Fear is a lot stronger than I ever expected. Fear is what has kept me from writing. Fear has kept me from living. And it is fear that keeps coming back for me. I wrote over a year ago how I have been afraid, but I felt that with a lot less hair, I was able to beat fear. I was wrong.
I'm sitting at my desk with a box of tissues because I'm afraid of being honest. I'm afraid that the guy across the courtyard will seeing me crying as he waters his plants. I'm afraid of going to bed tonight and not saying a word about how much I cried today. I cried today because I'm afraid. I cried and I feel absolutely ridiculous. Because I'm so afraid of staying put.
Life is terrifying when things are going wrong and you're hoping for something to stop you from running. Then finally you stop running. You start to get your feet on the ground for more than a moment. Life is slowing down and you are walking at your own pace, toward the life you hoped for all along. One foot is placed in front of the other; one step at a time. Then before you know it, life allows you to stop. Stop and catch an acceptance letter, a partner who falls in love with you, a scholarship, a job, an apartment, and opportunity. Life is happening and this morning I woke up waiting to pack and run again. I've been waking up, waiting for something to be wrong and some reason to move again.
I've spent all of my, (albeit short) adult life in constant transition. There are moving boxes that I haven't throw away for seven years because they are already labeled for my next move. My boxes are ready for the next place I have to call home. Home sweet home...out of necessity. There are some treasures that I have not unpacked since high school because I didn't have the room, or I couldn't bear glancing at them before putting them back in a box. Now I'm sitting at a desk where my permanent change of address form is sitting next to me. It's there with mail sent to this address, because this is where I live now. This is where I live and I get to stay here more than nine months. I live in an apartment without a set move out date that I know the moment I walk in. I've unpacked...everything. I have taken everything out of tissue paper and there have been lots of broken-down cardboard in the recycling bin out back. I've unpacked, but I've had a feeling that I was holding something and not taking it out of the box. There is something I've kept wrapped up and it is my truth. And truth is...that I don't really know how to unpack.
Some people have wanderlust and there bags are packed because it fuels them. It's not wandering for them, but adventure. I am not that person, but I've grown accustomed to living in temporary spaces that I never truly own. My movements have been decided by a paycheck or a grade report. Along the way, I've met some of my best friends and I never want to change that; they helped me discover adventure every step of the way. But now, I have a new adventure and it requires me to stay put.
I have plants now. Herb plants that sit on the windowsill. I water them everyday. I haven't had plants in years because I knew that I couldn't keep them. I knew that I would be moving before too long. Now I get to have them because I'm not going anywhere. Is this what putting down roots feels like? Plants on a windowsill? It's so simple and so important. I get to see my Dad on Father's Day and I'm going to get to give my Mom her birthday present in person. Because I'm home. I live here. I'm not going anywhere. And that is scarier than I thought.
Transition has been my routine. I would never get too comfortable and never put pictures in frames because they take up too much room in a box. I'm transitioning to a life with stability, a life I've been wanting and I'm scared. Again. I'm afraid to get comfortable. I'm afraid to unpack everything. I'm afraid of throwing away the box for my dishes that sits above the refrigerator because it's the perfect size to fit them all in. It's perfect for a move, but I'm not going anywhere.
I make coffee every morning and pour two cups. I keep the coffee grounds in a mason jar with a 2 tablespoon to scoop into the grinder. I do it the same way every morning. It's a real routine that I don't have to think about changing because I'm staying put. Is that unpacking? I don't know if it is, but for now I'll keep my routine. I'll keep making coffee in the morning. I'll keep unpacking...because I'm finally learning how to settle in. I'm finally home.
Thursday, June 25, 2015
Saturday, June 28, 2014
Coffee to Go, Please
When someone asks where I'm from I always have to consider where I am first...
In Chicago I never say that I'm from Chicago, because then I would get twenty questions asking about which neighborhood I live in when the truth is that I do not live within city limits and would therefore be yelled at for the grave Chicago-sin I have committed.
In Philadelphia I say I'm from Chicago and I get big eyes asking why I moved and why I didn't stay at home to continue seminary where it would be convenient?
In California I say I'm from Chicago, but then someone asks about my flight and I tell them that I flew from Philadelphia because I go to school there...to which I get more big eyes, some more confusion and a "wow" reaction which I still don't know how to respond to.
Traveling has always been a dream of mine and not only visiting places, but living in them and learning about the reality of life in new places I would never dream of going. This has actually been my life for the past five years. I decided for a summer job to forego working somewhere close to home and decided to fly halfway across the country to work at a camp nestled in the Redwoods. Then for seminary I decided that I wanted to try out the East Coast and try my next adventure in Philadelphia, the city of Brotherly Love and Sisterly Devotion.
These decisions have changed my life and I would definitely do them over again. I would never give up these places and these people. I had a professor once give me some advice in college when I was considering the job in California and she told me that she believes every Midwestern girl should really live on both of the coasts. It is vital to get out and see what the rest of the country has in store...and I did. Yet there is one part of this that no one told me about...heartbreak.
As I move from place to place and continue on my journey I meet incredible people. I have met people who have changed my life forever. Due to my travels I have people in my life that I don't know how I ever lived without. Yet the problem is that at some point I always have to say goodbye. No one warns you with traveling like this there is heartbreak because you never know when or if you will see someone again. There is always an expiration date on spending time together and then you are gone.
There is always a countdown to leaving which I never get used to. Getting excited about a new place is a double edged sword because sometimes getting excited can seem like I am happy to leave, which is not the case. I cherish the time I spend in each one of my homes and I try my best to live where I am and be present with the people around me while keeping in touch with those in other places.
Winnie the Pooh tells Christopher Robin, “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” (A.A. Milne) The truth is that hard goodbyes, as heartbreaking as they are and as difficult as they feel are truly some of the biggest blessings that we have. Difficult goodbyes happen because there was something or someone who touched our lives and have forever changed us. Maybe the heartbreak from this type of traveling is felt because the heart must grow to reach those faraway places...or maybe a piece of heart stays as our feet move on.
I hope as my life continues and my journey moves forward that pieces of my heart are scattered throughout the world and that my heart becomes a patchwork of those incredible people who have forever touched my life.
In Chicago I never say that I'm from Chicago, because then I would get twenty questions asking about which neighborhood I live in when the truth is that I do not live within city limits and would therefore be yelled at for the grave Chicago-sin I have committed.
In Philadelphia I say I'm from Chicago and I get big eyes asking why I moved and why I didn't stay at home to continue seminary where it would be convenient?
In California I say I'm from Chicago, but then someone asks about my flight and I tell them that I flew from Philadelphia because I go to school there...to which I get more big eyes, some more confusion and a "wow" reaction which I still don't know how to respond to.
Traveling has always been a dream of mine and not only visiting places, but living in them and learning about the reality of life in new places I would never dream of going. This has actually been my life for the past five years. I decided for a summer job to forego working somewhere close to home and decided to fly halfway across the country to work at a camp nestled in the Redwoods. Then for seminary I decided that I wanted to try out the East Coast and try my next adventure in Philadelphia, the city of Brotherly Love and Sisterly Devotion.
These decisions have changed my life and I would definitely do them over again. I would never give up these places and these people. I had a professor once give me some advice in college when I was considering the job in California and she told me that she believes every Midwestern girl should really live on both of the coasts. It is vital to get out and see what the rest of the country has in store...and I did. Yet there is one part of this that no one told me about...heartbreak.
As I move from place to place and continue on my journey I meet incredible people. I have met people who have changed my life forever. Due to my travels I have people in my life that I don't know how I ever lived without. Yet the problem is that at some point I always have to say goodbye. No one warns you with traveling like this there is heartbreak because you never know when or if you will see someone again. There is always an expiration date on spending time together and then you are gone.
There is always a countdown to leaving which I never get used to. Getting excited about a new place is a double edged sword because sometimes getting excited can seem like I am happy to leave, which is not the case. I cherish the time I spend in each one of my homes and I try my best to live where I am and be present with the people around me while keeping in touch with those in other places.
Winnie the Pooh tells Christopher Robin, “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” (A.A. Milne) The truth is that hard goodbyes, as heartbreaking as they are and as difficult as they feel are truly some of the biggest blessings that we have. Difficult goodbyes happen because there was something or someone who touched our lives and have forever changed us. Maybe the heartbreak from this type of traveling is felt because the heart must grow to reach those faraway places...or maybe a piece of heart stays as our feet move on.
I hope as my life continues and my journey moves forward that pieces of my heart are scattered throughout the world and that my heart becomes a patchwork of those incredible people who have forever touched my life.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Shave Off the Foam
Fear is a place that I know too well. I am afraid all the time of reality, my future, deep water and so much more. Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, a day when we as Christians remember that we are sinners and death is a reality for each of us. It is a time of coming together as a community in knowledge that we are frail human beings.
I have been afraid for so long, I didn't think that I knew anything else. I didn't realize until yesterday that so much of my fear was tied up in my hair...so I shaved it.
When my hair changed from straight to curly at puberty I found that I didn't understand how to deal with this strange new hair. I spent years finding products, asking questions and looking frizzy. Yet what also came with the curly hair was for me, a physical distinction that I was Mexican. My mother's family didn't have curly hair, so this was definitely from my father's side. In my mind, that was what made me Mexican...my hair. This identity piece was crucial because when I didn't want to be seen as Mexican I would straighten it. I would straighten the frizzy curls that I didn't want to embrace and I was envious of my friends who had beautifully straight hair. Then when I was finally living into my heritage I put the straighten down and turned off the blow dryer and my curls were a statement. Curly hair was a liberation and a statement of freedom; freedom from a long relationship, freedom from fitting in and the freedom to be naturally me. I have poems that I wrote about my hair, in one line or another. My identity was completely caught up in my curls.
Another aspect of my fear is in the fact that for a long time now my hair has been thinning. No longer was my hair thick, but now I had to deal with being in my twenties with visibly thinning hair. I had no one to go to who had gone through this and it was so terrifying that I barely talked about it myself. When one of my family members would say something I would stop them and even start crying. It was as if my hair was rebelling against me and I didn't know why or how to stop it. (Since then I have been to a doctor to see what is happening with my thinning hair.)
I have visibly thinning hair at the age of 24. As I began to really acknowledge this about myself, more fear was creeping into my mind. I was afraid that no man would want to be with me because my hair was thinning and that I should just accept a life alone. I was afraid that I would no longer feel beautiful or be beautiful. I was afraid of bright light in pictures because it was easier to see. I was afraid of certain angles that would show my lack of hair. I was so afraid that my femininity would be questioned. I was so afraid that I would no longer be E.
When I was considering how to deal with this (cosmetically) I began to consider options like locks, short hair, hats and then I began to think about shaving my hair.
I barely talked about my fear with my hair and so when I would open up my mouth about it, I would either cry or try to laugh about it. In both instances I would say "I could just shave it off" and it was either seen as a joke or part of a fit of hysterics. Yet part of me wanted to be serious about shaving my hair off. Then yesterday a friend of mind came into chapel with a Mohawk and said she was going to shave the rest of her head later because she didn't like it. When I saw her I said, "maybe I should shave mine." It was a statement I had in my heart and head for a long time, but saying it aloud without laughing or crying was to terrifying. I was supported by friends and took the day to consider it. I called my mother and found that after the shock passed I would be supported by my family and getting rid of my hair would not change how much I am loved.
Now I sit here in the morning light with a shaved head and I couldn't be happier. I finally decided to shave my hair off because I wanted freedom from my fear. I am in a place where I know my Mexican identity does not reside in my hair, it is who I am in my heart and in my blood. I decided that I didn't want to live in fear of thinning hair, so instead of being afraid I decided to claim that fear. Embrace the fear and free myself from it. In shaving my hair I have embraced my fear and been liberated from it! I was reminded in chapel yesterday when the ashes were touched to my forehead that I am a beloved child of God and that no matter what I fear Christ holds me in his crucified hands and says, "You are mine."
I am still afraid of many things, what my future holds, open water, the dark and of disappointing those who I love the most. Some of this fear has been lifted from my shoulders with my hair because no matter what I remember that I am loved by Christ and I am shown that love in the faces of my friends and family who support me, stand next to me and even take the clippers in their hands as they help me shave my way to a new freedom.
This post is dedicated to them.
I have been afraid for so long, I didn't think that I knew anything else. I didn't realize until yesterday that so much of my fear was tied up in my hair...so I shaved it.
When my hair changed from straight to curly at puberty I found that I didn't understand how to deal with this strange new hair. I spent years finding products, asking questions and looking frizzy. Yet what also came with the curly hair was for me, a physical distinction that I was Mexican. My mother's family didn't have curly hair, so this was definitely from my father's side. In my mind, that was what made me Mexican...my hair. This identity piece was crucial because when I didn't want to be seen as Mexican I would straighten it. I would straighten the frizzy curls that I didn't want to embrace and I was envious of my friends who had beautifully straight hair. Then when I was finally living into my heritage I put the straighten down and turned off the blow dryer and my curls were a statement. Curly hair was a liberation and a statement of freedom; freedom from a long relationship, freedom from fitting in and the freedom to be naturally me. I have poems that I wrote about my hair, in one line or another. My identity was completely caught up in my curls.
Another aspect of my fear is in the fact that for a long time now my hair has been thinning. No longer was my hair thick, but now I had to deal with being in my twenties with visibly thinning hair. I had no one to go to who had gone through this and it was so terrifying that I barely talked about it myself. When one of my family members would say something I would stop them and even start crying. It was as if my hair was rebelling against me and I didn't know why or how to stop it. (Since then I have been to a doctor to see what is happening with my thinning hair.)
I have visibly thinning hair at the age of 24. As I began to really acknowledge this about myself, more fear was creeping into my mind. I was afraid that no man would want to be with me because my hair was thinning and that I should just accept a life alone. I was afraid that I would no longer feel beautiful or be beautiful. I was afraid of bright light in pictures because it was easier to see. I was afraid of certain angles that would show my lack of hair. I was so afraid that my femininity would be questioned. I was so afraid that I would no longer be E.
When I was considering how to deal with this (cosmetically) I began to consider options like locks, short hair, hats and then I began to think about shaving my hair.
I barely talked about my fear with my hair and so when I would open up my mouth about it, I would either cry or try to laugh about it. In both instances I would say "I could just shave it off" and it was either seen as a joke or part of a fit of hysterics. Yet part of me wanted to be serious about shaving my hair off. Then yesterday a friend of mind came into chapel with a Mohawk and said she was going to shave the rest of her head later because she didn't like it. When I saw her I said, "maybe I should shave mine." It was a statement I had in my heart and head for a long time, but saying it aloud without laughing or crying was to terrifying. I was supported by friends and took the day to consider it. I called my mother and found that after the shock passed I would be supported by my family and getting rid of my hair would not change how much I am loved.
Now I sit here in the morning light with a shaved head and I couldn't be happier. I finally decided to shave my hair off because I wanted freedom from my fear. I am in a place where I know my Mexican identity does not reside in my hair, it is who I am in my heart and in my blood. I decided that I didn't want to live in fear of thinning hair, so instead of being afraid I decided to claim that fear. Embrace the fear and free myself from it. In shaving my hair I have embraced my fear and been liberated from it! I was reminded in chapel yesterday when the ashes were touched to my forehead that I am a beloved child of God and that no matter what I fear Christ holds me in his crucified hands and says, "You are mine."
I am still afraid of many things, what my future holds, open water, the dark and of disappointing those who I love the most. Some of this fear has been lifted from my shoulders with my hair because no matter what I remember that I am loved by Christ and I am shown that love in the faces of my friends and family who support me, stand next to me and even take the clippers in their hands as they help me shave my way to a new freedom.
This post is dedicated to them.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Half & Half or Skim for your Coffee?
I'm having one of those...days. Those days that I don't like to talk about, those days that I like to pretend don't exist.
A fat day.
The type of day that every pair of pants I put on feels tight and I hate how huge my butt looks in them when only yesterday I wore red pants, feeling proud of what follows behind me. Every shirt I put on shows off rolls and even my cleavage doesn't look good. I imagine other outfits that I could hide in and wear like armor to shield me from my own eyes in the mirror.
Usually on days like this I try on other outfits and spend time in the mirror criticizing myself, hearing the names that I haven't heard in years, but names that I hear in my own voice now...on days like today. I hear my voice saying the messages I find in magazines, movies, music and plastered all over my world. The messages that tell me that being plus size requires not only special stores, but special people who will look past my body and see me for who I really am.
What does that mean?
I've always wondered why I have been told that I will need to find someone who will have to come to terms with my body or if I get lucky I could find a "chubby chaser". There is a category of men that I have been given, a specific set that I have to find and put myself in their line of vision. Moving past romantic relationships, I also have to find certain friends that will accept my body. Either other friends who look like me, who understand what it means to be a plus size girl. Or acknowledging (as the media reminds me) that if I am will friends who are smaller than me, I will not be the pretty girl in the group. I will will be the funny fat girl in the group. Also when moving in for those facebook pictures, making sure it is only of our faces so the differences in body types won't be so pronounced. When a free drink comes to the table automatically assuming it is not for me.
I have been told with and without words that my body is only suitable for those specific stores, fashion trends that have been altered for my size, comedic relief or a sassy attitude for tv and only relationships where my partner has to be "special". It is this train of thought that gives me days like today, where I stop having to hear or see the negative messages outside of my room and it becomes so embedded that I can say it to myself without batting an eye.
I look in the mirror and don't see me, only the fat girl who shouldn't wear that color because it attracts attention, who shouldn't wear those pants because they show what her legs look like, who shouldn't believe her boyfriend who calls her gorgeous and who definitely shouldn't call herself beautiful.
I am writing this post today because I have decided to confront my "fat days." Today I did not allow myself to try on any new outfits and end up in a hoodie and baggy pants. Today I did not spend time in the mirror criticizing myself, I left the mirror after the word "fat" escaped my lips. Today I did not quietly let this day happen to me without anyone knowing as I shame my own body.
Today I say it out loud: I feel fat today.
The truth is I am never going to feel beautiful everyday. I will have days like today, but the difference now is that they won't quietly happen to me. From today I will fight back. I will not allow my own voice to shame my body without trying to remind myself that I am not fat.
That I am worthy of love.
That I am a size 16.
That I am more than a nice personality.
That I will wear tight pants.
That I will wear bright colors.
That I do not have to change.
That I am beautiful.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
My Truth about Coffee shops
"What are you reading?"
There is a creak as the door opens
My eyes look out with anticipation as I wait
To see who it is...
I make eye contact
And it's awkward -
Two people make eye contact and for one tiny moment -
An instant really
They see each other simply. Profoundly.
No story, no knowledge
Only a brief moment where you connected
Iris to Iris
Maybe there is a slight smile, a head nod
Or the downward purse of your lips as if to say,
"I know you are there and I'm here...if you want."
They walk past you and your open seat
Curled at the end of the couch
Swallowed up in cushions
You study the seat next to you - wondering
What it would be like if they sat there?
I think of -
Sideways glances and noticing how he turns a page
Inhale. Turn. Exhale.
Using only the thumb and third finger
As he reads, he touches his fingers to his lips
Letting the words travel from the page to his mouth
Looking as though a conversation is about to begin
With those words on the page
I yearn to ask him,
What do they say? What formation of letters keep your eyes hooked?
What are you reading?
I hear myself say it and a conversation beginning
I can hear it and my lips begin to part
I take a breath in as I turn my head
Then my eyes land on an empty seat
I remember that I sit alone.
My eyes are too big for reality and my imagination runs
Runs into hope
The hope that someday this seat will be filled
And I will say it aloud...
What are you reading?
-E. Salinas, May 3, 2013
The said truth is...this is what I think when I sit in coffee shops by myself. I do my work while I (not so subtly) make eye contact with whoever I find attractive, hoping that they will talk to me. Now why do I do this? The truth is that I am not quite sure. I know that it probably has to do with the hope for attention, yearning for conversation with new people or maybe I just want to chat with a very attractive man. I can only place a little bit of the blame on the movie industry that reminds the movie goers time and again that if you just sit in a coffee shop long enough someone will get the courage to talk to you for the first time. Only after admitting that they have noticed you sitting and reading/writing/drinking coffee at this specific place for x amount of time and they just had some sort of revelation from their bestie/family drama to not let you (the woman of his dreams) pass by. Then the conversation begins as the camera moves slowly away so that the audience can't hear how much you don't have in common with this person and that no numbers will be exchanged, just a story that be forgotten.
I find that when I sit in a coffee shop by myself I look at who comes in...constantly! My head seems to be on a lazy Susan that swivels from my computer screen to the door. It is so frustrating because there are days (like today) where all I wanted to do was come to a coffee shop and work. Yet I seem to have this automatic response to a shadow sweeping in the corner of my eye to look and check it out or to be honest...hopeful check HIM out. There have been times where I change my outfit in order to look better as I sit and read/write and sip my Guatemalan organic free trade blend with cream and splenda. Thankfully I have gained some restraint (at least for now) and my hair is sitting frizzy, glasses are on and my make-up is sitting in my room and not on my face. Yay for me...
What I wonder is why do we leave our homes to sit in a place where the chairs are uncomfortable, the tables wobble, you have to pay for coffee, there is a need for pants and you might not get that precious place to plug in your computer? I find that looking around there are many people sitting alone with their eyes on a screen and their ears plugged up with buds. Everyone is pretty nondescript and keeping to themselves. Yet we all have something in common, this common place where we can all sit alone and anonymously. We sit in a haven, away from the distractions of our homes, offices and communities. Sitting in a place where all that anyone knows about us is what they can see and maybe how we like our coffee.
"Infused"
There is a low din - a hum of noise around me
The highs and lows of a clarinet sounding through speakers
Fighting for a place while the two girls at the tall table talk
Over their electronic pulses
Reminding each other why they are friends
Through their talk of others whose ears must be burning
Stacks of cups - all with bits of liquid left
Open books and pens uncapped
While cords rope around the controlled and comforting stacks that surround them.
A man packs his bag - done for the day.
His last act is letting his keys jingle
Before placing them in his pocket
Letting those around him hear that he is departing
To a place that requires a key -
Not an open door home that we all seem to be residing in
A one-stop shop to speak or think or write or read
And all the while escaping another world
The line at the counter begins to grow
Change jingles from drawer to tip jar -
A surprising sound in a place filled with plastic swipes
I sit alone infused by those around me -
Knowing that none of us will remember each other
Or recall this day
But also knowing how thankful we are for this space
This haven - an island of escape
Where all that is known is what sits in front of us-
The papers, electric heartbeat
And the coffee that has gone cold.
-E. Salinas, September 7, 2013
There is a creak as the door opens
My eyes look out with anticipation as I wait
To see who it is...
I make eye contact
And it's awkward -
Two people make eye contact and for one tiny moment -
An instant really
They see each other simply. Profoundly.
No story, no knowledge
Only a brief moment where you connected
Iris to Iris
Maybe there is a slight smile, a head nod
Or the downward purse of your lips as if to say,
"I know you are there and I'm here...if you want."
They walk past you and your open seat
Curled at the end of the couch
Swallowed up in cushions
You study the seat next to you - wondering
What it would be like if they sat there?
I think of -
Sideways glances and noticing how he turns a page
Inhale. Turn. Exhale.
Using only the thumb and third finger
As he reads, he touches his fingers to his lips
Letting the words travel from the page to his mouth
Looking as though a conversation is about to begin
With those words on the page
I yearn to ask him,
What do they say? What formation of letters keep your eyes hooked?
What are you reading?
I hear myself say it and a conversation beginning
I can hear it and my lips begin to part
I take a breath in as I turn my head
Then my eyes land on an empty seat
I remember that I sit alone.
My eyes are too big for reality and my imagination runs
Runs into hope
The hope that someday this seat will be filled
And I will say it aloud...
What are you reading?
-E. Salinas, May 3, 2013
The said truth is...this is what I think when I sit in coffee shops by myself. I do my work while I (not so subtly) make eye contact with whoever I find attractive, hoping that they will talk to me. Now why do I do this? The truth is that I am not quite sure. I know that it probably has to do with the hope for attention, yearning for conversation with new people or maybe I just want to chat with a very attractive man. I can only place a little bit of the blame on the movie industry that reminds the movie goers time and again that if you just sit in a coffee shop long enough someone will get the courage to talk to you for the first time. Only after admitting that they have noticed you sitting and reading/writing/drinking coffee at this specific place for x amount of time and they just had some sort of revelation from their bestie/family drama to not let you (the woman of his dreams) pass by. Then the conversation begins as the camera moves slowly away so that the audience can't hear how much you don't have in common with this person and that no numbers will be exchanged, just a story that be forgotten.
I find that when I sit in a coffee shop by myself I look at who comes in...constantly! My head seems to be on a lazy Susan that swivels from my computer screen to the door. It is so frustrating because there are days (like today) where all I wanted to do was come to a coffee shop and work. Yet I seem to have this automatic response to a shadow sweeping in the corner of my eye to look and check it out or to be honest...hopeful check HIM out. There have been times where I change my outfit in order to look better as I sit and read/write and sip my Guatemalan organic free trade blend with cream and splenda. Thankfully I have gained some restraint (at least for now) and my hair is sitting frizzy, glasses are on and my make-up is sitting in my room and not on my face. Yay for me...
What I wonder is why do we leave our homes to sit in a place where the chairs are uncomfortable, the tables wobble, you have to pay for coffee, there is a need for pants and you might not get that precious place to plug in your computer? I find that looking around there are many people sitting alone with their eyes on a screen and their ears plugged up with buds. Everyone is pretty nondescript and keeping to themselves. Yet we all have something in common, this common place where we can all sit alone and anonymously. We sit in a haven, away from the distractions of our homes, offices and communities. Sitting in a place where all that anyone knows about us is what they can see and maybe how we like our coffee.
"Infused"
There is a low din - a hum of noise around me
The highs and lows of a clarinet sounding through speakers
Fighting for a place while the two girls at the tall table talk
Over their electronic pulses
Reminding each other why they are friends
Through their talk of others whose ears must be burning
Stacks of cups - all with bits of liquid left
Open books and pens uncapped
While cords rope around the controlled and comforting stacks that surround them.
A man packs his bag - done for the day.
His last act is letting his keys jingle
Before placing them in his pocket
Letting those around him hear that he is departing
To a place that requires a key -
Not an open door home that we all seem to be residing in
A one-stop shop to speak or think or write or read
And all the while escaping another world
The line at the counter begins to grow
Change jingles from drawer to tip jar -
A surprising sound in a place filled with plastic swipes
I sit alone infused by those around me -
Knowing that none of us will remember each other
Or recall this day
But also knowing how thankful we are for this space
This haven - an island of escape
Where all that is known is what sits in front of us-
The papers, electric heartbeat
And the coffee that has gone cold.
-E. Salinas, September 7, 2013
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Hard to Swallow
“The eyes of others our prisons; their thoughts our cages.”
― Virginia Woolf
When I first read this quote I found it all too true for me. I have always been a person who likes to observe life and the people around me and I have even dubbed myself a "people watcher." I sit in crowded places like coffee shops, airports or on public transportation during my commute and I find myself fascinated by the clothing people wear, the way they occupy themselves and their interactions with those around them. Yet what I have started to question is whether I am watching others to understand them or to see if they are curious about me?
For so many of us there is always this question of validation and we look for it in others around us, even those we have never met. The best complement is the one from a stranger, someone who has absolutely no reason to tell you that your skirt is cute or your necklace is gorgeous. There is no relationship to keep alive or cushion with complements; a simple admiration for what you have draped yourself in that goes no deeper than the stitching of your shirt. I have found this especially true for women who seem to me to be more apt to speak to strangers about the beauty they see in front of them, I am included in this category. I am that crazy woman who talks to people on the train or bus, in the coffee shop or airport and starts a conversation by complementing earrings, tattoos, shoes...anything really. The question is why do I do this?
I have thought in the past that I like to complement others because I was curious where they found their outer adornments; a work of reconnaissance to aid in my own style. Then I thought more and considered maybe I am the Good Samaritan of style, helping others feel good about their morning choices and nursing their self-confidence through a nice comment or two. Although these are sincere thoughts to why I complement others, the truth resides in my own desire to be desired. There is a reciprocity that I hope for as much as I hate to admit it; a sick curiosity and selfish thought that if I notice what they clothe themselves in, will they take notice of me?
When we look in the mirror before we leave for the day is it to see how we look or to see how others will see us? Changing an outfit over and over again because it is not what we want to wear or because we want to change the person who people will see when we walk out the door? I find that when I get ready to walk out the door I wonder what others will think of me and what they perceive from what I present in my appearance. I find that my mirror is not about what I see but wondering what others will see. I don't say to myself, "This dress makes me look fat", instead I wonder, "Will the people I cross paths with think that I look fat in this dress?" I worry that if I don't take friends with me when I buy clothing that I will make a wrong decision and so I try to see how I look through their eyes.
This is not easy to admit, but for me I have found after the ending of my relationship I have had a much harder time in being satisfied in my appearance. I believe that part of this uneasy nature is because for so long I had a pair of eyes that always saw me as beautiful with no question and never asking for change. Just a pure satisfaction in me. Now as a single woman I am trying to make my mirror in the morning about me and how I see myself, not how I wonder what others will think of me. Although this will be a difficult journey it is one I want to begin.
I do not want to find the best view of myself in anyone's eyes but my own.
― Virginia Woolf
When I first read this quote I found it all too true for me. I have always been a person who likes to observe life and the people around me and I have even dubbed myself a "people watcher." I sit in crowded places like coffee shops, airports or on public transportation during my commute and I find myself fascinated by the clothing people wear, the way they occupy themselves and their interactions with those around them. Yet what I have started to question is whether I am watching others to understand them or to see if they are curious about me?
For so many of us there is always this question of validation and we look for it in others around us, even those we have never met. The best complement is the one from a stranger, someone who has absolutely no reason to tell you that your skirt is cute or your necklace is gorgeous. There is no relationship to keep alive or cushion with complements; a simple admiration for what you have draped yourself in that goes no deeper than the stitching of your shirt. I have found this especially true for women who seem to me to be more apt to speak to strangers about the beauty they see in front of them, I am included in this category. I am that crazy woman who talks to people on the train or bus, in the coffee shop or airport and starts a conversation by complementing earrings, tattoos, shoes...anything really. The question is why do I do this?
I have thought in the past that I like to complement others because I was curious where they found their outer adornments; a work of reconnaissance to aid in my own style. Then I thought more and considered maybe I am the Good Samaritan of style, helping others feel good about their morning choices and nursing their self-confidence through a nice comment or two. Although these are sincere thoughts to why I complement others, the truth resides in my own desire to be desired. There is a reciprocity that I hope for as much as I hate to admit it; a sick curiosity and selfish thought that if I notice what they clothe themselves in, will they take notice of me?
When we look in the mirror before we leave for the day is it to see how we look or to see how others will see us? Changing an outfit over and over again because it is not what we want to wear or because we want to change the person who people will see when we walk out the door? I find that when I get ready to walk out the door I wonder what others will think of me and what they perceive from what I present in my appearance. I find that my mirror is not about what I see but wondering what others will see. I don't say to myself, "This dress makes me look fat", instead I wonder, "Will the people I cross paths with think that I look fat in this dress?" I worry that if I don't take friends with me when I buy clothing that I will make a wrong decision and so I try to see how I look through their eyes.
This is not easy to admit, but for me I have found after the ending of my relationship I have had a much harder time in being satisfied in my appearance. I believe that part of this uneasy nature is because for so long I had a pair of eyes that always saw me as beautiful with no question and never asking for change. Just a pure satisfaction in me. Now as a single woman I am trying to make my mirror in the morning about me and how I see myself, not how I wonder what others will think of me. Although this will be a difficult journey it is one I want to begin.
I do not want to find the best view of myself in anyone's eyes but my own.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
I'm Going to Need Another Cup...
Dearest,
Well, its the first full week back and already my reading and ambitions for the semester are piling up. I feel as though when I am in one of my classes I have tunnel vision and I think of all the possibilities for a project or my readings as if it was my only class. Then I leave the room and someone jolts me back to reality where I am not spending my time with one class...but with 5! Here is a break down of my classes and what I found out in the first week:
Pastoral Care - Taught by my advisor and already in the first class we dove into a "what would you do?" situation as a class. It was very intense, but I'm hoping that my instincts will help me out in this class. One of the books I am reading for the class is "Evensong" by Gail Godwin, it is about a young woman in ministry and already I'm interested in what the book has to say for me.
Old Testament - I've have already told you how much I enjoy this subject and especially the way that I'm learning it. The visual aspects along with the text and my favorite word, CONTEXT! This semester we have made a running start with Job, a fascinating book that captures me when I read it.
Lutheran Confessions - Here is where my copy of The Book of Concord will become completely annotated, already my orange highlighter is everywhere, there are notes in the margins and already I am beginning a color-coded tab system...surprised? I didn't think so. Reading in that book is truly opening my eyes and I am looking forward to the intricacies that come forth in the reading.
Liturgy - Well, the class began with singing a Kyrie in Portuguese and ended with dancing....everything in between was full of excitement and passion. I have always been a little scared of liturgy and I think this class will help me break down those walls. Also the culminating project which I will fill you in on as the semester moves on begins with visiting and talking to a group of people who are marginalized by society. I have already started looking into visiting a woman's shelter in Center City and I'm jazzed for this project.
Hebrew Readings - Here is where my remedial Hebrew skills will be enhanced and I will actually learn how to utilize the language in my ministry. The class will be translating the entire book of Ruth....I'm nervous but excited to dig into the text and create my own translation.
Well here are my classes and I will be updating you more as the semester goes on them, but outside of class I am trying to get more involved with the chapel starting this week with leading Holden Evening Prayer on Tuesday night. I'm nervous, but ready to get into the music. Also I have signed up for an Adult Shakespeare class at a local theatre! I'm ready to speak the speech once again and live in the beautiful poetry and prose that will never be far from my life.
I must go now and get to work, but I look forward to catching up next week.
Talk to you soon,
E.
Well, its the first full week back and already my reading and ambitions for the semester are piling up. I feel as though when I am in one of my classes I have tunnel vision and I think of all the possibilities for a project or my readings as if it was my only class. Then I leave the room and someone jolts me back to reality where I am not spending my time with one class...but with 5! Here is a break down of my classes and what I found out in the first week:
Pastoral Care - Taught by my advisor and already in the first class we dove into a "what would you do?" situation as a class. It was very intense, but I'm hoping that my instincts will help me out in this class. One of the books I am reading for the class is "Evensong" by Gail Godwin, it is about a young woman in ministry and already I'm interested in what the book has to say for me.
Old Testament - I've have already told you how much I enjoy this subject and especially the way that I'm learning it. The visual aspects along with the text and my favorite word, CONTEXT! This semester we have made a running start with Job, a fascinating book that captures me when I read it.
Lutheran Confessions - Here is where my copy of The Book of Concord will become completely annotated, already my orange highlighter is everywhere, there are notes in the margins and already I am beginning a color-coded tab system...surprised? I didn't think so. Reading in that book is truly opening my eyes and I am looking forward to the intricacies that come forth in the reading.
Liturgy - Well, the class began with singing a Kyrie in Portuguese and ended with dancing....everything in between was full of excitement and passion. I have always been a little scared of liturgy and I think this class will help me break down those walls. Also the culminating project which I will fill you in on as the semester moves on begins with visiting and talking to a group of people who are marginalized by society. I have already started looking into visiting a woman's shelter in Center City and I'm jazzed for this project.
Hebrew Readings - Here is where my remedial Hebrew skills will be enhanced and I will actually learn how to utilize the language in my ministry. The class will be translating the entire book of Ruth....I'm nervous but excited to dig into the text and create my own translation.
Well here are my classes and I will be updating you more as the semester goes on them, but outside of class I am trying to get more involved with the chapel starting this week with leading Holden Evening Prayer on Tuesday night. I'm nervous, but ready to get into the music. Also I have signed up for an Adult Shakespeare class at a local theatre! I'm ready to speak the speech once again and live in the beautiful poetry and prose that will never be far from my life.
I must go now and get to work, but I look forward to catching up next week.
Talk to you soon,
E.
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