So the last time I posted, it was Tuesday afternoon and I was having trouble adapting to being away from work. Now it's Sunday night and I can't imagine going back. I've spent the last six days cooking, walking, experiencing art, knitting, buying yarn, plotting holiday presents, eating, watching football, reading, and sleeping until 8:30 or 9:00 every morning. It's been pure bliss...like breaks during college without the homework or the inevitable cold that would descend as soon as I stopped moving and sat still for two minutes.
Now that the holiday season has "officially" started, I've been thinking about how to face it this year (we're staying at home at entertaining Stephen's parents). I haven't figured out how to square the religious aspects of Christmas (because it is a Christian holiday and I no longer consider myself a Christian) with the cultural aspects of Christmas (the unrepentant, unabashed commercialism). I feel equally uncomfortable and trapped with both the religion and the commercialism.
Maybe it's about managing expectations. I love giving people gifts, and try to do so throughout the year--not just at Christmas time. I strongly dislike giving gifts out of obligation or because I am expected to give, however (managing "obligations" has never been a strong suit. The word enough is enough to make me dig in my heels and refuse to act, whether it makes sense or not). What I've been thinking about is how to escape the feeling that the holidays are obligatory and about giving material objects because "it's that time of year"--especially since I know my closest friends do not feel that the holidays are "obligatory" at all (and I love giving them gifts because I can do it joyfully and without expectations).
I think I'll approach this season as a meditation on expectation and obligation and will keep asking myself: to whom am i giving joyfully? to whom am I giving because I'm "supposed" to? And what am I going to do to change that feeling?
11.23.2004
Thoughts on Time Off...
This is going to sound a bit odd, but I'm going to throw it out there anyway. I've taken Tuesday and Wednesday off from work (in addition to the Thursday and Friday holiday) and honestly have no idea what to do with that time. I continually forget that I'm so attached to structure, to lists, to "doing." I know that having time is something precious, something to appreciate--so that makes it even more frustrating that I feel unsettled when given time. It's as if no matter how much or little I have to do, I desire of state of having less to do--but when that state of "less" is achieved, it still does not suffice. So having to grocery shop and do laundry today feels burdensome in much the same way that sitting at my desk at work sometimes does.
Maybe it's just the transition from working life to time-off life, from sitting at a desk thinking about people's database questions, writing, or answering questions on the phone, to thinking about grocery lists, what's for dinner, laundry, knitting, reading, and all the other things that sneak into the cracks during daily life but now can come to the front of my mind. (And don't forget about finding a text for the Christmas card and sending Debbie's birthday present....). I always think that I'm going to lie around and read when I take time off and stay at home, but it never works out that way. It seems to be necessary to go somewhere else--where dishes do not need to be done, or where there are many other people to share the load--in order to really get that space and time in the mind.
It's starting to get dark now--grey and forboding, with a nip in the air after the day's surprising warm dampness. I can see door lights popping on across the street, illuminating the brick fronts of the houses. It's a comforting sight, as light often is in darkness.
Okay--there's the alarm for the laundry....more later!
M.
Maybe it's just the transition from working life to time-off life, from sitting at a desk thinking about people's database questions, writing, or answering questions on the phone, to thinking about grocery lists, what's for dinner, laundry, knitting, reading, and all the other things that sneak into the cracks during daily life but now can come to the front of my mind. (And don't forget about finding a text for the Christmas card and sending Debbie's birthday present....). I always think that I'm going to lie around and read when I take time off and stay at home, but it never works out that way. It seems to be necessary to go somewhere else--where dishes do not need to be done, or where there are many other people to share the load--in order to really get that space and time in the mind.
It's starting to get dark now--grey and forboding, with a nip in the air after the day's surprising warm dampness. I can see door lights popping on across the street, illuminating the brick fronts of the houses. It's a comforting sight, as light often is in darkness.
Okay--there's the alarm for the laundry....more later!
M.
11.03.2004
The Day After
I realized today that I have only ever lived in "blue" states: Massachusetts, Maine, Minnesota, New York, and New Jersey. Maybe that's colored my entire approach to life.
It was by no means certain that an Irish Catholic girl growing up in a household dominated by a conservative, Regean-loving father, was going to grow up liberal (in fact, I don't think I disagreed with my father about politics until I was about 17--very late in the game). It's hard to say how I moved from "red" to "blue," so I've been thinking about what it means to be "liberal" and what it means to live in the geographic area of the country I live in. I have a suspicion that the northeast is not like other parts of the country--a suspicion that seems to be borne out by looking at the election map. But what does this divisiveness mean for American? And what America do I belong to?
The whole idea that there are multiple Americas is disturbing to me. Or perhaps I mean that the idea that there are multiple Americas, but only one gets to determine national policy, is disturbing to me. We have no balance in this country, and I am afraid. Afraid of women's rights being eroded, or more soldiers dying in Iraq, or more hatred being aimed out the US because of our foreign policy, of people coming to harm because they do not have access to appropriate medical care, or even jobs. Maybe I've been insulated where I live--in a safe, relatively liberal pocket of the country and am out of touch with the country at large. But I bet, too, that if I talked with people in the rest of the country, got to know them, that they would seem like people and not "conservatives." People are complicated--no one can be labeled "red" or "blue."
But I'm still afraid and I don't know what to do. I guess I have four years to figure it out.
It was by no means certain that an Irish Catholic girl growing up in a household dominated by a conservative, Regean-loving father, was going to grow up liberal (in fact, I don't think I disagreed with my father about politics until I was about 17--very late in the game). It's hard to say how I moved from "red" to "blue," so I've been thinking about what it means to be "liberal" and what it means to live in the geographic area of the country I live in. I have a suspicion that the northeast is not like other parts of the country--a suspicion that seems to be borne out by looking at the election map. But what does this divisiveness mean for American? And what America do I belong to?
The whole idea that there are multiple Americas is disturbing to me. Or perhaps I mean that the idea that there are multiple Americas, but only one gets to determine national policy, is disturbing to me. We have no balance in this country, and I am afraid. Afraid of women's rights being eroded, or more soldiers dying in Iraq, or more hatred being aimed out the US because of our foreign policy, of people coming to harm because they do not have access to appropriate medical care, or even jobs. Maybe I've been insulated where I live--in a safe, relatively liberal pocket of the country and am out of touch with the country at large. But I bet, too, that if I talked with people in the rest of the country, got to know them, that they would seem like people and not "conservatives." People are complicated--no one can be labeled "red" or "blue."
But I'm still afraid and I don't know what to do. I guess I have four years to figure it out.
11.02.2004
Voting Day in Jersey City
So Stephen and I woke up early and got ourselves out of the house by 7:45am to vote. I've never seen lines so long--although it would have helped if I'd actually remembered what district I was supposed to vote in (note to self: E4...E4....E4). People were generally cheery, and I spied much anti-W paraphenalia (which was heartening, but then NJ is a blue state).
The reality of voting is always so banal. Our district voting location is in the lunchroom of the Jersey City Public Library--it's a gorgeous building, but the lunchroom looks could have been a teacher's lounge at an elementary school. I remember going to Smith School with my parents when I was growing up and waiting while they voted--it seemed like the most extraordinary thing. You got to go into a little booth, pull a curtain, and vote! (And bear in mind that I played "library" and "office" as a small child, too) It was always so strange to see the school gym transformed into a room full of adults instead of dodge-ball flinging kids. Voting is extraordinary--but not in the way that I imagined when I was growing up. It isn't glamorous or exciting, and it feels filled with doubt (does my vote count? Will this really make a difference??) But it is important, and I'm really excited that so many people are turning out to vote.
Now all we need to do is elect the right person...
The reality of voting is always so banal. Our district voting location is in the lunchroom of the Jersey City Public Library--it's a gorgeous building, but the lunchroom looks could have been a teacher's lounge at an elementary school. I remember going to Smith School with my parents when I was growing up and waiting while they voted--it seemed like the most extraordinary thing. You got to go into a little booth, pull a curtain, and vote! (And bear in mind that I played "library" and "office" as a small child, too) It was always so strange to see the school gym transformed into a room full of adults instead of dodge-ball flinging kids. Voting is extraordinary--but not in the way that I imagined when I was growing up. It isn't glamorous or exciting, and it feels filled with doubt (does my vote count? Will this really make a difference??) But it is important, and I'm really excited that so many people are turning out to vote.
Now all we need to do is elect the right person...
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