y'all. Not at all what you think; I'm not collating my thoughts into a series of memoirs just yet. I'm only 28. I'm barely cooked. I'm still in the package for God's sake. So I'll just sit on that stuff until I actually have something valuable to contribute to the world of nonfiction essayists. But I do feel like I can contribute to Young Adult literature in a way that isn't about vampires or boy troubles against a dystopian landscape. Well, it's dystopic, but there's more of that dystopic bent to it rather than a treatise on BOYS AND FEELINGS. I should hopefully have it done later on in the year. Check back with me on that one.
5. Reevaluate my food. This summer was the closest I've gotten to the kind of eating that makes me happiest - lots of veggies, fruits, green smoothies, and a serious cutback on meat. I did a good job of keeping up at it this fall; this year was the first time I went through an entire semester of eating mindfully, and it was awesome. I'm going to make a concerted effort to make better choices about the ways in which I fuel my body for 2014. I barely eat red meat unless it's a special occasion, and I refuse to eat pork unless it's been cooked by my mother. This Rolling Stone article about the way we treat animals - particularly pigs - in mass farming systems made me cry and nearly barf. It is incredibly graphic with NSFW pictures involving animals, and it's made me seriously reevaluate my food choices. I just want to eat well in 2014, but in a way that is kinder to both my body and to the world. I know there will be days that I'll be running all over the place and the only thing available will be a protein bar. But I'll make do. I'm going to also attempt to stop drinking soda, if only because it gives me a headache. But it's so delicious, you guys....
6. Get onstage again. I didn't tell you guys about this, but a few weeks ago I auditioned for a play called Noises Off; it was the first play I've auditioned for in four years, and it took place at the same company I did The Vagina Monologues and The Musical Revue, and I was practically dry-heaving in the wings prior to every entrance. But I got through the two hour cold reading session and when I left, I felt the itch to be onstage settle on my skin like a bad rash. I was bummed not to get in Noises Off but it just spurred me to be better for the next time around. I'm auditioning for something else in the coming weeks, and I hope it comes through!
So. Those are my goals for 2014. They may not be very enumerative or even very big, but they're mine. And I hope that this blog will provide a space for me to complain, exalt, or rant. I have a feeling that 2014 will be very, very big indeed. It's why the title of this post is from Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, the modern-day father of Ashtanga yoga - "Practice, and all is coming." I have a feeling something's coming.
2013 was a trip. 2014 will be a rocketship. I've got my rocketship underpants*. Hold on to your butts.
ally
PS. If you don't read Calvin and Hobbes, see yourself out.
Friday, December 20, 2013
Ten Books That Stayed With Me...or the Nerdiest Post I Will Ever Write.
If you are the type of person who hates textual analysis...don't even bother with this one.
A lot of my Facebook friends have been tagging me with a status challenge: In your status line, list 10 books that have stayed with you in some way. Don't take more than a few minutes and don't think too hard - they don't have to be the "right" or "great works, just ones that have touched you. Tag 10 friends, including me, so I'll see your list.
Normally when I see a tag like this my response is to freak the hell out. You guys know how much I love books. I get paid to read them, to talk about them at length, to dissect them until the skin is torn off and the bones are put into broth. But if you asked me to pick my favorite book I would look at you like you'd grown a second head. It's like asking me to pick my favorite nephew. It's also antithetical to my entire personality; I tend to look at my books like most people look at their toes. I'd like to keep ALL of them, please.
It's not just that the picking of them is difficult. I tend to look at myself as a book hoarder, but at the same time I'm not necessarily sure I'm the best expert about what books are worth their emotional salt. Yes, I know, I'm an English professor and an academic and I'm supposed to read all of the 'classics', but it were up to me I'd spend all of my time reading really bad historical fiction. The type that rips bodices and plots intrigue and possibly has a bit of witchcraft involved. Those books you see in the Fiction section that have a midsection of a woman wearing an impossibly beautiful stomacher'd dress, sitting in a way that's a cross between lounging and being constipated? Those are my jam.
I love books. I love reading them, I really love buying them, and I love looking at them. Bookstores are my favorite place in the world. Last weekend the boyfriend surprised me by taking me to Barnes and Noble after dinner. I was breaking in ridiculously high boots at the time, developing the world's most painful blisters all during dinner/walking around New Haven, and by the time we got to Barnes and Noble I wanted to saw my feet off at the ankle. Yet I limped around that store for about half an hour like Monica on that Friends episode about the boots, giddy with all the New In Paperbacks and Half Off Hardcovers and all the various versions of Settlers of Catan. When the boyfriend caught me wheezing in pain next to a display of the new Doris Kearns Goodwin biography and asked why in God's name I didn't want to go right home and put on Band-Aids - he's a logical dude - I immediately sucked in my breath and said "I'm fine! I'm gonna go sit in that chair," and hobbled off until I collapsed with a biography of Catherine the Great.
I am compulsively addicted to reading the way other people are addicted to online gambling. I used to read them under my desk during science class, and my adorable science teacher told my mom at Open House "I don't want to stop her, because I think it's so great she loves to read that much." Mr. Zaccaro, thank you for aiding my total suckage at science and all related disciplines.
Okay, on to the list. I had to do a lot of thinking about some of them. Others came to me easily and fully formed. It's like writing itself, I wager. Also these are in no particular order. Most of these aren't 'classics', but that's not the point.
Runner-ups: Bridget Jones's Diary by Helen Fielding, Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire, Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal by Christopher Moore, Mythology by Edith Hamilton, Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien (I know, this is a shocker. But I only read LOTR when I was 16, and the films are the things that stick with me moreso than the books. They're in my favorite books, but not books that stick with me)
Emperor Mage, by Tamora Pierce. This book is Book #3 in the Immortals series, but it's the first one that I read. I picked it up in a bookstore while on vacation at the Jersey Shore, and immediately fell in love with the leading character Veraldaine Serrasri (Daine for short). Daine possesses the wild magic of the title, magic that allows her the gift of communication with animals and transform into them. In this installment of the story she meets Emperor Ozorne in the country of Carthak, and continues to extend her powers with the help of her mentor, Numair. I love this book and this series because of its focus on a young female heroine that is intelligent, capable, and strong, and is allowed to make her own decisions and subsequent mistakes. She is flawed, but completely lovable as a result of her flaws, and also possesses great passion and skill. Tamora Pierce's gift at illustrating heroines was first captured in her famous quadrology Song of the Lioness but this was the first one I read, and it introduced me to the formidable way Pierce builds her world. She also doesn't really waste time with elaborate descriptions, choosing instead to focus on the characters. The result is a complex and fascinating look at a young girl and her maturation, with her ability to transform into animals becoming a lovely metaphor for the 'wilds' of adolescence.
Summer Sisters, by Judy Blume. Now, if you've read any of Judy Blume's YA books such as the Fudge series or Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret, you know that Judy is insanely good at capturing both the euphoric highs and the bottom-scraping lows of being a young adult. Summer Sisters takes the best of those books and combines it with the more intensely adult aspects of Blume's adult works such as Wifey, as well as the innocent explorations of sex Blume famously illustrated in Forever (which is still one of the most sexually graphic books I've ever read, and I read Bret Easton Ellis books for fun.). The book tells the story of Vix, who spend several summers together on Martha's Vineyard at the invite of Caitlin, a popular girl in her class. They begin these summers at 11 years old and continue on until they are about 17 or 18, and the summers are filled with discussions of family, sexual discovery, and friendship. The book continues on to their adult lives as well, with some disturbing and fascinating plot twists. I read this book when I was 13, around the same age as the characters in the first third of the book, and immediately identified with the various situations the girls were going through. What I find also fascinating about this work is that usually the MPDG (Manic Pixie Dream Girl) is someone that changes the protagonist's life for the better. That happens in some ways, but in a lot of ways Caitlin is shown to be incredibly damaged and unhealthy in her mindset, and Vix ends up being the more interesting character because of her various discoveries about herself without Caitlin. It's also a fairly interesting discussion about what happens when the wild child refuses to grow up, and the consequences of those decisions. This book is dear to my heart because of the fact that I spent many of my childhood summers at the Jersey Shore, and the way Blume describes being a child at the beach is very close to my own experiences...without all the lifeguard banging that goes on in this text.
The Secret History by Donna Tartt. I read this book as a senior in high school while taking part in an elective English course called "That 80s Class", in which we read first novels by several authors whose works are indicative of 80s culture. That class was also the first time I read Jay McInerney, Bret Easton Ellis, and Thomas Wolfe, but Tartt's incredibly textured story of a college freshman who falls into a semi-Greek, semi-occult secret society obsessed with reaching levels of Pan-like trance in the woods had me at the first paragraph. I can't even say anything else about the plot; this book demands you work out the twists and turns on your own. I'd call it a Gothic thriller in a way, and the more you don't know about the story, the better. It also helped that I am completely and utterly obsessed with mythology and folklore, so this story and its heavy usage of those forms had me hooked early. Tartt is also very deliberate and research heavy, and writes one book a decade - her newest, The Goldfinch, came out earlier this year and I'm looking forward to reading it the instant Christmas passes and I don't feel guilty about buying things.
The Princess Bride by William Goldman.
This book was in my sixth-grade teacher's bookshelf of things we could take out, read, and then put back. I "forgot" to put this back on the shelf...sorry, Miss Schiavetti. Looking back, this was a totally inappropriate novel to give to eleven-year-olds; the back cover blurb read What happens when the most beautiful woman in the world marries the most handsome prince in the world...and he turns out to be a son of a bitch? I immediately thought I was committing a crime just for reading the damn thing. But I grabbed it, took it home, read it - in secret, because that back cover was so scandalous! - and completely fell in love with it. I knew instantly that this was something I had never read before, nor would since. The book is framed as a 'Good Parts Version' of a much longer text by the fictional author S. Morgenstern, of the country of Florin. Goldman's narrative is repeatedly broken up by his own commentary, talking about or alluding to chapters or passages he cut out for the sake of brevity, or random tidbits about how he used to read the 'good parts' version aloud to his son (which provides us with the linking model of the movie and adorable Fred Savage as the sick kid in bed who hates 'kissing' books). Speaking of the movie, I had never even heard of there being a movie adaptation until I was a freshman in high school, and of course I watched it and loved it...but the book is about a bajillion times better. Even now when I tell that to people, they immediately say "THERE'S A BOOK?!" YEP. GO READ IT. Not only is there much more to the stories of Vizzini, Fezzik, and Inigo Montoya (the famous "Hello, my name is..." stuff is all in the book, no worries, as well as all of the famous lines from the movie), the ending of the book is ten times darker than the film, which I think makes it much more of a realistic political commentary style book rather than the fairy tale of the movie. (I still absolutely love the movie, though. Cary Elwes? COME ON.)
A Game of Thrones: A Song of Ice and Fire, Book 1 by George R.R. Martin.
Because duh. I was yelled at by many, many people to read this book for about six or seven years by my close friends who are of the same fantastical mindset as I, and for whatever reason I never listened. I'm an idiot. Mea culpa. Honestly, though, I tend to think most of the fantasy that's being written right now kind of sucks. It all feels dishonest and inappropriately sexual for the sake of T&A, and there's rarely any depth to it. Game of Thrones was a thrilling rejoinder to that argument. It had tons of political intrigue, and a narrative that never went the way you thought it would go - or wanted it to go, sometimes - but that made the story all the more real. I picked the first installment over A Storm of Swords despite that one being assuredly the most complete and most thrilling of the written series so far because Game of Thrones does such a masterful job of setting up the entire universe of Westeros while also not giving away so much that he leaves no stone unturned. He lets the reader find things out at the same pace as the characters, which I found very refreshing. The last 50 or so pages were among the most shocking I had ever read in any book, and the climactic sequence with Danaerys literally had me sitting up from my prone position on the couch and yelling "HOLY SHIT" over and over. The rest of the books in the series are even more provocative, hilarious, deeply moving, and utterly bonkers. Just don't spoil yourself for any of it, especially if you want to keep reading the books. I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did. Seriously, the minute you start reading the books, stay off the Internet. And don't watch the show until you're done reading!
Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery.
Anne Shirley is my spirit animal. I first read this book when I was about twelve years old, at a time in which Anne and I were very close to the same age, and I immediately felt a kinship with the way Anne talked, reacted to life, and treated her entire experience at Prince Edward Island as a kind of grand romantic adventure. I also found myself profoundly jealous at how Anne could just live her life as an eccentric optimist without giving any type of a rat's ass about what people thought of her - of course, until it affected Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert, and then she was quite contrite indeed. But the rambling way she talked, her quick flaming emotions of either happiness or rage, and the way she would put on plays with the other kids struck a deep chord with me, and I've felt myself inextricably tied to Anne ever since. It also helped that her sparring partner and future husband, Gilbert Blythe, was one awesome dude who never wanted Anne to be anything less than totally herself at all times and never wanted to change her. I got a chance to revisit this book as part of a graduate seminar in Children's Literature last semester, and it took everything I had to not just yell "I LOVE THIS BOOK" over and over again throughout the 2.5 hour class. And yes, I own the complete Anne of Avonlea series as well as some of the apocryphal Anne Shirley material discovered after Montgomery's death. Whenever I need a shot of optimism and some advice about how to be thoroughly and authentically myself, Anne is my go-to.
American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis.
Bret Easton Ellis's first book, Less Than Zero, was on the syllabus of the course on 1980s literature I took in high school. I read it, and loved it, and decided to read Ellis's entire oeuvre. I got around to reading American Psycho several years after I had seen and loved Mary Harron's 2000 film adaptation, and was still completely shocked by what I read. Whenever I have a book list of literature that has profoundly affected me, Ellis's 1990 parody of 80s excess and corporate 'killings' is on there without a doubt. That's not to say this is a text I return to over and over again; this ain't no Anne Shirley romanticized view of the world. This is probably the most disgusting book I've ever read, and I'm including all of the Holocaust and Rwanda testimonies I had to slog through last year for a Literature and Human Rights course. But the grossness is something that suits the overall tone of the book. Patrick Bateman is a monster, but he has thoroughly convinced himself that the need to dominate is merely a way in which he shows that he's 'made it' in the world of finance. The book is darker, funnier, and way grosser than the movie - the movie does a really interesting thing in that until the very end when all hell breaks loose, the killings are only loosely alluded to, whereas in the book the killings are alluded to until about halfway through and then every single murder Bateman commits - or doesn't commit? - is spelled out in excruciating detail. Take everything creepy about the movie and make it barf, and that's the overall plot of the text. Is it misogynist and insanely awful? Yes. Is it a commentary on man's need to 'nail' everything? Definitely. If you can get through the first few chapters of non-stop descriptions of everyone's clothing and technological excesses, you're home free. Sort of. Just maybe don't eat anything before getting to the final chapters.
A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess.
I swoon over this book. I want to press it to my bosom until the ink rubs off. First of all, the actual words on the page were like nothing I'd ever read before. How can I not fall in mad love with a text that has the line "It was bliss and gorgeousity made flesh. As I slooshied, I knew such lovely pictures!"? Burgess is a wizard with language, and shows the malleability of words on every page of this classic, which I quite prefer to the film. If you've only seen the movie, you've only seen half the story. Burgess divided his story of a British ne'er-do-well and his band of 'droogs' into 21 chapters in order to mimic the maturation of a person from child to adult, and Stanley Kubrick excised Chapter 21 in order to make his film's ending much bleaker than the original text. Burgess has roundly criticized this move, stating that the entire purpose of the final chapter is to show that man has the capability of redemption. I personally prefer this tone rather than the film's interpretation, but then again I'm a relentless cockeyed optimist so that's to be expected. I appreciate the film for the way it depicts a certain style of reckless abandon, but the tone of the text and Alex's way with narrating his experiences are nearly impossible to translate into a visual and dialogue heavy medium.
Little Women by Louisa May Alcott.
Oh, Little Women. I read this at a very young age, or at least knew of the story when I was very young, and instantly knew that this was something I would want to keep with me for a while. Nevermind that I saw the masterful 1994 adaptation starring Winona Ryder and it still makes me a weeping mess on the floor - you just have to mention "The Valley of the Shadow" track on the gorgeous Thomas Newman score to me or my best friend and we both just start screaming "BETH! NOOOOOO!" This was a book about a group of friends who also happened to be sisters. Sometimes they are awful to each other, but most of the time they stick together and go through life and all of its euphoric highs and devastating lows. My favorite is Jo, which is a stock answer of course because she's everyone's favorite, but I felt a connection to her similar to the one I felt towards Anne Shirley. Additionally, this was one of the first books I had ever read where the main guy and the main girl didn't get together and it was for a reason that now, after reading it again for the first time in a while, is entirely plausible. Jo didn't refuse Laurie for any reason aside from the fact that she just didn't love him in the way that he loved her, and as a girl indoctrinated on Disney and the concept of 'first loves are FOREVER RIGHT?!', it totally blew my mind and pissed me off as a kid but now I completely get it. Laurie also loved Jo the way that a little boy loves a little girl, and then once he matured and got a bit more adult in his ways of the world, he was able to understand and love Amy in a way that was much different...although that part always weirded me out, I gotta admit. I feel like he just wanted to marry into the March family so much he picked the last one available.
Strega Nona by Tomie dePaola.
I know, this looks like an incredibly hard left turn considering I have works by Bret Easton Ellis and Anthony Burgess on this list. But the Grandma Witch had to be on this list, if only because of how much the entire collective work of dePaola has shaped my life path. I don't remember how I first read this book; I remember reading it as early as 5 years old, and it ended up becoming the first Christmas present I gave to my nephew three years ago. Additionally, dePaola just came out with a new Strega Nona book and it's on the list of things I plan to give my godson for this year's Christmas celebrations. It's because of dePaola that I was invited to present at the Children's Literature Association Conference this past year in Biloxi, Mississippi. It's the book that gave me an idea of my Italian culture, which didn't really happen that much in my childhood - I went to a school that seemed to be populated with Anglos out the yingyang and girls with middle names that were "normal", like Lynn or Marie or Elizabeth or Jane. Nobody with a name like Marsiella, that's for sure. But Strega Nona normalized this feeling for me. I didn't feel so weird when I sunk into the world of a woman with never-ending pasta, who could get rid of a headache with olive oil and a hairpin, and a foolish assistant who just wanted to look cool for the villagers. Sidenote: I got to meet Mr. dePaola about five years ago at a book signing and it took everything I had inside of me not to just shout "I FREAKING LOVE YOU" into his face while we chatted.
My point in writing this long treatise is - it doesn't matter what books stick with you, or whether or not they are canonical. The point is, they meant something to you, and you learned something from it, and you carry those lessons or feelings or truths with you.
I'll see you for a special Christmas post on Tuesday! Go read some books!
ally
A lot of my Facebook friends have been tagging me with a status challenge: In your status line, list 10 books that have stayed with you in some way. Don't take more than a few minutes and don't think too hard - they don't have to be the "right" or "great works, just ones that have touched you. Tag 10 friends, including me, so I'll see your list.
Normally when I see a tag like this my response is to freak the hell out. You guys know how much I love books. I get paid to read them, to talk about them at length, to dissect them until the skin is torn off and the bones are put into broth. But if you asked me to pick my favorite book I would look at you like you'd grown a second head. It's like asking me to pick my favorite nephew. It's also antithetical to my entire personality; I tend to look at my books like most people look at their toes. I'd like to keep ALL of them, please.
It's not just that the picking of them is difficult. I tend to look at myself as a book hoarder, but at the same time I'm not necessarily sure I'm the best expert about what books are worth their emotional salt. Yes, I know, I'm an English professor and an academic and I'm supposed to read all of the 'classics', but it were up to me I'd spend all of my time reading really bad historical fiction. The type that rips bodices and plots intrigue and possibly has a bit of witchcraft involved. Those books you see in the Fiction section that have a midsection of a woman wearing an impossibly beautiful stomacher'd dress, sitting in a way that's a cross between lounging and being constipated? Those are my jam.
I love books. I love reading them, I really love buying them, and I love looking at them. Bookstores are my favorite place in the world. Last weekend the boyfriend surprised me by taking me to Barnes and Noble after dinner. I was breaking in ridiculously high boots at the time, developing the world's most painful blisters all during dinner/walking around New Haven, and by the time we got to Barnes and Noble I wanted to saw my feet off at the ankle. Yet I limped around that store for about half an hour like Monica on that Friends episode about the boots, giddy with all the New In Paperbacks and Half Off Hardcovers and all the various versions of Settlers of Catan. When the boyfriend caught me wheezing in pain next to a display of the new Doris Kearns Goodwin biography and asked why in God's name I didn't want to go right home and put on Band-Aids - he's a logical dude - I immediately sucked in my breath and said "I'm fine! I'm gonna go sit in that chair," and hobbled off until I collapsed with a biography of Catherine the Great.
I am compulsively addicted to reading the way other people are addicted to online gambling. I used to read them under my desk during science class, and my adorable science teacher told my mom at Open House "I don't want to stop her, because I think it's so great she loves to read that much." Mr. Zaccaro, thank you for aiding my total suckage at science and all related disciplines.
Okay, on to the list. I had to do a lot of thinking about some of them. Others came to me easily and fully formed. It's like writing itself, I wager. Also these are in no particular order. Most of these aren't 'classics', but that's not the point.
Runner-ups: Bridget Jones's Diary by Helen Fielding, Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire, Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal by Christopher Moore, Mythology by Edith Hamilton, Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien (I know, this is a shocker. But I only read LOTR when I was 16, and the films are the things that stick with me moreso than the books. They're in my favorite books, but not books that stick with me)
Emperor Mage, by Tamora Pierce. This book is Book #3 in the Immortals series, but it's the first one that I read. I picked it up in a bookstore while on vacation at the Jersey Shore, and immediately fell in love with the leading character Veraldaine Serrasri (Daine for short). Daine possesses the wild magic of the title, magic that allows her the gift of communication with animals and transform into them. In this installment of the story she meets Emperor Ozorne in the country of Carthak, and continues to extend her powers with the help of her mentor, Numair. I love this book and this series because of its focus on a young female heroine that is intelligent, capable, and strong, and is allowed to make her own decisions and subsequent mistakes. She is flawed, but completely lovable as a result of her flaws, and also possesses great passion and skill. Tamora Pierce's gift at illustrating heroines was first captured in her famous quadrology Song of the Lioness but this was the first one I read, and it introduced me to the formidable way Pierce builds her world. She also doesn't really waste time with elaborate descriptions, choosing instead to focus on the characters. The result is a complex and fascinating look at a young girl and her maturation, with her ability to transform into animals becoming a lovely metaphor for the 'wilds' of adolescence.
Summer Sisters, by Judy Blume. Now, if you've read any of Judy Blume's YA books such as the Fudge series or Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret, you know that Judy is insanely good at capturing both the euphoric highs and the bottom-scraping lows of being a young adult. Summer Sisters takes the best of those books and combines it with the more intensely adult aspects of Blume's adult works such as Wifey, as well as the innocent explorations of sex Blume famously illustrated in Forever (which is still one of the most sexually graphic books I've ever read, and I read Bret Easton Ellis books for fun.). The book tells the story of Vix, who spend several summers together on Martha's Vineyard at the invite of Caitlin, a popular girl in her class. They begin these summers at 11 years old and continue on until they are about 17 or 18, and the summers are filled with discussions of family, sexual discovery, and friendship. The book continues on to their adult lives as well, with some disturbing and fascinating plot twists. I read this book when I was 13, around the same age as the characters in the first third of the book, and immediately identified with the various situations the girls were going through. What I find also fascinating about this work is that usually the MPDG (Manic Pixie Dream Girl) is someone that changes the protagonist's life for the better. That happens in some ways, but in a lot of ways Caitlin is shown to be incredibly damaged and unhealthy in her mindset, and Vix ends up being the more interesting character because of her various discoveries about herself without Caitlin. It's also a fairly interesting discussion about what happens when the wild child refuses to grow up, and the consequences of those decisions. This book is dear to my heart because of the fact that I spent many of my childhood summers at the Jersey Shore, and the way Blume describes being a child at the beach is very close to my own experiences...without all the lifeguard banging that goes on in this text.
The Secret History by Donna Tartt. I read this book as a senior in high school while taking part in an elective English course called "That 80s Class", in which we read first novels by several authors whose works are indicative of 80s culture. That class was also the first time I read Jay McInerney, Bret Easton Ellis, and Thomas Wolfe, but Tartt's incredibly textured story of a college freshman who falls into a semi-Greek, semi-occult secret society obsessed with reaching levels of Pan-like trance in the woods had me at the first paragraph. I can't even say anything else about the plot; this book demands you work out the twists and turns on your own. I'd call it a Gothic thriller in a way, and the more you don't know about the story, the better. It also helped that I am completely and utterly obsessed with mythology and folklore, so this story and its heavy usage of those forms had me hooked early. Tartt is also very deliberate and research heavy, and writes one book a decade - her newest, The Goldfinch, came out earlier this year and I'm looking forward to reading it the instant Christmas passes and I don't feel guilty about buying things.
The Princess Bride by William Goldman.
This book was in my sixth-grade teacher's bookshelf of things we could take out, read, and then put back. I "forgot" to put this back on the shelf...sorry, Miss Schiavetti. Looking back, this was a totally inappropriate novel to give to eleven-year-olds; the back cover blurb read What happens when the most beautiful woman in the world marries the most handsome prince in the world...and he turns out to be a son of a bitch? I immediately thought I was committing a crime just for reading the damn thing. But I grabbed it, took it home, read it - in secret, because that back cover was so scandalous! - and completely fell in love with it. I knew instantly that this was something I had never read before, nor would since. The book is framed as a 'Good Parts Version' of a much longer text by the fictional author S. Morgenstern, of the country of Florin. Goldman's narrative is repeatedly broken up by his own commentary, talking about or alluding to chapters or passages he cut out for the sake of brevity, or random tidbits about how he used to read the 'good parts' version aloud to his son (which provides us with the linking model of the movie and adorable Fred Savage as the sick kid in bed who hates 'kissing' books). Speaking of the movie, I had never even heard of there being a movie adaptation until I was a freshman in high school, and of course I watched it and loved it...but the book is about a bajillion times better. Even now when I tell that to people, they immediately say "THERE'S A BOOK?!" YEP. GO READ IT. Not only is there much more to the stories of Vizzini, Fezzik, and Inigo Montoya (the famous "Hello, my name is..." stuff is all in the book, no worries, as well as all of the famous lines from the movie), the ending of the book is ten times darker than the film, which I think makes it much more of a realistic political commentary style book rather than the fairy tale of the movie. (I still absolutely love the movie, though. Cary Elwes? COME ON.)
A Game of Thrones: A Song of Ice and Fire, Book 1 by George R.R. Martin.
Because duh. I was yelled at by many, many people to read this book for about six or seven years by my close friends who are of the same fantastical mindset as I, and for whatever reason I never listened. I'm an idiot. Mea culpa. Honestly, though, I tend to think most of the fantasy that's being written right now kind of sucks. It all feels dishonest and inappropriately sexual for the sake of T&A, and there's rarely any depth to it. Game of Thrones was a thrilling rejoinder to that argument. It had tons of political intrigue, and a narrative that never went the way you thought it would go - or wanted it to go, sometimes - but that made the story all the more real. I picked the first installment over A Storm of Swords despite that one being assuredly the most complete and most thrilling of the written series so far because Game of Thrones does such a masterful job of setting up the entire universe of Westeros while also not giving away so much that he leaves no stone unturned. He lets the reader find things out at the same pace as the characters, which I found very refreshing. The last 50 or so pages were among the most shocking I had ever read in any book, and the climactic sequence with Danaerys literally had me sitting up from my prone position on the couch and yelling "HOLY SHIT" over and over. The rest of the books in the series are even more provocative, hilarious, deeply moving, and utterly bonkers. Just don't spoil yourself for any of it, especially if you want to keep reading the books. I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did. Seriously, the minute you start reading the books, stay off the Internet. And don't watch the show until you're done reading!
Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery.
Anne Shirley is my spirit animal. I first read this book when I was about twelve years old, at a time in which Anne and I were very close to the same age, and I immediately felt a kinship with the way Anne talked, reacted to life, and treated her entire experience at Prince Edward Island as a kind of grand romantic adventure. I also found myself profoundly jealous at how Anne could just live her life as an eccentric optimist without giving any type of a rat's ass about what people thought of her - of course, until it affected Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert, and then she was quite contrite indeed. But the rambling way she talked, her quick flaming emotions of either happiness or rage, and the way she would put on plays with the other kids struck a deep chord with me, and I've felt myself inextricably tied to Anne ever since. It also helped that her sparring partner and future husband, Gilbert Blythe, was one awesome dude who never wanted Anne to be anything less than totally herself at all times and never wanted to change her. I got a chance to revisit this book as part of a graduate seminar in Children's Literature last semester, and it took everything I had to not just yell "I LOVE THIS BOOK" over and over again throughout the 2.5 hour class. And yes, I own the complete Anne of Avonlea series as well as some of the apocryphal Anne Shirley material discovered after Montgomery's death. Whenever I need a shot of optimism and some advice about how to be thoroughly and authentically myself, Anne is my go-to.
American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis.
Bret Easton Ellis's first book, Less Than Zero, was on the syllabus of the course on 1980s literature I took in high school. I read it, and loved it, and decided to read Ellis's entire oeuvre. I got around to reading American Psycho several years after I had seen and loved Mary Harron's 2000 film adaptation, and was still completely shocked by what I read. Whenever I have a book list of literature that has profoundly affected me, Ellis's 1990 parody of 80s excess and corporate 'killings' is on there without a doubt. That's not to say this is a text I return to over and over again; this ain't no Anne Shirley romanticized view of the world. This is probably the most disgusting book I've ever read, and I'm including all of the Holocaust and Rwanda testimonies I had to slog through last year for a Literature and Human Rights course. But the grossness is something that suits the overall tone of the book. Patrick Bateman is a monster, but he has thoroughly convinced himself that the need to dominate is merely a way in which he shows that he's 'made it' in the world of finance. The book is darker, funnier, and way grosser than the movie - the movie does a really interesting thing in that until the very end when all hell breaks loose, the killings are only loosely alluded to, whereas in the book the killings are alluded to until about halfway through and then every single murder Bateman commits - or doesn't commit? - is spelled out in excruciating detail. Take everything creepy about the movie and make it barf, and that's the overall plot of the text. Is it misogynist and insanely awful? Yes. Is it a commentary on man's need to 'nail' everything? Definitely. If you can get through the first few chapters of non-stop descriptions of everyone's clothing and technological excesses, you're home free. Sort of. Just maybe don't eat anything before getting to the final chapters.
A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess.
I swoon over this book. I want to press it to my bosom until the ink rubs off. First of all, the actual words on the page were like nothing I'd ever read before. How can I not fall in mad love with a text that has the line "It was bliss and gorgeousity made flesh. As I slooshied, I knew such lovely pictures!"? Burgess is a wizard with language, and shows the malleability of words on every page of this classic, which I quite prefer to the film. If you've only seen the movie, you've only seen half the story. Burgess divided his story of a British ne'er-do-well and his band of 'droogs' into 21 chapters in order to mimic the maturation of a person from child to adult, and Stanley Kubrick excised Chapter 21 in order to make his film's ending much bleaker than the original text. Burgess has roundly criticized this move, stating that the entire purpose of the final chapter is to show that man has the capability of redemption. I personally prefer this tone rather than the film's interpretation, but then again I'm a relentless cockeyed optimist so that's to be expected. I appreciate the film for the way it depicts a certain style of reckless abandon, but the tone of the text and Alex's way with narrating his experiences are nearly impossible to translate into a visual and dialogue heavy medium.
Little Women by Louisa May Alcott.
Oh, Little Women. I read this at a very young age, or at least knew of the story when I was very young, and instantly knew that this was something I would want to keep with me for a while. Nevermind that I saw the masterful 1994 adaptation starring Winona Ryder and it still makes me a weeping mess on the floor - you just have to mention "The Valley of the Shadow" track on the gorgeous Thomas Newman score to me or my best friend and we both just start screaming "BETH! NOOOOOO!" This was a book about a group of friends who also happened to be sisters. Sometimes they are awful to each other, but most of the time they stick together and go through life and all of its euphoric highs and devastating lows. My favorite is Jo, which is a stock answer of course because she's everyone's favorite, but I felt a connection to her similar to the one I felt towards Anne Shirley. Additionally, this was one of the first books I had ever read where the main guy and the main girl didn't get together and it was for a reason that now, after reading it again for the first time in a while, is entirely plausible. Jo didn't refuse Laurie for any reason aside from the fact that she just didn't love him in the way that he loved her, and as a girl indoctrinated on Disney and the concept of 'first loves are FOREVER RIGHT?!', it totally blew my mind and pissed me off as a kid but now I completely get it. Laurie also loved Jo the way that a little boy loves a little girl, and then once he matured and got a bit more adult in his ways of the world, he was able to understand and love Amy in a way that was much different...although that part always weirded me out, I gotta admit. I feel like he just wanted to marry into the March family so much he picked the last one available.
Strega Nona by Tomie dePaola.
I know, this looks like an incredibly hard left turn considering I have works by Bret Easton Ellis and Anthony Burgess on this list. But the Grandma Witch had to be on this list, if only because of how much the entire collective work of dePaola has shaped my life path. I don't remember how I first read this book; I remember reading it as early as 5 years old, and it ended up becoming the first Christmas present I gave to my nephew three years ago. Additionally, dePaola just came out with a new Strega Nona book and it's on the list of things I plan to give my godson for this year's Christmas celebrations. It's because of dePaola that I was invited to present at the Children's Literature Association Conference this past year in Biloxi, Mississippi. It's the book that gave me an idea of my Italian culture, which didn't really happen that much in my childhood - I went to a school that seemed to be populated with Anglos out the yingyang and girls with middle names that were "normal", like Lynn or Marie or Elizabeth or Jane. Nobody with a name like Marsiella, that's for sure. But Strega Nona normalized this feeling for me. I didn't feel so weird when I sunk into the world of a woman with never-ending pasta, who could get rid of a headache with olive oil and a hairpin, and a foolish assistant who just wanted to look cool for the villagers. Sidenote: I got to meet Mr. dePaola about five years ago at a book signing and it took everything I had inside of me not to just shout "I FREAKING LOVE YOU" into his face while we chatted.
My point in writing this long treatise is - it doesn't matter what books stick with you, or whether or not they are canonical. The point is, they meant something to you, and you learned something from it, and you carry those lessons or feelings or truths with you.
I'll see you for a special Christmas post on Tuesday! Go read some books!
ally
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Forgiving the Unforgivable: Salutations for Sandy Hook Update.
My mentor Seane Corn once said to me "I wish you tons of pain." Once I got past the initial "but I thought we were friends!" moment, I realized what she meant. If we were to skate through
life without a care, we would breeze past so many beautiful nuances that
make us who we are. It’s the pain and struggle that give us power and
stability; the strongest trees bear the deepest roots and can endure
anything. - Kathryn Budig. Kathryn is probably my favorite teacher on yogaglo.com.
I've done 8 practices in my Salutations for Sandy Hook project, and now that the grading is pretty much entirely done, I have much more free time on my hands (well, when I'm not babysitting!). I haven't been very sore, except for the one stupid day last week that I decided to run the hills around my parents house, and that made me sore in my quads for about four days. But I've managed to get it done and I've noticed a lot of positive changes in my overall demeanor.
Here are some things I've noticed so far in my practice, which I've dedicated to a victim every time I step onto the mat. Some of them are superficial, and some are deadly serious.
1. It suddenly becomes easier to put yourself into the hard postures of a Level 3 practice when you've set an intention towards someone other than yourself. The practice becomes more focused, the breathing more centered.
2. Sometimes the practice is beautiful and simple, other times you're falling on your ass every nine seconds and spilling your water three times in a row. Sometimes your stomach is settled and sometimes you're starving. Sometimes you feel thirsty and sometimes you have to pee the whole time. The practice changes every single time.
3. The soreness gets less and less, but that doesn't necessarily mean you get more flexible. No matter what, I will never get into any of the big daddy backbends aside from ustrasana, and that's fine. That's not the point.
4. My shoulders were already pretty big, but holy crap.
5. I've only cried once or twice, but it's only been a little bit each time. This surprised me. I thought I would be a total mess every time I practiced, but so far that hasn't happened. The practice I do on the anniversary will probably be the most emotional but that's to be expected.
6. I'm kinder, more centered, and more myself when I do yoga than any other exercise I've tried. It's also the only exercise that doesn't exacerbate my panic buttons. I'm most calm on the days that I dedicate to my practice. There have been many times in which I take a day off from yoga that I can feel a marked change in my demeanor. Which is why I'm dedicating these practices to those lives lost - I feel like I'm putting out good energy into the world, which Newtown and all those affected by gun violence could use this week.
Yesterday and today were practices that I thought would be the most difficult for me. They were the practices for the shooter and his mother. I did a half hour flow yesterday morning because that's all I could fit in, and today I did a 90 minute Level 3 detox vinyasa class, which was focused on 'wringing out' and 'opening the heart'.
I thought I would get angry, or cry, or stop practicing when those emotions would come up, but it never came. Aside from that, it was business as usual. It was actually one of the best practices I've had in this entire project.
I was confused about this response; why was it that I wasn't more upset? More numb, perhaps? Why wasn't this harder? How could I laugh, feel peace, breathe, during a practice that was for someone who abetted another person's mental illness and supplied him with the literal ammo he needed to create such a tragedy?
It didn't click until savasana, but as I lay there in a puddle of my own sweat, it hit me - You're letting go.
The past year has been incredibly difficult for me, for a variety of reasons. My best friend lost her mother, I've dealt with some health annoyances, and just overall I've felt a pall of depression over my head that I can trace back to Sandy Hook. Due to the tragedy, I didn't feel at all like celebrating Christmas last year and having bronchitis over the holidays certainly didn't help matters. I felt like crap, mentally and physically, and that carried over to the spring semester. I just felt like everything I did wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
Over the past couple of months I've recommitted myself to a devotional yoga practice, thinking it would help me get out of my head a bit. The transformation it has done to my body and mind has been unbelieveable. I've stopped running around, physically and mentally. I've been kinder. Stronger. More in touch with what I need to be happy and what I need to succeed. More grateful.
What I realized during the practice today was so simple it nearly knocked me on my ass. Love is enough.
I don't have any more tears to give, or anger to scream, or confusion to wring my hands over. I don't want to blame, to fight, or to get upset. It's a waste of my energy. I have to love. Love is the answer. I am pretty well known for my relentless optimism. What happened to that person? "I'm not giving up, I'm just giving in."
The more you keep hate in your body, and the more you judge people, the more the darkness will win in your soul.
I got up from savasana and left my mat more resolved to live in grace, love, and compassion, even in the darkest times. It's harder to do that than hate, but it's ultimately more rewarding. Ever since Sandy Hook happened it's been hard for me to just accept the world as a good place, despite the fact that according to several studies this is probably the best time to be alive for anybody in the history of the planet. We're living longer, there's much less war, and on the whole, violence and sexism and homophobia is down to manageable levels. Well, considering that there used to be laws permitting medieval lords to take the virginities of their serf's daughters, we've come a long way, baby.
But it's very easy to look at all of that and say "STILL NOT ENOUGH, DAMMIT." And even in the next century or so, as more people become more attuned to the relationality of the world and as more people promise to make this beautiful world we live in better, we still will probably cry "not enough." It's the stereotypical progressive mindset, to be dissatisfied.
Are there things about this situation, and this anniversary, that still can put me into rage fits? Of course. But getting angry doesn't solve anything. Being judgy doesn't solve anything. And getting into arguments doesn't solve anything. Love solves it. Love, and a commitment to be better every day, is what's going to spark change.
It's something I've been thinking about for a while, about things much more superficial than what happened in Newtown. It's so easy to sit in judgment of someone, to point a finger, to separate yourself from another person. It's so paradoxically hard to look at that person in the eyes and say "I get it. I get you. I get why you're judging me. It's because you're in pain. And I understand it. And I forgive you." That, to me, isn't being 'holier than thou'. That's having empathy. And I think empathy is what is going to transform the world.
This holiday season I resolve to live with gratitude, and with purpose, and with a committed heart to say 'thank you' every single day.
Funny, how a 90 minute meditation dedicated to the country's second worst spree killer has caused me transcend to a state of such grace. I'm not sure how that happened. But I feel lighter.
I can only wish the people of Newtown some light and a lesser load during this difficult weekend to come. And I can only hope that the coming years will see more clarity and less pain. More strength and less weakness in our politicians. More people over politics. More love over fear.
Love solves it. And evil will not win.
ally
PS. I won't be blogging on the anniversary, because I want to give the people of Newtown their space as a sign of respect. But December 14th is also my mother's birthday, and so that day will be a day of reflection and also celebration. For my mom, and for life, and the triumph of good.
I've done 8 practices in my Salutations for Sandy Hook project, and now that the grading is pretty much entirely done, I have much more free time on my hands (well, when I'm not babysitting!). I haven't been very sore, except for the one stupid day last week that I decided to run the hills around my parents house, and that made me sore in my quads for about four days. But I've managed to get it done and I've noticed a lot of positive changes in my overall demeanor.
Here are some things I've noticed so far in my practice, which I've dedicated to a victim every time I step onto the mat. Some of them are superficial, and some are deadly serious.
1. It suddenly becomes easier to put yourself into the hard postures of a Level 3 practice when you've set an intention towards someone other than yourself. The practice becomes more focused, the breathing more centered.
2. Sometimes the practice is beautiful and simple, other times you're falling on your ass every nine seconds and spilling your water three times in a row. Sometimes your stomach is settled and sometimes you're starving. Sometimes you feel thirsty and sometimes you have to pee the whole time. The practice changes every single time.
3. The soreness gets less and less, but that doesn't necessarily mean you get more flexible. No matter what, I will never get into any of the big daddy backbends aside from ustrasana, and that's fine. That's not the point.
4. My shoulders were already pretty big, but holy crap.
5. I've only cried once or twice, but it's only been a little bit each time. This surprised me. I thought I would be a total mess every time I practiced, but so far that hasn't happened. The practice I do on the anniversary will probably be the most emotional but that's to be expected.
6. I'm kinder, more centered, and more myself when I do yoga than any other exercise I've tried. It's also the only exercise that doesn't exacerbate my panic buttons. I'm most calm on the days that I dedicate to my practice. There have been many times in which I take a day off from yoga that I can feel a marked change in my demeanor. Which is why I'm dedicating these practices to those lives lost - I feel like I'm putting out good energy into the world, which Newtown and all those affected by gun violence could use this week.
Yesterday and today were practices that I thought would be the most difficult for me. They were the practices for the shooter and his mother. I did a half hour flow yesterday morning because that's all I could fit in, and today I did a 90 minute Level 3 detox vinyasa class, which was focused on 'wringing out' and 'opening the heart'.
I thought I would get angry, or cry, or stop practicing when those emotions would come up, but it never came. Aside from that, it was business as usual. It was actually one of the best practices I've had in this entire project.
I was confused about this response; why was it that I wasn't more upset? More numb, perhaps? Why wasn't this harder? How could I laugh, feel peace, breathe, during a practice that was for someone who abetted another person's mental illness and supplied him with the literal ammo he needed to create such a tragedy?
It didn't click until savasana, but as I lay there in a puddle of my own sweat, it hit me - You're letting go.
The past year has been incredibly difficult for me, for a variety of reasons. My best friend lost her mother, I've dealt with some health annoyances, and just overall I've felt a pall of depression over my head that I can trace back to Sandy Hook. Due to the tragedy, I didn't feel at all like celebrating Christmas last year and having bronchitis over the holidays certainly didn't help matters. I felt like crap, mentally and physically, and that carried over to the spring semester. I just felt like everything I did wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
Over the past couple of months I've recommitted myself to a devotional yoga practice, thinking it would help me get out of my head a bit. The transformation it has done to my body and mind has been unbelieveable. I've stopped running around, physically and mentally. I've been kinder. Stronger. More in touch with what I need to be happy and what I need to succeed. More grateful.
What I realized during the practice today was so simple it nearly knocked me on my ass. Love is enough.
I don't have any more tears to give, or anger to scream, or confusion to wring my hands over. I don't want to blame, to fight, or to get upset. It's a waste of my energy. I have to love. Love is the answer. I am pretty well known for my relentless optimism. What happened to that person? "I'm not giving up, I'm just giving in."
The more you keep hate in your body, and the more you judge people, the more the darkness will win in your soul.
I got up from savasana and left my mat more resolved to live in grace, love, and compassion, even in the darkest times. It's harder to do that than hate, but it's ultimately more rewarding. Ever since Sandy Hook happened it's been hard for me to just accept the world as a good place, despite the fact that according to several studies this is probably the best time to be alive for anybody in the history of the planet. We're living longer, there's much less war, and on the whole, violence and sexism and homophobia is down to manageable levels. Well, considering that there used to be laws permitting medieval lords to take the virginities of their serf's daughters, we've come a long way, baby.
But it's very easy to look at all of that and say "STILL NOT ENOUGH, DAMMIT." And even in the next century or so, as more people become more attuned to the relationality of the world and as more people promise to make this beautiful world we live in better, we still will probably cry "not enough." It's the stereotypical progressive mindset, to be dissatisfied.
Are there things about this situation, and this anniversary, that still can put me into rage fits? Of course. But getting angry doesn't solve anything. Being judgy doesn't solve anything. And getting into arguments doesn't solve anything. Love solves it. Love, and a commitment to be better every day, is what's going to spark change.
It's something I've been thinking about for a while, about things much more superficial than what happened in Newtown. It's so easy to sit in judgment of someone, to point a finger, to separate yourself from another person. It's so paradoxically hard to look at that person in the eyes and say "I get it. I get you. I get why you're judging me. It's because you're in pain. And I understand it. And I forgive you." That, to me, isn't being 'holier than thou'. That's having empathy. And I think empathy is what is going to transform the world.
This holiday season I resolve to live with gratitude, and with purpose, and with a committed heart to say 'thank you' every single day.
Funny, how a 90 minute meditation dedicated to the country's second worst spree killer has caused me transcend to a state of such grace. I'm not sure how that happened. But I feel lighter.
I can only wish the people of Newtown some light and a lesser load during this difficult weekend to come. And I can only hope that the coming years will see more clarity and less pain. More strength and less weakness in our politicians. More people over politics. More love over fear.
Love solves it. And evil will not win.
ally
PS. I won't be blogging on the anniversary, because I want to give the people of Newtown their space as a sign of respect. But December 14th is also my mother's birthday, and so that day will be a day of reflection and also celebration. For my mom, and for life, and the triumph of good.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Salutations for Sandy Hook.
There's been a lot of news coming out lately about December 14, 2012, a day that I never want to relive ever again for as long as I'm on this Earth. Not just because of the events that occurred in Newtown on that day, but because of the way I experienced it - alone, on a train for seven hours, hurtling away from Connecticut to visit friends in Virginia when all I really wanted to do was get off the damn train and run right back to my house and hug my family. But then I got to Virginia, saw The Hobbit, and generally had a very nice time with my friends. It provided a blessed distraction from wanting to curl up in bed and be a hysterical mess.
When I got home to CT after a few welcome days of trying to forget, there was a noticeable silence in the air. It felt like the entire state was suppressed under the suffocating weight of those souls taken too soon. I felt like I needed to do something but I wasn't sure what.
A few days later, UConn established the Sandy Hook Scholarship Fund. This foundation would supply scholarships to dependents and relatives of those affected directly by the tragedy. My parents delivered a massive donation to kickstart the foundation, and since its founding on December 17th, 2012, it has raised over $1.2 million.
My response to this donation by my parents was "Of course." One time I ran into my dad at the grocery store and he just handed me 20 dollars because he figured I could use extra cash. Or maybe it was because I was in dirty sweatpants and he wanted me to not look like a bum. Ah well.
My other response to this donation was ...what can I do? I don't have that kind of money. I don't even have the kind of brain space to devote to dreaming about one day having that kind of money to call my own. What could I do to honor those people whose lives were cut far too short? How can I call attention to the kind of change I want to see in the world? How can I raise money or do something?
My first response was I'll run two half marathons and raise money for the fund! Never mind I have a bad back, the cool thing to do is run and raise money! But then in March I bruised my sacroiliac joint because of all the 'sitting around all day and then running 8 miles at night' which my body couldn't handle (I can only run in the morning, because otherwise my back can't handle the sudden jarring shift from sitting to running) and couldn't run for three months. Then, I thought about recording some songs for Christmas and selling the CDs, or crocheting blankets. But then I realized I didn't nearly have the kind of time as a full-time researcher/professor to even put towards getting together the resources that would require such a feat.
And then, a week ago, I had a day off during Thanksgiving break. I decided to do two yoga practices in one day (because that's how much I like yoga). I had just come off of reading the Sandy Hook report that was published, and thinking about the implications of all the new information about the day's events and the shooter's life. During my practice, I started thinking again about what I could possibly do to honor those lives lost.
Halfway through a chatarunga, it came to me. I have this. I have yoga. I have the way it changes me as a person, and the way it alters how I approach the world. Yoga makes me better so I can subsequently make the world better. I can do yoga.
So, I would like to announce an initiative I'm calling Salutations for Sandy Hook.
This is great for anyone deepening their practice, or someone just starting out. You attempt to complete either 28 hours or 28 days of yoga practice in the month of September, and then at the end of the month you donate 5 dollars for every yoga practice you completed (I was originally going to donate 108 dollars because that's an auspicious number in yoga, but that's not a multiplier of 5 so roll with me). These practices don't have to be one hour; we're all super strapped for time during the holidays, so if it's 15 minutes, it's 15 minutes. But the point is, for each of these practices you will breathe and move and honor one of the victims of the Sandy Hook tragedy. So far, I have done three to honor Victoria Soto, Charlotte Bacon, and Mary Sherlach.
These practices do not have to be vinyasa/hot/crazy. I've done a yin practice, a hot vinyasa flow, and a gentle Hatha, because I'm all about variety in my practice. Also, remember, if you've only got fifteen minutes and you just want to sit quietly and meditate on the life you have picked for that day, that's totally workable as well.
You'll notice I said 28, and not 26. 26 people from Sandy Hook died at the school on that day, but 28 in total lost their lives that day. I will be doing two yoga practices for the shooter and his mother.
The yoga begins when we can look at the things that cannot possibly be forgiven or understood, and say "I understand it." When life is awesome it's easy to practice the art of contentment and gratefulness. When life kicks you in the stomach, can you remember to breathe through it?
Those two practices will no doubt be the most difficult, because I have so much grief, anger, and heartbreak stirring inside of me when it concerns those two individuals and their actions or inactions that led to this event. But if we cannot forgive, those emotions will have no where to go but back into our bodies. And that festering of wounds is the most damaging thing we can do to ourselves. So even though it's probably not going to take one or two or a 100 yoga practices to forgive, I can at least try to.
Now, I can see why someone might not want to take this path with their practice. If you are one of those people, of course you are welcome to only do the 26 days of yoga and that would be totally fine.
Seane Corn once said "It's easy to stay home and explain how the world can be this utopia. It's different when I have to go out into the world and I am confronted by things that are unimaginable and I have to love even then. I have to forgive even then. Otherwise I continue to perpetuate this separation that is the disease of the world."
Yoga makes me better. It makes me want to make others better. And given this tragedy, that's all we can do. Be kind. Be empathetic. Be better.
ally
Here are all of the foundations I could find that have been established in memoriam of Sandy Hook victims or in support of Sandy Hook victims and their families. There's probably a ton more, and if I find any more I will be sure to post them.
The Sandy Hook Scholarship Fund
The Victoria Leigh Soto Fund
The Chase Kowalski Fund (profits support kids and athletics)
The Barden Family Fund (profits go to support the Barden family)
The Ana Grace Fund
The Lauren Rousseau Scholarship, in which one graduating senior from Danbury High will be awarded a scholarship. Contributions can be sent to DHS Scholarship Fund, c/o Nancy Golden, 43 Clapboard Ridge Rd, Danbury, Ct 06811 with the memo line denoting Lauren Rousseau Memorial Scholarship.
The Avielle Foundation (works for mental health research)
Wings of Change: The Dylan Hockley Fund (this fund specifically works with and for kids suffering from autism or other spectrum disabilities)
The Jack Pinto Fund
The Emilie Parker Fund
The Ana Grace Marquez-Greene Music Scholarship at Western Connecticut State University
The Doug Flutie Jr. Foundation has established Joey's Fund, a wing of its foundation in Josephine Gay's name in order to help kids and families coping with autism. See the website for more details.
The Madeline Hsu Memorial Fund: PO Box 640, Newtown, CT 06470
The Sandy Hook Promise
The Newtown Memorial Fund
The Benjamin Wheeler Fund (supports children studying music)
More can be found by clicking here.
When I got home to CT after a few welcome days of trying to forget, there was a noticeable silence in the air. It felt like the entire state was suppressed under the suffocating weight of those souls taken too soon. I felt like I needed to do something but I wasn't sure what.
A few days later, UConn established the Sandy Hook Scholarship Fund. This foundation would supply scholarships to dependents and relatives of those affected directly by the tragedy. My parents delivered a massive donation to kickstart the foundation, and since its founding on December 17th, 2012, it has raised over $1.2 million.
My response to this donation by my parents was "Of course." One time I ran into my dad at the grocery store and he just handed me 20 dollars because he figured I could use extra cash. Or maybe it was because I was in dirty sweatpants and he wanted me to not look like a bum. Ah well.
My other response to this donation was ...what can I do? I don't have that kind of money. I don't even have the kind of brain space to devote to dreaming about one day having that kind of money to call my own. What could I do to honor those people whose lives were cut far too short? How can I call attention to the kind of change I want to see in the world? How can I raise money or do something?
My first response was I'll run two half marathons and raise money for the fund! Never mind I have a bad back, the cool thing to do is run and raise money! But then in March I bruised my sacroiliac joint because of all the 'sitting around all day and then running 8 miles at night' which my body couldn't handle (I can only run in the morning, because otherwise my back can't handle the sudden jarring shift from sitting to running) and couldn't run for three months. Then, I thought about recording some songs for Christmas and selling the CDs, or crocheting blankets. But then I realized I didn't nearly have the kind of time as a full-time researcher/professor to even put towards getting together the resources that would require such a feat.
And then, a week ago, I had a day off during Thanksgiving break. I decided to do two yoga practices in one day (because that's how much I like yoga). I had just come off of reading the Sandy Hook report that was published, and thinking about the implications of all the new information about the day's events and the shooter's life. During my practice, I started thinking again about what I could possibly do to honor those lives lost.
Halfway through a chatarunga, it came to me. I have this. I have yoga. I have the way it changes me as a person, and the way it alters how I approach the world. Yoga makes me better so I can subsequently make the world better. I can do yoga.
So, I would like to announce an initiative I'm calling Salutations for Sandy Hook.
This is great for anyone deepening their practice, or someone just starting out. You attempt to complete either 28 hours or 28 days of yoga practice in the month of September, and then at the end of the month you donate 5 dollars for every yoga practice you completed (I was originally going to donate 108 dollars because that's an auspicious number in yoga, but that's not a multiplier of 5 so roll with me). These practices don't have to be one hour; we're all super strapped for time during the holidays, so if it's 15 minutes, it's 15 minutes. But the point is, for each of these practices you will breathe and move and honor one of the victims of the Sandy Hook tragedy. So far, I have done three to honor Victoria Soto, Charlotte Bacon, and Mary Sherlach.
These practices do not have to be vinyasa/hot/crazy. I've done a yin practice, a hot vinyasa flow, and a gentle Hatha, because I'm all about variety in my practice. Also, remember, if you've only got fifteen minutes and you just want to sit quietly and meditate on the life you have picked for that day, that's totally workable as well.
You'll notice I said 28, and not 26. 26 people from Sandy Hook died at the school on that day, but 28 in total lost their lives that day. I will be doing two yoga practices for the shooter and his mother.
The yoga begins when we can look at the things that cannot possibly be forgiven or understood, and say "I understand it." When life is awesome it's easy to practice the art of contentment and gratefulness. When life kicks you in the stomach, can you remember to breathe through it?
Those two practices will no doubt be the most difficult, because I have so much grief, anger, and heartbreak stirring inside of me when it concerns those two individuals and their actions or inactions that led to this event. But if we cannot forgive, those emotions will have no where to go but back into our bodies. And that festering of wounds is the most damaging thing we can do to ourselves. So even though it's probably not going to take one or two or a 100 yoga practices to forgive, I can at least try to.
Now, I can see why someone might not want to take this path with their practice. If you are one of those people, of course you are welcome to only do the 26 days of yoga and that would be totally fine.
Seane Corn once said "It's easy to stay home and explain how the world can be this utopia. It's different when I have to go out into the world and I am confronted by things that are unimaginable and I have to love even then. I have to forgive even then. Otherwise I continue to perpetuate this separation that is the disease of the world."
Yoga makes me better. It makes me want to make others better. And given this tragedy, that's all we can do. Be kind. Be empathetic. Be better.
ally
Here are all of the foundations I could find that have been established in memoriam of Sandy Hook victims or in support of Sandy Hook victims and their families. There's probably a ton more, and if I find any more I will be sure to post them.
The Sandy Hook Scholarship Fund
The Victoria Leigh Soto Fund
The Chase Kowalski Fund (profits support kids and athletics)
The Barden Family Fund (profits go to support the Barden family)
The Ana Grace Fund
The Lauren Rousseau Scholarship, in which one graduating senior from Danbury High will be awarded a scholarship. Contributions can be sent to DHS Scholarship Fund, c/o Nancy Golden, 43 Clapboard Ridge Rd, Danbury, Ct 06811 with the memo line denoting Lauren Rousseau Memorial Scholarship.
The Avielle Foundation (works for mental health research)
Wings of Change: The Dylan Hockley Fund (this fund specifically works with and for kids suffering from autism or other spectrum disabilities)
The Jack Pinto Fund
The Emilie Parker Fund
The Ana Grace Marquez-Greene Music Scholarship at Western Connecticut State University
The Doug Flutie Jr. Foundation has established Joey's Fund, a wing of its foundation in Josephine Gay's name in order to help kids and families coping with autism. See the website for more details.
The Madeline Hsu Memorial Fund: PO Box 640, Newtown, CT 06470
The Sandy Hook Promise
The Newtown Memorial Fund
The Benjamin Wheeler Fund (supports children studying music)
More can be found by clicking here.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Currently.
Being a teacher at a university has its perks. I have the entire week off for Thanksgiving break, not just the two days afforded to most under-graduate or elementary school teachers in the state of Connecticut. I also did something that I've never done before - I'm having my students send me drafts of their final papers much later in the week. This is letting me catch up on some things I normally wouldn't be able to do during a break, like sleeping and sitting still. And blogging!
I've been trapped in the cycle known as GRADE ALL THE THINGS in the past two weeks; 38 final drafts of Paper #2, as well as several revisions of said paper, and plugging in midterm grades and writing up final project assessments and all of that fun stuff. So some things had to get put on the backburner, like blogging and cleaning and eating vegetables. But now I'm on break, I've had a green smoothie for breakfast - yes I'm one of those - and catching up on some things that needed to be addressed. I'm also currently digging a few things that I thought you guys might like to hear about, so I'm going to to hopefully make this a recurring series of blogs about things I'm currently into.
Currently Watching: Catching Fire.
The newest installment of the Hunger Games series - the book is a trilogy, the film is a proposed quadrology - came out on Friday, and the boyfriend and I saw it on Saturday after a stellar Friendsgiving dinner at my bestie Shelley's house. It kicked. My. Ass. (both the dinner and the movie!) Catching Fire did everything right. It had the pathos the first film lacked - except for when Rue died, that was heartwrenching - and the director, Francis Lawrence, is much more skilled at action sequences than Gary Ross. He also knows how to employ closeups with a wide angle lens, a technique that doesn't wreck the viewers' perception of space. Therefore, the movie looked better than the first film in the series. The performances are richer; I don't even have to go into how obsessed I am with Jennifer Lawrence and Elizabeth Banks in this movie, do I? The stakes are higher. The political commentary is more incisive. Also, read this: Why Peeta Mellark is Katniss's Movie Girlfriend. What a great commentary on the gender schema present in the film and the books.
Also - the Doctor Who 50th Anniversary Special. I don't watch a ton of Doctor Who although I am a big fan, but the episodes I've seen I've highly enjoyed. The Special aired while the boyfriend and I were at the Friendsgiving, so we made sure to stay away from social media during that time.
Currently Reading: The Divergent Trilogy.
I must be honest; a few pages into the first book in this series, I was convinced it was nothing more than a retread of Hunger Games. But it's got enough changes to keep things interesting. The city that was once Chicago is now divided into several factions: Abnegation (selflessness), Dauntless (bravery), Erudite (intelligence), Candor (honesty), and Amity (kindness). At sixteen, the members of the factions take a test to determine which faction they are best suited for, and then they make the choice as to which faction they will go to. Tris Prior, an Abnegation, is tested, but she comes out as testing positively for three factions: Dauntless, Erudite, and Abnegation. This multiple result makes Tris a Divergent. From there, mayhem ensues. The book is incredibly involving from an emotional perspective, which is a lot different than HG because that book is all about trauma that divests one of emotion. Here, emotion is powerful and it ricochets throughout the narrative. Also, I feel the relationships formed by Tris are handled in a way that is more involving than Hunger Games, but that's something that comes from the narrative being about relationships in a way that The Hunger Games is about a wider commentary on political and cultural norms. Basically, it's crack, and you should get on it. They just released the final book in the trilogy, Allegiant, which I've already bought off Amazon even though I'm only halfway through Insurgent, the second book. It's that good.
I do read things that are not YA dystopian fiction. This is just more fun to talk about than the other book I'm reading dealing with the culpability of German women during the Holocaust.
Currently Listening: The Last Podcast On The Left.
This podcast is not for people who are sensitive. I will say that much. It's a group of comedians - Ben Kissel, Marcus Parks, and Henry Zembrowski - who sit around and talk about their research on all things macabre and weird. They cover everything from serial killers to ley lines to alien abductions to cults. They're a bunch of goofballs, but the best part of it is that they are tremendously organized and researched, so you laugh while learning something. It's incredibly offensive, but that is my jam. My current favorite episodes deal with serial killers; they're starting a new series called Big Hitters that cover the most infamous killers of all time, and they just opened the series with two episodes on Ted Bundy. It's what I looked forward to after teaching all day on Wednesday, and they never disappoint.
Currently Eating: Pink Lady apples, Brussels sprouts, buffalo tofu.
Not all at the same time. I'm just saying that these things make me happy.
Currently Dealing With: Stupid People on Facebook, PhD anxiety.
First, if I see one more uninformed person talk about gun rights or the Affordable Care Act or other things that are rage-inducing I am going to scream. UNSUBSCRIBE. My new thing is just to ignore those who don't know what they're talking about, and just trust that I'm doing the best I can do to educate those who want to learn and grow. It makes my life easier.
Second, I am all done sending out my PhD applications, and because of that, I just have to wait the agonizing three months it will take before I hear anything (usually applications take until mid-January to make it to anyone's desk because of the winter break, and then it takes them a ton of time to read the applications and send them off to their respective committees, and THEN they have to send out waitlistings and other such nonsense. So, all I can do is wait. And it is driving me insane.
I'll probably write something later on this week about Thanksgiving, but don't hold me to it. It's hard to write when you're snuggling your nephews, passing out on the couch from tryptophan, and diving face first into sweet potato pie.
ally
I've been trapped in the cycle known as GRADE ALL THE THINGS in the past two weeks; 38 final drafts of Paper #2, as well as several revisions of said paper, and plugging in midterm grades and writing up final project assessments and all of that fun stuff. So some things had to get put on the backburner, like blogging and cleaning and eating vegetables. But now I'm on break, I've had a green smoothie for breakfast - yes I'm one of those - and catching up on some things that needed to be addressed. I'm also currently digging a few things that I thought you guys might like to hear about, so I'm going to to hopefully make this a recurring series of blogs about things I'm currently into.
Currently Watching: Catching Fire.
The newest installment of the Hunger Games series - the book is a trilogy, the film is a proposed quadrology - came out on Friday, and the boyfriend and I saw it on Saturday after a stellar Friendsgiving dinner at my bestie Shelley's house. It kicked. My. Ass. (both the dinner and the movie!) Catching Fire did everything right. It had the pathos the first film lacked - except for when Rue died, that was heartwrenching - and the director, Francis Lawrence, is much more skilled at action sequences than Gary Ross. He also knows how to employ closeups with a wide angle lens, a technique that doesn't wreck the viewers' perception of space. Therefore, the movie looked better than the first film in the series. The performances are richer; I don't even have to go into how obsessed I am with Jennifer Lawrence and Elizabeth Banks in this movie, do I? The stakes are higher. The political commentary is more incisive. Also, read this: Why Peeta Mellark is Katniss's Movie Girlfriend. What a great commentary on the gender schema present in the film and the books.
Also - the Doctor Who 50th Anniversary Special. I don't watch a ton of Doctor Who although I am a big fan, but the episodes I've seen I've highly enjoyed. The Special aired while the boyfriend and I were at the Friendsgiving, so we made sure to stay away from social media during that time.
Currently Reading: The Divergent Trilogy.
I must be honest; a few pages into the first book in this series, I was convinced it was nothing more than a retread of Hunger Games. But it's got enough changes to keep things interesting. The city that was once Chicago is now divided into several factions: Abnegation (selflessness), Dauntless (bravery), Erudite (intelligence), Candor (honesty), and Amity (kindness). At sixteen, the members of the factions take a test to determine which faction they are best suited for, and then they make the choice as to which faction they will go to. Tris Prior, an Abnegation, is tested, but she comes out as testing positively for three factions: Dauntless, Erudite, and Abnegation. This multiple result makes Tris a Divergent. From there, mayhem ensues. The book is incredibly involving from an emotional perspective, which is a lot different than HG because that book is all about trauma that divests one of emotion. Here, emotion is powerful and it ricochets throughout the narrative. Also, I feel the relationships formed by Tris are handled in a way that is more involving than Hunger Games, but that's something that comes from the narrative being about relationships in a way that The Hunger Games is about a wider commentary on political and cultural norms. Basically, it's crack, and you should get on it. They just released the final book in the trilogy, Allegiant, which I've already bought off Amazon even though I'm only halfway through Insurgent, the second book. It's that good.
I do read things that are not YA dystopian fiction. This is just more fun to talk about than the other book I'm reading dealing with the culpability of German women during the Holocaust.
Currently Listening: The Last Podcast On The Left.
This podcast is not for people who are sensitive. I will say that much. It's a group of comedians - Ben Kissel, Marcus Parks, and Henry Zembrowski - who sit around and talk about their research on all things macabre and weird. They cover everything from serial killers to ley lines to alien abductions to cults. They're a bunch of goofballs, but the best part of it is that they are tremendously organized and researched, so you laugh while learning something. It's incredibly offensive, but that is my jam. My current favorite episodes deal with serial killers; they're starting a new series called Big Hitters that cover the most infamous killers of all time, and they just opened the series with two episodes on Ted Bundy. It's what I looked forward to after teaching all day on Wednesday, and they never disappoint.
Currently Eating: Pink Lady apples, Brussels sprouts, buffalo tofu.
Not all at the same time. I'm just saying that these things make me happy.
Currently Dealing With: Stupid People on Facebook, PhD anxiety.
First, if I see one more uninformed person talk about gun rights or the Affordable Care Act or other things that are rage-inducing I am going to scream. UNSUBSCRIBE. My new thing is just to ignore those who don't know what they're talking about, and just trust that I'm doing the best I can do to educate those who want to learn and grow. It makes my life easier.
Second, I am all done sending out my PhD applications, and because of that, I just have to wait the agonizing three months it will take before I hear anything (usually applications take until mid-January to make it to anyone's desk because of the winter break, and then it takes them a ton of time to read the applications and send them off to their respective committees, and THEN they have to send out waitlistings and other such nonsense. So, all I can do is wait. And it is driving me insane.
I'll probably write something later on this week about Thanksgiving, but don't hold me to it. It's hard to write when you're snuggling your nephews, passing out on the couch from tryptophan, and diving face first into sweet potato pie.
ally
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