Speed Dating Fails

Best of 8/19/2012

1. “We can still leave. Let’s go kayaking!”
“Well, we aren’t really dressed for kayaking. Let’s stick it out.”
“Alright, but I’m going to need a glass of wine.”
Bartender informs that Sunday nights are 50% off wine bottles.
“Oh no....”

2. “If you are leaving, you need to put your bottle in a bag.”
Bartender wraps bottle in a plastic bag, Thank You written multiple times down one side.
“Thanks...”
Complete registration and enter speed dating group, bagged bottle in one hand.

3. Email to registrants. “It is very important that you either show up or cancel with enough notice to fill your spot. We strive to keep an equal number of men to women.”
“How many people are registered tonight?”
“We have about 18 male/female pairs.”
Show up at my table along with another female, also numbered 19.
“Umm... it looks like we over registered females. Wait here until the men catch up to your numbers.”

4. “I was recently awarded the Speed Dating Facilitator of the Year. That’s nationwide.”
“There are two number 19, 20 and 21’s.”
“Hold on!” under breath “how is this happening?”
“Is this how you win Facilitator of the Year?”
Looks. Blinks. “I’m still ahead of Tampa.”

5. To group of 5 over-registered women: “So, who coerced you guys into coming to this thing tonight?”
“I don’t understand. I googled searched for it.”

6. Arrival of Bachelor #1: “I got here late. What are we supposed to do?”
“See, you have this sheet with numbers and people that correspond with each number. You talk with someone and take notes on this sheet, then you mark whether you liked them and want your contact information sent to them.”
Watch as my name is written down by the Number 1 slot.
“No, I’m number 19, so you write my name right here.”
“Thank you. You are so informal.”
“How do you mean?”
“You know, you know so much stuff.”
“Um... thanks.”

7. Each person gets 4 minutes to determine if they want their contact information sent to the opposite person.
“How is your night going?”
“Um... great.”
Awkward silence. Bells rings.

8. Four bags of candy sit on my table. Next guy approaches.
“Would you like a bag of candy?”
“Well, my brother is the organizer to this thing, so I’ll probably end up with all the candy anyway. Also, I’m fat.”
“Oh. I suppose you could throw it up later, if it’s a problem.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”

9. “So, do you have a 4 min schpeel? Did you practice any questions before hand?”
“No, I thought I’d just wing it and see how things go.”
Awkward silence. Bell rings.

10. Meanwhile, two tables away:
“Is Becca short for Rebecca?”
“Yes.”
“Do you just not like your full name?”
“What?”

11. “What were you doing in New York city?”
Answer for 3 seconds before noticing the blank look and stare over shoulder, which happens to point toward a wall.
Still in conversational tone of first three seconds “and it doesn’t matter anyway since no one is listening.”
Smile.
No reaction from blank stare bachelor. Asks next question.

12. Awkward conversation #7: Bachelor offering suggestions on what a vegetarian could possibly eat in Brazil that is not bbq. Answer, vegetables.
“I think we really connected.”

13. “I just took a test to be a nursing assistant.”
“Oh, is that like changing a bedpan?” joking.
“Actually, there are 15 steps to changing a bedpan.”
E-how only has 6. I shudder to think what 9 steps are missing:  http://www.ehow.com/how_8280270_change-bedpan.html

14. Reconvening with Becca at the end to discuss the night.
“This is a rule. You have to circle at least 5 guys.”
“5!!?!?? I’d be hard pressed to choose one for another 4 min conversation, yet alone exchange my contact information.”
Ugh...

15. “Pancakes?”
“Pancakes.”

Happy. Thank you. More Please.

Central Beach Wilderness, Olympic National Park

It is spring in Seattle.

Sometimes this means the rain lingers until mid-July. Grey hangs heavy on the city, clinging to building corners, closing in on the streets, swirling down on pedestrians and dogs until both escape into Starbucks, Tullys, [insert independently owned coffee shop name here] to forget the sky in alternative milk lattes and scones. In these years, the temperature slowly creeps from 40 to 60 degrees. This gradual change goes unnoticed by most as it is hidden by clouds, marine winds, and predictably constant precipitation. Sometimes it stays this way until July, when residents collectively plan a mass exodus south to California. Seattle is not for the weak at heart. 

Fortunately, Seattle has sprung into an off year. Last week was mid-May. Last week hit 80 degrees over the weekend. Pedestrians and dogs stumbled into Eden like parks, high on sunshine and Vitamin D, claiming that here - Seattle in the Spring - is paradise on Earth. How quickly we are to forget. How quickly to forgive a weather system that would have us all strung out on caffeine, vitamin supplements, and anti-depressants just to get through an eight-to-five work day. Being native to Washington, I pull on my shorts and tank tops with the rest. However, I remain distant from the hope that summer has finally arrived. I emotionally prepare for the heartbreak of the inevitable returned rain. Seattle Spring is a fickle lover. 

---

I took my lunch break at 9:30 this morning. I had been at work for 20 minutes and was struggling to pull my thoughts into an order that resembled something more organized that a bowl of tangled spaghetti noodles. If my thoughts stopped making sense to me, how was I going to convincingly portray their meaning to co-workers? Rather than serve out a bland mess of gibberish at my upcoming meetings, I took immediate intervention and left my work for coffee and a morning stroll through the park, justified by my promise of productivity once I returned. 

At one point during my walk (eyes finally opened by coffee consumption), I passed underneath a tree making an impressive display of spring, covered in purple blossoms that looked like snap dragons. I picked up one of the blossoms from the ground, convinced that something so beautiful and abundant must smell like a weed. But it didn't. It smelled sweet, delicious, fresh. Floral, but not overwhelmingly strong. Sweet, but not sickeningly so. How can it be that on a beautifully sunny day in Seattle, a large tree is covered with purple blossoms and smelling like nectar? Is it right to have so much good in one place? Is the existence of this tree, on this spring day, withdrawing too much from the invisible bank of goodness? Will the universe turn against this display of indulgence? 

With my hands cupped around the blossom, I breathed in the scent to see if I could use it up. Could this scent grow sour or bitter after being smelled. It didn't, but I was so lost in the moment and my thoughts that I didn't notice a car backing up toward me, only three feet away. I noticed the car and the driver noticed me and we both agreed to stop our current trajectory and avoid catastrophe for another day. However, being an odd person tilted toward eccentric behavior and thoughts (and now an odd person struggling with the meaning of death in life after my uncle's passing), I continued the scenario out in my head and visualized my own death. The car backed into me (in my head) and I was left broken and dying on the pavement. Blossom still in my hand, I bring it to my nose to smell it's perfume while life leaves my body. In this scenario, would the scent grow sour or bitter? Would the experience change if I knew that this was the scent of death? It didn't; it remained the same: sweet, fresh, fragrant, light. The universe doesn't seem to care about made up death scenarios when parceling out scent. The blossom still smelled beautiful, even to the not yet existent dying me (in my head). Stubborn and stoic, this blossom with it's beauty and scent. Stoic in it's indifference to the happenings of the world around it; stubborn in its unwillingness to compromise a good existence with something more accommodating. 

The whole experience of the blossom, the tree, the sun and spring reminded me of a little quip my friend mentioned while we were hiking last weekend: "Happy. Thank you. More please." When you are given something that is good, you acknowledge the fact that you are happy. Thank the universe for sending you such a wonderful something your way. Meanwhile, let it know that if more of the same should find its way into your life, you would be ecstatic to accept it. Previously, I would view this acceptance and acknowledgement of something good as opening myself up to unnecessary pain when it decides to leave. There is vulnerability in happiness, if you are always preparing for the misery. I couldn't get to the point of contentment and thankfulness, I was too scared at the fleeting nature of the moment. And so it would leave, just like I knew it always would, and I would be back wallowing in misery even though I never left that misery when things were good. I was holding the spring blossom to my nose, searching for the bitter scent of death. Could I just let it be a blossom, on a sunny day? 

The pull of death in the fall usually spurs me on toward crazy. The trees are so beautiful that my eyes tear up and hurt when I look at them. The world is dying, giving itself up to some place where I cannot follow. Thrown into the grey of winter, I would despair that this now, this is the last moment of beauty I will every see. I died along with the world, or at least wished that I could die with the world.  Sadly, it took me 29 years to fully understand spring; to fully believe the fact (obvious to most) that ultimately, life not only follows the death of winter, but follows it abundantly. I can look at a tree, thick and fragrant with purple and rejoice in the existence of the tree, abundantly good. I can say yes I am happy, thank you for this beautiful gift during my stolen morning walk, and please don't hesitate to send me more. If it is sun that follows, I'll repeat the mantra again. If it is rain, well... I'll enjoy the sound of the water on the roof and windows.

I now have facts of which I believe with full and unabashedly assured faith: Spring follows winter. When the night is tired of the dark, dawn will break over the mountains. Rebirth can, if we are looking for it, come out of death. 

Happy. Thank you. More Please. 

I'm in love with my life right now. It is abundantly good.

Seattle, WA in the spring

It's always there, whether I see it or not.

Identifying My Biggest Fear of Marriage

Where will you be and what will you be doing for the scheduled apocalypse this December 2012?

My co-worker, Becca Shim, and I were discussing our 5 year plan, building careers, buying houses and how these mile markers of adulthood seem lost to our generation due to lack of jobs, unrealistically high house prices, and educational debt weighing us down like Atlas' globe. When will we finally make it? When will we be adults?

Marriage is a surefire way into adulthood. I reflected that my parents had three children by the time they were 29, stable jobs, and a house they had just purchased (though it did smell like dog urine), qualifying them as successful adults. However, if one should seek this route in this day and age, the wife would more likely that not be left with children and her husband's debt. Thus revealing my biggest fear of marriage, being left with debt and children. Becca just wants to buy a house and build a backyard homestead in the city.

Of course, up to this point our conversation did not take into consideration the fact that the world as we know it will be ending December 2012. After this winter, down payments will no longer be necessary. You only need a large enough mob of pitchfork wielding neighbors securing and protecting desired homesteads. No down payments, no debt, no civil order aside from pitchfork wielding majority rule. Could this be Utopia?

With no debt, the only other thing a husband could leave his wife with is the children... assuming the husband could get away. But see, in PAW Utopia (Post Apocalyptic World Utopia), our angry mob serves another function than just land security... husband fetching. Should a husband leave his wife with children (again, debt no longer exists), the angry mob could hunt said husband down and deal with him accordingly. Problems solved, fears addressed.

So, today I not only identified my single biggest fear of marriage, but also found a solution. AND my solution is not even based on something completely impractical and out of my control, like the end of the world!

Success!

Happiness is... my nephew: 12.02.2011

Brilliance is getting your back/neck massaged and adjusted, then sleeping on your brother's couch that very same night. And by brilliance, I mean stupidity. The only consolation to a night of fitful sleep was hearing my little Boo's pathetic cry in the morning, around 7:00. I pulled my aching body from the couch and cuddled that little bundle of nephew in my arms while he pushed at my face and cried for mama. You can't win them all.

After my sister fed him his bottle and his blood sugar returned to a happy level, I tried again. There was less crying, so I started a new game. Here are the rules: I look at Aidan's feet with deep longing and hunger, mutter "cookie" over and over again (like a crazy person, naturally), then give in to the temptation and gobble up his pajama'd feet and stomach. He writhes and squeals and laughs, making my heart melt all the while. After he has been thoroughly devoured, he returns the favor. He looks at me, mutters "cookie" (like a crazy person), and lunges his whole little body into my arms, sliming whichever part of my body comes in contact with his mouth. Three months ago, this would have been Aidan's version of a kiss (minus the cookie prelude, of course). The affect on me remains the same: I'm 100% infatuated with my nephew.

There is also a new toy in my brother's household. Yesterday, Todd walked to Petco with the Boo and purchased him the toy of his choice.* For $2.99, Aidan now has four Christmas balls each containing a bell. There is also a feather on top, adding to the holiday joy of this paternal gift. Over Cheerios and tea, Sarah and I sang Christmas songs about bells while Aidan skillfully played percussion. With the feather addition, Aidan could hold all four balls at once, a feat of which he was incredibly proud. I was less proud of my current knowledge of Christmas lyrics, which is a chorus here and there, dissolving into a few words and mostly humming. I have resolved to learn Christmas lyrics and take my nephew caroling, eventually.

The last incident of the morning was while I was drying my hair. Aidan came running into the bathroom mumbling something unintelligible. I'm assuming he thought his hands (filled with green Christmas balls) were drenched through and needed drying. I complied and blasted his hair, hands and feet with the warm air. "Hot" he exclaimed and laughed. In order to complete my own hair drying, I told him the red Christmas balls also needed drying and that he should go fetch them. This gave me about 2 minutes to continue getting ready before he returned mumbling with a concerned look on his face, hands still full of green balls. I blasted him with the hair dryer and again asked him for the red balls, thinking maybe he didn't yet know the difference of color. Two minutes later, he returns again with the green balls, mumbling and concerned. I'm done drying my hair at this point and let my request go. As I'm leaving, I open the child gate to the stairs the two red balls. At some point in the morning, Aidan deposited the red balls through the gate, onto the stairs and very thoroughly out of his own reach. It turns out he does know his colors after all!

My nephew is brilliant.

*Footnote: My brother and Aidan go to Petco to look at animals. My brother is fully aware his son is not an animal, regardless of the fact that toys are very similar for both pets and small children - minus millions of dollars for product testing, of course. No one cares if a dog eats a Christmas light, for example.

Happiness is... my brother and Sarah: 12.01.2011

I'm staying at my brother and sister-in-law's house on Thursdays, because who wouldn't want to spend as much time as possible with my nephew. (My family has also decided that I need the opposite treatment of solitary confinement...which would be... social affliction?) Several days ago, my nephew decided to eat a Christmas light. Sister-in-law caught on to what the little monster was doing with enough time to pull out 2/3 of the munched bulb. The other third is mysteriously gone. Todd and Sarah now have to dig through his poop with a plastic fork, looking for the missing piece. If it doesn't come out by tomorrow, they need to take him to the hospital for x-rays. Between his cookie monster obsession and this incident, we are pretty convinced Aidan is training himself to become the next Michel Lotito. Egads, look at those teeth!

At some point, while talking about the bulb feast of nephew Boo and poo digging, we noticed that Todd is not friends with my uncle, Tim, on the Facebook. With little prompting, Todd sent Tim a friend request, stating that it was depressing his request would never be granted. But what if it suddenly was? What if Uncle Tim responded to the request and we found out Facebook was the missing link to the after world. What if the 80 billion people who have ever lived signed up for Facebook accounts? The systems would crash - whole computer systems would go down!

But then, how cool would it be for me to say that I'm friends with Moses? Or, what would it mean if Moses never friended me back? And what about Abraham, Sarah added. His family connections would include everyone, because his progeny is more numerous than all the grains of sand. Is it bad of me to wonder what sort of Facebook profile Jesus would have? I ask. I bet he would be friends with everyone! No, Sarah decided. He would send out a friend request to everyone and all you would need to do is accept him!

By this point, the three of us are dying laughing. That's terrible! I tell Sarah. Yeah, but it's true though!

I should come up to my brother's house more often.

Recovery - Step Two: Out the Trauma

With tentative steps, I journey to the next portion of my recovery: Storytelling to out the trauma.

I would prefer a cabin in the woods with a solar-powered laptop, bowls of lentil soup and ginger tea to keep me warm and safe. Maybe I would only need a month there, maybe a year. What I have is a small apartment in Seattle, a routine including work, running and rock climbing, and the beautiful yellow leaves of Ravenna Park moments from my doorstep. Maybe with that lentil soup and ginger tea snippets of time in the evening will be enough.

Of course, maybe they won't be enough. The beautiful thing is that this is my recovery. The pain is inside right now. It's teeth gnaw, it's claws shred. It wants out, I want to let it out. As I walk through my memories, this may no longer be the case. When that happens, I will stop my telling until I am ready. This is my story. This is my journey. I can (and will) determine the path it takes.

And so, it is with this affidavit that I give you an excerpt from Dr. Janja Lanich's book, Take Back Your Life: Recovering from Cults and Abusive Relationships (Berkeley: Bay Tree Publishing, 2006). I plan to use the following 15 characteristics as my working outline.

"Concerted efforts at influence and control lie at the core of cultic groups, programs, and relationships. Many members, former members, and supporters of cults are not fully aware of the extent to which members may have been manipulated, exploited, even abused. The following list of social-structural, social-psychological, and interpersonal behavioral patterns commonly found in cultic environments may be helpful in assessing a particular group or relationship.

Compare these patterns to the situation you were in (or in which you, a family member, or a friend is currently involved). This list may help you determine if there is cause for concern. Bear in mind that this list is not meant to be a 'cult scale' or a definitive checklist to determine if a specific group is a cult. This is not so much a diagnostic instrument as it is an analytic tool.

1. The group displays excessively zealous and unquestioning commitment to its leader and (whether he is alive or dead) regards his belief system, ideology, and practices as the Truth, as law.

2. Questioning, doubt, and dissent are discouraged or even punished.

3. Mind-altering practices (such as meditation, chanting, speaking in tongues, denunciation sessions, and debilitating work routines) are used in excess and serve to suppress doubts about the group and its leader.

4. The leadership dictates, sometimes in great detail, how members should think, act, and feel (for example, members must get permission to date, change jobs, marry - or leaders prescribe what typers of clothes to wear, where to live, whether or not to have children, how to discipline chilren, and so forth).

5. The group is elitist, claiming a special, exalted status for itself, its leader and members (for example, the leader is considered the Messiah, a special being, an avatar - or the group and/or the leader is on a special mission to save humanity).

6. The group has a polarized us-versus-them mentality, which may cause conflict with the wider society.

7. The leader is not accountable to any authorities (unlike, for example, teachers, military commanders or ministers, priests, monks, and rabbis of mainstream religious denominations).

8. The group teaches or implies that its supposedly exalted ends justify whatever means it deams necessary. This may result in members participating in behaviors or activities they would have considered reprehensible or unethical before join the group (for example, lying to family or friends, or collecting money for bogus charities).

9. The leader induces feelings of shame and/or guilt in order to influence and/or control members. Often, this is done through peer pressure and subtle forms of persuasion.

10. Subservience to the leader or group requires members to cut ties with family and friends, and radically alter the personal goals and activities they had before joining the group.

11. The group is preoccupied with bringing in new members.

12. The group is preoccupied with making money.

13. Members are expected to devote inordinate amounts of time to the group and group-related activities.

14. The most loyal members (the 'true believers') feel there can be no life outside the context of the group. They believe there is no other way to be, often fear reprisals to themselves or others if they leave (or even consider leaving) the group."

Recovery - Step One: Nurture Something Good

I feel it mostly in my chest.

It builds and pushes against my ribs and upper back, threatening to burst open in flames and ash with each passing day. A deep inhalation releases the tension and shoots through my body with pokes and needles. My breath is the blood flowing to a limb that has been far too distant and deeply asleep; that limb is my voice pushed dormant by tragedy, depression and disappointment.

How many experiences does it take to lose your voice, to have it catch in your throat and burrow down in your heart like a dense and tiny mustard seed? How much time does it take before that same mustard seed cracks open, springing to life at even the smallest rays of hope? Like a whisper in my head, I hear an echo of someone saying that faith the size of a seed can rearrange landscapes. In faith I take that cracked seed in my hands and begin to nurture it toward germination, finding warmth - hope - in the belief that a mustard seed is enough. I am enough.

I take another breath in and with it the pokes and needles. Nothing brings me more into the present than my own breath. I close my eyes. My chest expands with a rush of air into the empty cavity around my heart. I feel the slight vibration in my throat and slight stretch of my ribs. The chair beneath me pushes against my body. My body centers and pushes back against the chair. Breath like blood flows into my body, an awakening, a baptism of my seed in tears, sweat and blood when water flees and dries up.

I read once that our breath forms Ham-Sa, Sanskrit for "I am." The inhale whispers Ham, the release vibrates Sa. Ham -pause- sa -pause- A primordial teeter-totter giving us strength as our lungs mingle the external atmosphere with our body and blood.
I -pause- am -pause- ...
I -pause- am -pause- ...
I -pause- am -pause- enough, my mind fills in the pause between exhale and inhale.
I -pause- am -pause- not damned.
I -pause- am -pause- loved.

As Ham-Sa teeters up and down in my throat and my mind fills in the pauses, I feel something different well in my chest, close to my seed. It also teets and totters with my breath, bringing with it a refreshing rush like cool water, crisp mountain air, rain at the end of a long summer day. Lord Jesus Christ, it starts. Have mercy on me. Lord Jesus Christ inhale... Have mercy on me exhale...

Together the three part orchestra of my body, mind and heart builds a harmony, each part intricately woven into the other by the rhythm of expand and release.
...crescendo: Lord Jesus Christ, I ...diminuendo: Am -enough-, have mercy on me. ...rest...
Lord Jesus Christ, I ... am -loved-, have mercy on me. ...rest...
Lord Jesus Christ, I ... am -not damned-, have mercy on me ...rest...

The music plays on. I see the first hint of growth pushing at the crack in my mustard seed: a very small lime-green fissure in the smooth yellow shell. My voice, timid, out-of-practice, and drowsy with the sleep of 11 months begins to emerge, pushing against my chest and back. Tragedy, disappointment and depression - I feel something stronger - recovery, forgiveness and grace. I am ready to start writing. I am ready to nurture something good.

That, for now, is enough.