Tag: this is e

broken hearts

My room is full of broken hearts. There’s the heart shaped plate that I dropped once. The bottom corner chipped, which ironically states “love endures.” She got it for me. There is the heart shaped mirror that I got from Ikea. Dropped, again by me, by accident.  The one inside my body. I’m not sure how this one cracked, especially since I’ve been guarding it against men and women for years. But recently, as I notice myself pushing away from people. I notice that I’m scared of it cracking any more. Like it could finally snap and break into a million pieces inside my chest. Like one more disappointment will finally destroy me.

The only heart in this room that is holding steady is the one on my wrist. The tattoo I got for my 22nd birthday. I had drawn it on there for months before I actually got it to make sure that I really liked it there. At the tattoo parlor, the artist told me to place it a little lower because when I fold my hand down, my skin wrinkles and over time it would ruin, break essentially, my heart tattoo. So I took his advice and over this years this is the only heart that has survived.

When I was younger, I told people, confidently, that I would fill this heart in when I got married. As I get older, I just let people comment on it’s quirkiness. It’s not a uniformly shaped heart, it’s obvious that I drew it. I don’t dare talk about why I would fill it. It doesn’t seem as likely anymore, at least to me. To people who know, they all say that I will get married. That these worries are silly. They don’t get how I can’t see myself as they see me. Believe me, I wish I could.

But as I approach 30, everyone else’s worry is weighing me down. I understand it, but I don’t want to hold it along with my own worries. Right now, I want to figure out what to do with all these cracked hearts. I don’t want to throw them away, they mean something to me. The hearts are still pretty, the hearts are still hearts. My heart hasn’t cracked into a million tiny pieces. And it won’t, even though some days it feels dangerously close. And I know I need to stop pushing people away because someday they might stop pushing back to stay where they are.

Days like today feel like failures in my happiness project, but days like this are inevitable. My goal was to be happy every day, not all day every day. And my day is still young, there are actually a lot of things that I can do to bring a little happiness my way – from my guiltiest of pleasures (anything Twilight, I know, I know) to creating things I can share with my love ones (currently, I’m crocheting about 4 different cowls for Christmas presents). I’m cooking brunch, a healthy one at that, so I can smile as I scarf down all this yummy food. I can talk to my brothers, who I adore, or my mother, who I admire. Or I can work on my dissertation proposal or comps reading list, not fun activities but it feels good to get anything done on them. Or I could get back and bed and daydream, or I can keep writing.

e.

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Today I decided to stop worrying.

Today I decided to stop worrying.

All that worrying had gotten me was less peaceful sleep, when I could, and that was starting to mess up my skin and the last thing I wanted to do was start the week with messed up skin. Besides, I had been worrying for a little over two weeks faithfully and nothing was really changing.

I was worried about a paper that I had all summer. In the beginning I thought “Hey I have all summer, I’m going to take a little time to relax and then I’m going to bust this bad boy out.” By July I start thinking “I’d better get cracking on this paper.” Then disaster struck, well disaster by dissertation standards – my results were totally not doing what I wanted them to. I had to go back and check what I had actually done and think about how I can salvage my intro and lit review. Although the paper with the funky data wasn’t the same paper for class, it used the same data set and most of the same variables. Surely my class paper was going to be ruined too.

When I finally stopped worrying, I ran the data for class and that worked out fine. Now to write the paper. Ugh, the hard part. So I started and then came to the part that actually mattered to the class – interpreting odds ratios (aka the results section). This was when worry turned to panic. I began to imagine getting my first F ever in life in grad school. I contemplated dropping the class (but I’ve never been a quitter). Or doing something that is totally logically but that I never do. I asked my friend A for help. After about 5 minutes, I knew what I had to do and turned in the paper. I spent all of labor day weekend working on the paper – aside from a brief break to Saturday Morning Cartoons (hands down the best party of the summer).

I finished the paper around 11:30 on Monday night. Classes for the fall semester start the next day. I turned the paper in and avoided email all morning.

I had finished the paper but turned it in so late could he even give me a grad? Wow e. you’ve really done it this time.

Long story short, he got the paper and I got a B+ in the class (Praise sweet baby Jesus).

On crisis down. Another crisis that had not been solved with worry but with action.

I have another crisis left. Finding a roommate. Yes, I’ve been actively looking for 3 months down. 3 chicks who have confirmed they were moving in and then disappeared later, I have resolved to not solve this problem with worry because it doesn’t help. I’m going to do what I have to do and talk to my landlord on Monday. But I will not spend an entire weekend alone with my worries. No way.

e.

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that awkward moment when you think you’re having a quarter life crisis

and then realize 20 minutes later that this is just life and I need not be a drama queen about it.

In my defense, I didn’t start the day thinking anything was happening.  It all started when my aunts suggested I read Quarterlife Crisis: The Unique Challenges of Life in Your Twenties.  A request I initially scoffed at like “Psst, I’m not having a quarter life crisis.” After talking to my friend, it became ”I’m not having a quarter life crisis… am I?” But then I kept coming back to “I’m not having a quarter life crisis.” and the definitive “I’m just (grad school) broke.” But for twenty minutes, I had a mini quarter life crisis wondering if I was actually in the middle of an actual one and didn’t get it. I don’t feel like I’m going crazy.  This isn’t a crisis, this is life.

Anyway, my friend described her quarter life, which was acting crazy for her (and embarrassingly normal for me). The drinking, the partying, the ahem… yeah that’s what I normally call Summer Eva and that’s how I have spent most of the summers of my adult life. My friend described how her friends had to stage an intervention and how she was so angry because she didn’t think anything was wrong then, but now, she looks back and calls shenanigans. I commented that if I ever had a quarter life crisis it was right after college and I coped with it in all kinds of bad ways, but the worst was men. I did a fairly good job of concealing it (if you didn’t read my xanga, which most of my friends didn’t), so no one knew how out of control my behavior had become and no one staged an intervention to bring my back to myself, mainly because no one knew… or I guess even if they did, they didn’t think it was that out of character.  And now, I find people encourage that behavior because it’s fun.  But that’s a different post.

Then I talked to Jose, who very knowingly said something to the effect of “No you’re not having a quarter life crisis, stupid.  Now get to writing.”   This snapped be back to reality.  I realized (remembered?) that I wasn’t having a quarter life crisis just as easily as I had dismissed it earlier. I am not in a crisis, not even financially even though I complain about it all the time. It’s more that I’m at a crossroad. At this point in my academic career, I have so many options, it’s a little scary – but not crisis scary. More of an exciting-and-I’m-lucky-to-have-this-”problem” scary.  What my friends have started to call “first world problems.”

I’m guessing it’s because I have so many options that it looks like I’m out of control. There’s nothing wrong with options in my opinion. I know my boss and family would probably sleep easier if I would just commit to a path, but that’s never been my way. That doesn’t mean I’m in a crisis, it means I’m embracing an opportunity. I’m taking my time making a really important decision that has multiple right answers. I’m taking some pretty major risks, but I’ve always done that. Even when I’m acting crazy, I’ve always landed on my feet. Maybe I’ve tumbled a little upon hitting the ground, but I’ve always been able to dust myself off and get back up again. That’s what life is about.

e.

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remembering it’s the simple things

This weekend my mother came down to help me declutter and to stage my apartment so I can get (yet another) roommate.  I figured it would be all work and no play since I have a ton of stuff and we hadn’t planned any activities.  In fact, I felt bad that all we could do is hang out with each other.  But it turns out that was exactly what we both needed.  We actually ended up chilling way more than working but it was so fun.  Some of my best friends came down to hang out with my mom or just meet her for the first.  We ate well, we drank a lot.  We watched rom coms and talked about happiness and our dreams for the future.  When it was done, I realized that this was easily the best weekend I’ve had all year and runner up for the most fun I’ve ever had in New York.

And it was all so simple.   And that is so awesome.  Just spending time with people that you love, that’s what it’s all about.  And that’s what I love about New York.  It’s not the night life or the shops; it’s that most of my favorite people in the entire world are here.  And that it’s close enough for my mom, another one of my favs, to come down for the weekend.

And when it was over, something very strange happened.  I missed my mom.  Like really missed her.  It was more strange considering I had just seen her the weekend before and I can very easily see her this weekend.  I can talk to her all the time, in fact, I do.  But after this weekend, I missed her.  I still do.

But back to the subject at hand, this weekend reminded me that is really is all about the simple things.  What a pleasant reminder.

e.

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somewhere along the way I lost myself

I’m not quite sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way I lost myself.  I lost my muchness.

There’s a scene in the remake of Alice in Wonderland when the Mad Hatter meets up again with Alice and notices that she’s different.  She’s afraid and she’s not who she used to be.  He tells her, “You used to be much muchier.  You’ve lost your muchness.”  I know, it’s a child’s movie and a silly scene, but lately that’s how I’ve begun to feel about myself.

When I was younger, I was a character.  I did my own thing and didn’t care what anyone thought about it.  I was myself.  And then something happened, I’m not quite sure.  From then I began to doubt myself and my abilities.  And I became scared of everything – success, failure, trying.  And it was sad.  And it was exhausting. And I am tired of it.

So join me as I try to regain my muchness again and become that cool kid I know I am.

e.

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2011

I decided to spend this New Years alone because I wanted to get a jump start on my personal plans for the next year.  I know that 2011 will be a year of a lot of personal development, maybe even more than this year.

For me, this year is all about happiness.  As some who has struggled with depression for years (that’s a whole different post), 2010 was the first year that I spent more time feeling happy or ok than depressed.  This was especially surprising because this has also been the year that I put myself out there with more men than before (and more often than not, it ended in heartbreak. lots of heartbreak).  Anyway, a lot of this happiness is a direct result of an intentional change in the way I think.  This year, I made a point to think more positively, to visualize what I want, and to put it out into the universe (yes, I live by The Secret and now, The Power).

In addition to happiness, this year is also about love and gratitude.  Something I’ve been doing is writing love letters to my friends, basically telling them how much I love them and that they are appreciated.  This year I plan on spending more time with my family.  They are my biggest cheerleaders, they are always happy to hear from me and forgive me for all my faults – mainly my flakiness.  This year I also plan on working on  my relationship with my father.  It is significantly better than it was just a few years ago, but I know he wants to talk more and spend more time.

2011 is already looking promising.  I finally get to go to Paris, although it’s for a conference, I know I’ll be able to sneak a lot of sight seeing into this trip. (note to self: reread Black Girl in Paris)  Also my mom is coming so it’s exciting to start checking things off her bucket list.

I’ve got a better grip on silkscreening so the t-shirts are coming along smoothly.  It’s actually pretty easy to get custom orders and I already have a design that will sell pretty well.  It’s pretty incredible how supportive my friends are about this, very humbling.

And finally, I plan on putting a huge dent in my dissertation.  My presentation for Paris is a chapter from my dissertation.  I have a few people that I can interview for my qualitative section of my dissertation.  And essentially when I finish the boys quantitative section, it will be pretty easy to do the girls section.  The tutorial I took last semester provided me with a lot of the theory section.  I’m really starting to think I can actually finish this by 2013. #holla

Happy New Year.

peace,
e.

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thank you “i see his penis out” woman

I kept seeing links to the video all week and finally decided to check it out this morning.  Long story short, some asshole rubbed his condom-covered peen on a woman in a not crowded subway and she was not having it.

I thank her for it.

I’ve lived in New York for about five years now.  Thankfully no one has felt the urge to expose them self to me, but like most other women, I am constantly harassed walking down the street.  I try to keep it civil. For example, if a man says I’m beautiful, I’ll say “Thank you.”  Not because I am thankful that he paid a compliment, but because if I don’t say anything I will inevitably get hit with “Why you so saditty?” “You’re not that cute anyway!” or the ever classic “Bitch.” *rolls eyes*

Anyway, I’ve become pretty numb to this weak holleration, but what happened to me on Saturday night still bothers me.  I was walking to a party (just stop, I don’t want to hear about how I should not be parading around Brooklyn at night) and I’m waiting on the corner of Washington and St. Marks and this man comes up to me and tells me I’m beautiful.  Blah blah, I say thanks and turn back to the street.  I’m wearing my headphones but I can tell he’s still talking.  I take one ear piece out to hear better.  In retrospect, I should have just kept the headphone in and continued to ignore him.  He repeats what he said and I make the fatal error of asking him what did he just say because I can’t believe he just said what I thought he did.  But sure enough he really did say “I would love to eat your p*ssy out.”

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat the hell?! Seriously?  When did this become the hot pick up line?

So I’m stuck at the longest light ever and this dude continues to talk about my no-no area, about how pretty it is, about how he’d have me limping in the morning and continuing to tell me that he’d eat it up, because apparently, that is the ultimate compliment he can pay.

I really wish I could have snapped back into reality and say all the things I wanted to say.  I wish I would have told him that my very pretty pink petal is definately out of his league and he needs to take all this wack game somewhere else.  Alas, all I could muster up is “Wow, that is crazy inappropriate” and continue my prayer to stop light gods that that light would finally turn red so I could run away.

The light finally turns red, I literally run across the street.  All the while, this guy is now yelling about how beautiful my vagina is. *sigh*

While holla back has been trying to fight street harassment for years, the reality is that legislation is not going to stop it.  Other easy answers, such as telling parents to raise their sons better, or telling women to not engage these men so they aren’t confused into thinking this constant harassment is a compliment that makes women feel good, are also not the ultimate solution.  In fact, I’m not really sure what is the answer.

What I do know is that next man that decides he’s going to disrespect and humiliate me like that will get a hell of a lot more than “wow, that is crazy inappropriate.”

peace,
e.

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The Good Old Days: Brownappella

So sometime in late 2003, Smith had an karayoke guy come and record us singing.  The following foolishness ensued:

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enjoy,
e.

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what i did instead of writing my paper

School hasn’t even started yet and I’m already procrastinating (old habits die hard).  Anyway, I’m trying to write up the results of my presentation for the AddHealth conference and instead of just plugging away, I did this:

before:

after:

My roommate encouraged me to embrace the mistakes, it makes it look more authentic. nice.

Hopefully it will inspire me to actually do some work.

peace,
e.

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doing things that scare me

This summer I am trying to do things that scare me, so that they won’t scare me anymore.  Lately my biggest fear has been writing. While I think I am an ok writer, some of my professors don’t agree and frankly, that has really shaken my confidence.  So much so that I barely write on any of my three blogs. I know I need to get over it and that most of this is in my head. I just need to write.

This summer I want to learn how to skateboard. this is something I’ve wanted to do for years but I was scared that I would fall.  Sure I’m going to fall, but it’s not like I’m going to fall off a cliff or something. worst case I’ll scrape my hands and knees (nothing new there).  I’ve also allowed my friend to talk me out of this, her reasoning being that I can’t do it.  I hate it when people tell me I can’t do something.

Finally, I need to tell people to stop treating my like shit or acting in ways that hurt my feelings.  I really, really don’t like confrontation, but I’m realizing I don’t like they make me feel more. And I really hate the way I feel when I don’t say anything.  So this is something that I really need to work on because I just want to be happy and there are a few people in my life who make that difficult, and actually a few that I just wish would go away.

So these are my summer goals. Wish me luck.

e.

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