Of Dads and TayTays

I took last week off as I’m just so emotionally drained and fatigued from everything going on in the world right now.  There have been days I’ve just wanted to stay in bed in a fetal position.  Luckily (maybe?), my dad raised my brother and I to get out of bed every morning.  Feel sick?  Get up, take a shower, get dressed and if you still feel bad, then go back to bed. Usually, after going through he motions, might as well go on with the day as planned.

Considering I could probably count on my hand the number of days I saw that man take off form work, he was dead serious.  And yes, I said HAND, not hands.  He had an incredibly hard job.  He worked for a power company which would require him to work on/near boilers in the heat of summer and hydroelectric equipment on the river during the dead of winter.  I look back and I’m amazed at how hard he worked.

While there’s longterm gains of being raised by a man like this, it wasn’t always easy.  I had a list of things I never tried with my dad that other kids would get away with their parents:

1. Backtalk (ok, occasionally, I was his daughter after all), 
2. Complain about how my life is hard
3. Be lazy
4. Cry over spilt milk, anything really (he wasn’t much for whining)

The summation of this is a pretty straight forward life philosophy: don’t sit around and cry about things.  Get your head out of your <edited for content> and go work for it.  Take control of the situation - you have no one to blame but yourself if you found yourself in a bad situation.  Dad was a tough love kinda guy.

Fast forward the numerous years of my life until now.  Holy Guacamole.  I lack sufficient vocabulary to express how I truly feel about this complete and utter <edited for content>show that’s playing out locally and nationally.  How did we break things so badly?

Well, I wasn’t raised to sit around and just complain about things, and about how everyone else should be doing “this” or “that”.  That’s not how I was raised.  However, human interaction really isn’t in my wheelhouse.  Want me to evacuate a build/room fast?  I’d recommend yelling “Unstructured Networking time!” instead of “Fire!”.  No, I’m not joking.  I’d rather burn than make small talk.

No, it isn’t fair that I’m wired this way, but my dad would also say “The Fair’s in August.”  Regardless of how uncomfortable I am, I have to get over it.  My city needs me.  And, truth is, your city needs you too.  *insert cheesy Batman joke here* 

So, over the past few months, I’ve signed up for more volunteer work that places me in very uncomfortable positions (as in emotionally.. not physically.. just to clarify).  I’ve found it draining at times, but I’ve also found it quite exciting.  I’ve even attended a political event this evening.  SHOCKER.  True, I left when “unstructured networking” started, but baby steps, right?  And, I did get to pet a cute puppy on the way back to my car.  Win win, right?

Amazing how happy dogs make happy people.  Cats suck - they are never happy with anything.

I get home tonight, after the aforementioned event and sit down to finish up my blog for this week.  Still feeling frustrated, even with taking steps to try to be a part of the solution rather than the problem.  

The title of Taylor Swift’s new single comes across my feed.  Intrigued, I hopped over to Youtube to give it a full listen. 

“Look What You Made Me Do.”  

This song changed my entire outlook this evening.  Last minute, BAM, complete 180.  I've been playing this song on loop for the past hour.  I'm sure generated enough in royalties for her to buy a new yacht.  I LOVE IT. 

Complete and total summation of everything that has been going on in the dark recesses of my brain.

It's the full truth of what's going on right now, if ever I’ve heard it.

Look what you made me go and do. You’ve gone and made me get active and venture out into humanity.  This will not be forgotten.  This will not be forgiven.

So, Good luck, my Dad and TayTay taught me well.

In Defense of Ashley Judd

Yeah, I didn't see that coming either.

She's taken to social media to complain about being called a term of endearment and being complimented on her dress.  Personally, I'd be happy I didn't get a body cavity search. Regardless, I think it's worthwhile to give a different view on why Ms. Judd may have said what she did.

A few years ago, I spent a few months living in another country.  A country where I was a complete minority.  This white chick stuck out like a sore thumb that had a large pink splint attached to it.

Often, during lunch or dinner, I'd head over to the nearest mall to shop and eat.  Ok, mostly to eat.  Every entrance to the mall had a security checkpoint where bags would get checked.  Every time I'd walk up, the guard would usher me through without checking my bag.  Why?  Because I was a "westerner", some harmless white lady.

While this may seem lucky for me, it made me uneasy.  When it first happened, my initial response was "No, you need to search my bag, too".  It's only fair, right? Why are people being profiled like this? I shouldn't be treated any better than anyone else.  My sense of justice was irked.

Now, I'll admit, I doubt the TSA agent in question meant any harm, and I doubt the person needs to lose their job, but I can see why she felt the way she did.  I can also see why she chose to speak out about it.

You should treat everyone equally, regardless of how they look.  One could argue that Judd was the recipient of a compliment, but taking a stand on something when you are profiting from it speaks even more strongly.

As people of privilege (whether being white, straight, Christian, pretty, thin, male, or any combination of these), we are just as responsible to speak out when we see things that don't meet the ideals of the society we wish to live in.  Too many people are judged, profiled, and limited based on things that don't really matter instead of their character.  We shouldn't stand for it even if we profit - we should feel equally as responsible to fix the ills in our society.

And, to be honest, those of us who profit probably bear an even greater responsibility.

Confessions of a Catholic

One thing many (normal, everyday) Catholics agree on, is how much we don’t like going to confession. Sure, the more pious of you will remind me that the Sacrament of Reconciliation is probably one most important Sacraments of the Church.  Why?  Because it’s the ultimate expression of Jesus’s love for us.  All sins, forgiven - which is why He died on the cross for us.

No sin is too small to be seen, and no sin is too big to go unforgiven.

I intellectually understand this, but emotionally and psychologically, it’s hard for me to fathom at times.  I’ve never been 100% comfortable.  I’ve had some amazing experiences after confessions take place, but it’s hard for me to get through the initial “I don’t want to do this” phase.  It’s almost like running - you start out a race and your legs hurt, you wonder why are you doing this and then somewhere along the way you hit your stride, and you get that runner’s high.  Confession is like that.  Sucks at first, then the spiritual endorphins kick in, then it goes south a little when you get some weird penance that you have to complete.  Overall, you feel great, and are glad you did it and all you can think about is that tasty chocolate milk.

Regardless, I’ve been way overdue, and figured I’d best get my butt to the little wooden box.

When I walked in for confession today, I knew it was going to be one of those times.  One of those times where I would be adding a few more ticky marks to the sin list while waiting.  The line was already long and every person seemed to take about 10 minutes.  Times like these, I wish we had a “5 sins or fewer” confessional lane.  The line took about an hour.  And, while waiting, another priest showed up. At first, I wasn’t sure he was a priest until he walked into the priest half of the other confessional.  Once I got through my “whaaa???”, it was too late, the back half of the line I was in scuttled over filling up his line.

Why was I confused?  Some unsolicited advice for Priests: If you are walking around the sanctuary in your white hooded cassock, please leave the hood down - especially in the south.  People might get the wrong idea...

I finally made it through, and the worst possible scenario presented itself - I had a confessor who was hard of hearing, and I needed to speak loudly.  Not what I wanted to do in a church that was starting to fill up for the vigil mass.  And, to top it off, he was a talker.

Yup, this was going to be one of those times.  All I needed was six words.  I’m on a schedule, I did my thing, people are waiting, absolve me and let’s move through the line.  This confessional needed some increased operational efficiency.

I know, some of you are probably scandalized, but there is a point to this, that I’m getting to...

I’m kneeling there, after I’ve gone through my list of “I’m sorry I’ve been bad”s thinking I may have to interrupt to re-confess my lack of patience with humanity when something amazing happened across my ears.

“God didn’t make us to be robots.”  Seven words.  Not the six I had come for, but the seven I probably needed to hear.

As you may have already guessed in previous writing, I’m not a warm fuzzy emotionally teddy bear kinda gal.  I overlook the emotional, because it is typically messy, inconvenient, not relevant and usually illogical.  Even when it’s my own emotions.

This gets me into trouble.  This gets me into a great deal of trouble.  People usually find me standoffish (or worse) as a result.  And, I don’t always make a good first impression, especially with other women.

It’s tough to hear, but it’s necessary.  I wasn’t made to be a logical, analytical robot. Emotions are a part of our organic, complex, human programming.  I was made to be a living, breathing human being.  I was made to love and to be loved.  Just as we all are.

Yes, this was one of those times - one of those times where I realize the power of the confessional.

Let’s hope I remember that next time in the confessional line.