Me, or not me?

So in high school growing up, we had this friend Tom with whom we'd play "me or not me," a pretty silly game wherein we'd name different people and he'd have to identify the person as himself or not himself.  So, if someone said "Tom," he would say "me," but  if they said "Katie," he would say "not me."  It was pretty funny/endearing how he would get so intensely sincere, this generally pretty smart kid, about identifying whether a person was him or not. 

Last year at about this time, I posted about embarking on the 40 days of Lent and quoted some particularly striking words to which I want to return at this moment:

It takes kenosis, a stripping of oneself, a totality of surrender. It takes a total interiorization, in which we recollect all our fantastically scattered thoughts. Because symbolically speaking, we must be naked and follow a naked Christ. We can’t take anything with us except faith, hope, and love.

The game we played with Tom as high schoolers seems pretty silly, but now, as an adult, I am realizing that "me, or not me?" is actually a difficult question, particularly when it comes to feelings.  It has taken me a lot of years, but I'm finally realizing - beyond intellectually - that if someone is angry, that is them, that I am separate from them.  I am slowly learning to step back and even put up an emotional barrier of some sort that acknowledges their feelings as well as establishing some sort of distance or distinction.  Just because someone else is sad, just because someone else is angry, even if it is because of me, it doesn't mean that I need to get sucked into it, a false empathy.  Somehow, a part of empathy is boundaries, in a strange way.  I can't really describe it that well. And I'm tired and I need to get up in 6 hours to catch a trolley to catch a train to catch a shuttle to catch a flight.*  So this will not be one of my most well thought out posts. 

Anyway, the journey within is one we are forever and always making, often cyclically, and so at this season of my life I am dedicating this time to a focus on the aspect of the journey pertaining to my own feelings, in essence, an emotional version of "me, or not me?"  I suspect, and it has been my experience so far, that as you learn to step back, to simultaneously experience AND observe what is happening, that the way to act just becomes clear.  And I hope that because I'm giving up something which I enjoy and do regularly (eating sweets/desserts), those little abstentions will serve as reminders for me to keep these thoughts on my mind and heart.  Giving up to possess, letting go to hold on.  The more I focus on emotional boundaries, the more of myself I will be able to give.  Life is - in a way, it seems - abundant with beauty and little infinite paradoxes. 




I've had this song/scene stuck in my head.  I like her making a difficult and scary decision for her family, but also for herself.  And I like it when she prays to the ancestors.  And I like the synthesizer music.  And when she cuts off her hair with a sword.  I don't even know. 




*I'm going to Utah tomorrow to go skiing and see some friends and of course to visit my brother P at The Lord's University.

It's Not Easy...

We had an almost entire family dinner Saturday night and somehow we got to telling ridiculous stories from when we were younger. Priceless.

When my oldest brother was an adolescent, he was totally into the grunge, all-black, shave-half-his hair-and-dye-the-other-half-an-unnatural-color scene. Now, for each of our birthdays, my mother had created a tradition of baking a cake and decorating it as we requested - teddy bears, flowers, Bart Simpson, etc. etc. One year on Bobo's birthday, Mom asked him what he wanted. He shrugged his shoulders and mumbled that he didn't care - she could color it black if she wanted.

So she baked the cake, bought a bottle of black food coloring, and whipped up some delicious lemon buttercream frosting. She added the food coloring and mixed it up to get a nice rich emerald color:

Apparently the acidity of the fresh lemon interfered with the food coloring. So she added some more pigment. And some more. And some more. She ended up adding the entire bottle and it didn't turn out much darker than a hunter green:

"Oh well," she thought to herself. "This will have to suffice." So we had the birthday dinner, put on the ridiculous cone-shaped hats, lit candles, and sang "happy birthday to you." At this point everyone descended upon the cake like the foul sugar-loving beasties that we were.

It was delicious of course, and at some point somebody cracked a funny joke that made everyone laugh, revealing mouths full of disgusting green troll teeth. Tiny three-year-old E's mouth: green. Mom's mouth: green. Even Baby P's toothless mouth had a sickly greenish hue. To our child minds it was so hilarious. Little did we know the green did not stop there.

The next morning I got ready for school, made sure my hair scrunchie matched my stretch pants, brushed my teeth, went to the bathroom. Something was not right. I came downstairs, concerned "Mom, I just went to the bathroom..."

"Everything came out green?" she asked. "It happened to me and your father. And I just changed P's diaper... also green."

Not a single soul was spared.

And a few valuable life lessons were learned. Green teeth are funny. Green doody is funnier. Green pee is funniest!

Test

Look at me… Blogging. Like a cool blogswoman. Also, look what I found in my bowl of ice cream:














Does the picture show? Next step is to try and make the layout beautiful.

So much to do!