Loving again

Loving a person just the way they are, it’s no small thing…  (Sara Groves)

It’s January 2, 2010.  The hoopla of ringing in the new year has silenced.  It’s such a stark contrast, I can hardly fathom it.  The excitement has died.  We’re back to life, back to reality.  What do we do now that January 2 is here?  Get to work on that new year’s resolution that always seems to elude us? 

At every end of the year and start of a new one, there is always talk of making it “the year of  fill-in-the-blank”.  2008 was “the year to date”.   2009 was “the year to shine”.  We threw around a couple of phrases for 2010.  The year of men.  The year of fine men.  The year of women.  The year of fine women.  I voted for “the year of raining men”.  I laughed heartily.

This morning, as I woke up and stood in the silence, it dawned on me.  For me, 2010 will be the year to love again.  I tend to talk and write about love often.  I’ve grown a fascination with it.  I can’t seem to shake it off.  No matter how hard I try to live on and do things to occupy myself and make my life meaningful and fill it up with activities and friends and accomplishments and this and that…I just keep coming back to love.  Loving people.  There just isn’t anything like it in all the world.  No experience quite captures the human soul like love.  No relationship quite as significant as that defined by love.  No feeling that really compares to the one that exudes from love. 

What is love?  (baby, don’t hurt me)  And why does it keep tugging at my heart?

I wanna know what love is. (I want you to show me)  And what it means to love. 

I think I’ve veered off somewhere along the way.  But I’m back, and I’m ready to make 2010 “the year to love again”.

Everyone loves a funny person.

There is a song by a band named Pedro the Lion called, “When They Really Get To Know You They Will Run.”  Never once does he utter those words in the song, so when I finally noticed that it was the title, I did a double-take.  Are you serious?  I chuckled.  The song is about the ridiculous standards that society places on women resulting in a distortion our self-image, written in a very tongue-in-cheek kind of way.  Well written, David Bazan.  But that’s for another post.  What I do want to point out is how that song title speaks loudly to one of my core fears.

I like to fit in.  I like to belong.  I like to be liked.  It seemed like while the rest of the world tried to find its unique place in the world, I was riding the wave of conformity like a professional surfer.  I mean, I spent a bulk of my youth doing my best to blend in and not stand out at all.  Then somewhere along the way, I started to see that I was different.  And I’m starting to be okay with that.  All these years, I denied myself and the world a unique person in all of her fullness… the good, the bad and the ugly. 

As liberating as this experience has been, I forget all the time and I find myself trying really hard to be liked.  I’ve noticed lately that I use humor as a way to appear a certain way.  I’m not a particularly funny person.  I grew up with humorous parents, but I didn’t really acquire that sense of humor.  I’m not all that much into comedies and though I laugh often, for me, it’s not a necessary element to enjoying life.  I admit, I do find funny people, well, funny.  But I think I’ve noticed that people especially love and value those who are funny.

Funny people lighten up the mood in any given environment.  Funny people can crack a joke at almost any situation and see the world in a different way than the rest of us.  Funny people are enjoyable to spend time with and delightful to have in almost any gathering.  Funny people are unique and can make us laugh to no end.  And laughter sure feels good.

But I’m not a funny person.  So why do I act like one sometimes?  I’ve been thinking about it.  Though I’m not sure if I figured it out comprehensively, I have some clues.  I’ve made some headway in building authentic relationships this past year, but there is still a huge part of me that fears connection with another human being.  I have a hard time being present with another person because there are millions of thoughts going through my mind, mostly something along the lines of, You have to say something interesting, otherwise she’ll lose interest in you and not want to get to know you.  Or, Don’t let there be any awkward silences, or else he’ll think you’re boring and not pay attention to this conversation anymore.  Yes.  It’s hard to tell when I’m interacting with a person, but these are the types of thoughts I fight internally all the time.  I’m afraid that if I say one thing wrong or not interesting enough or not funny enough, the other person will find me out and dismiss me.   Basically, I’m afraid that when people really get to know me, they will run. 

I’m pretty normal by the world’s standards.  I don’t lead all that much of an exciting life, and the relatively exciting parts, I do pretty hesitantly and with clenched fists and iron-clad feet.  (I can imagine some people saying ‘What about your music?’  But honestly, it’s not as exciting as it seems and it’s much more hard work than anything, and really, in the grand scheme of things, I’m just another musician in a sea of musicians in NYC.)  I went to an average college and had decent grades.  Until very recently I’ve done the 9 to 6, 7, 8 office thing and have been a pretty average citizen.  I donate when I can and champion social justice causes when they come up.  I’ve been basically living the American life and on track to a normal retirement.  I have a pretty even-keeled temperament, I’m a good listener, loyal friend, and usually only speak up when I feel a strong urge to.  All this to say, there isn’t much about me that anyone would really dislike.  Similarly, there’s isn’t much about me that anyone would find all that interesting.  So maybe I feel the need to make myself look a certain way so that people will like me.  Maybe if I am able to say a funny thing here or there, I will be valued more. 

I mean, honestly, who likes a boring person?  It’s much more likeable to be fun, outgoing and adventurous.  But maybe that’s not really who I am.  Maybe I am just another person.  Or maybe I just like serious conversations and movies and life and death, and that is just plainly who I am.  And though I enjoy spending time with and value those who are fun, outgoing and adventurous, I can accept the fact that I’m not like that and be okay with it.  Maybe even love myself for it.  Maybe at that point, I can really be myself in my fullness – because this life is just too short to hold out.  Because I think it’s much more liberating to live out of my true self; and it touches something deep within when others live out of their true selves.  And at that point, I can say a funny thing because it was sincere and not just to disguise an awkward silence.  Maybe then I can really love others in an authentic way, for who they really are.

Maybe I’m hoping that when we really get to know each other, we won’t run.  We’ll embrace each other.

Run, Cate, Run!

Ever since I made a conscious decision to pursue authentic relationships, I’ve started to hear a small voice somewhere inside that consistently tells me to run and hide. 

—–

Run. [ruhn]  –verb 1. to go quickly by moving the legs more rapidly than at a walk.  2. to move with haste; act quickly.  3. to depart quickly; flee or escape. 

I was never much of an athlete growing up.  I was almost always the last one picked for a team in gym class.  I never quite got the hang of hitting a volleyball over the net or catching a football that was thrown at me.  Even now, I can barely run a mile.  Running is just not part of my routine.  (Maybe I should fix that sooner than later.)  I can definitely say, though, there is one type of running that I excelled in all throughout life:  running from people.

Hide. [hahyd]  –verb  1. To conceal from sight; prevent from being seen or discovered. 

I am very good at hiding.  I’m an introvert.  It’s what I do.  Maybe that’s an unfair generalization… but all my life I just wanted to blend in.  I never wanted to stand out or draw attention to myself.  But I always felt like an outcast.  So I chose to hide.  In middle school, I hid in my room underneath my blanket and sang my heart out.  

—–

I suck at relationships.  Of all kinds.  I don’t like getting attached and having people attached to me.  I know that comes off sounding like an insensitive, independent woman with big agendas and no heart.  But mostly it has to do with the fact that I’d rather not get close to anyone.  Being close with someone means I’ll probably hurt, annoy, disappoint, reject (on and on) that person.  Being close means that person will inevitably hurt, annoy, disappoint and reject me at some point.  Conflict is unavoidable in a relationship.  Two broken people trying to relate to each other… that is, more often than not, extremely messy.  I’d rather stand at a distance and not have to deal with that. 

****

Change. [cheynj] –verb 1. to make the form, nature, content, future course, etc., of (something) different from what it is or from what it would be if left alone.  2. to transform or convert.

I think I’m changing.  When I used to encounter conflict of any kind, I’d run and hide until I didn’t have to see the person anymore or without dealing with it, we’d conveniently brush it under the carpet and move forward.  In those moments, I wasn’t really being honest.  Nor did I allow myself to feel the pain of the situation.  My relationship with that other person didn’t get any deeper.  We were never able to go underneath the surface because we weren’t willing to let the issue rear its ugly head… or is it our ugly heads.  Something happened though.  Lately, when I feel hurt and I really care about the person who hurt me, I can’t just let it be.  I find myself confronting that person, not antagonistically, but truthfully.  When someone tells me that I hurt or offended them, I initially get defensive, but find myself eventually apologetic and wanting to talk things out with the person to see if we can improve our relationship going forward.

When I avoid or run or hide, I am not really loving well.  Loving someone means being honest even when it hurts.  Even when it’s uncomfortable and awkward.  Even when it elicits my own flaws.  Loving someone means being true to my self and allowing that other person to be true, too.  And if that person doesn’t respond well, then at least I tried.

 

 

[All definitions taken from www.dictionary.com.]

I’m staying up tonight.

I’m staying up as late as possible tonight because I’m afraid that once I go to sleep I won’t wake up.

No, I’m not predicting my death.  It’s just that lately, it’s taken me incredible will power to drag myself out of bed.  I don’t know what’s come over me.  It’s not like I’m really sick.  I’m not coughing, nor do I have a fever, or anything like that.  Friends have shared their theories.  They all seem to have some validity.  Until I visit the doctor, I won’t really have any substantive clues.  But this whole situation’s got me thinking.

Why do I wake up every morning?

People seem to have their reasons.  Even those who don’t necessarily enjoy life all that much seem to get up each morning and go through the routine of daily living.  The other day I had a conversation with a group of people about life and death, and the general consensus was that living is better than dying.  It seems that most people want to live, at all costs.  Sure, the survival instinct is in all of us.  But most of us aren’t being chased down by a predator, and for sure most of us aren’t living the happy go-lucky life that we all dream about.  So what is it that makes us want to live?  And for a long time?

Is it hope?  Hope of a better life?  Hope for a better future?

Is it purpose?  Do we believe that there is some purpose to our existence?

Is it the fear of death?  Since we don’t really know much about death and what happens thereafter, would we rather live?

I believe a lot of things that directly shape the answers to these questions.  But honestly, lately I wonder if belief is enough.  I admit  I used to have cookie-cutter answers to all of life’s greater questions… but I’ve done away with them because they just weren’t cutting it anymore.  Even though I no longer have neat answers, I guess I think it’s worth asking the questions.

So why do YOU wake up every morning?

Dear Alex

Dear Alex,

I’m sitting here thinking about our conversation from yesterday.  A big part of me wishes it never happened.  Another part of me recognizes that our conversation is something I cannot avoid or ignore anymore.

Maybe I am the one to blame since I chose to sit by you.  But for this situation and today, I won’t blame myself.  You turned to me first and asked me nonchalantly if this train was going towards Queens.  I nodded.  I took out my book and started to read.  Then you asked me if I live in Queens.  A quiet alarm went off in my head.  I knew that question was a precursor to a conversation, and honestly, perhaps unfairly, I did not feel safe to interact with you.  But that’s been my issue… never open to the possibilities of connection because of my fears.  So instead of ignoring you, as I normally would, I responded to your questions.  Where do you live?  Who do you live with?  Where are you coming from? It all seemed cordial.  You introduced yourself and I shook your hand.  Then you made a comment.  You’re so beautiful. The alarm got louder.  I said, thank you, and then looked down at my book pretending to read.  You didn’t get the hint, though.  Do you have a boyfriend? I lied.  You asked me where he is.  You have a nice smile. Louder. I like your lips. LOUDER.

I had been reading The Shack and just talking to God about what it is to love people.  To love myself.  I questioned if the way I was behaving towards you was loving.  I asked God to help me.

You’re so sweet. At this point, I couldn’t take it anymore.  My heart was pounding and I was frustrated.  So I lectured you.  I told you that you were making feel very uncomfortable and that you should not say those things to strangers.  I told you that most women would not react positively if they were approached by you in that way and that you were acting inappropriately.  I asked you to stop talking to me.  Sternly.  You finally seemed to get it and turned away from me.  You stopped talking to me.  Then it was finally your time to get off the train.  But you weren’t finished.  You turned to me one last time and said goodbye.  Have a nice life. I said bye.  Then you tried one more time.  Can I go home with you? I widened my eyes and said, no.  Absolutely not.  Why in hell would I let you do that?  You finally stepped off the train.

A part of me was afraid that you went into another car to follow me home.   I’m sorry to make that kind of judgment on you but I was feeling unsafe from our conversation and it was late. Then I turned my head and began to cry.  I had just read the other day about how many men who are constantly rejected and unable to find love turn to pornography and prostitutes.  I cried because you might be one of those men.  I cried because you probably have been rejected many times.  You are probably looking for ways to fill your emptiness.  I also cried because you made me feel like ripping off my earrings and crawling back into that oversized sweatshirt and baggy jeans of my past.  I also cried because I wanted to punch you.  Really, really hurt you.  I cried because I didn’t know how to really love you.  When it comes down to it, loving someone, loving myself – it’s just not that clear.  Life isn’t that clear.

You are probably hurting.  Just like I am.  You are probably lonely.  Just like I am.  Honestly, the things you said to me… are things I want to hear.  I want to be affirmed.  I do.  But not by you.  When I heard you, I wanted to curse you out.  And I did in my mind.

Alex, I’m sorry about how our conversation went yesterday.  I’m sorry for the harsh way I lectured you and the cold way I wrote you off from the beginning.  I hope you don’t do this regularly because I don’t want other women to experience that kind of discomfort.  I hope you were drunk, even though you denied it.  I don’t want to see you ever again, but I know I’ll bump into you sooner or later.  If not you, then someone like you.  Maybe then I’ll have another chance to figure all this out.  Until then, I’m gonna keep asking God to fill the emptiness in our hearts.  To show us a way to deal with our pain in a way that is loving to our selves and each other.

Sincerely,

cate

Youuu little cutie-patootie.

My friends Alice and Huey had their baby this past weekend.  His name is Matthew.   I just saw a picture of him.  He’s really cute.

I just came back from visiting my cousin and her family in Maryland.  They have 3 kids.  They’re all super cute.

It was my other cousin’s birthday this past Monday.  She and her hubby have a one year old, Noah.  He’s a cutie patootie as well. 

Looks like it’s the season of…. births.  It’s the “miracle of life.”  I remember watching the video in 6th grade and swearing never to have a baby.  Ever.  I’m pretty sure all of us girls felt that way.  But now look at us.  Babies up the wazoo.  I guess that’s how life goes.  We date, we get married, we have babies.

Some of us.

Others of us walk down a different road.  We’re married with no babies.  Or we’re not married.  We’re dating.  Or we’re not dating.  We’re single.  Some of us are single parents.  Some of us are divorced.  Or widowed. 

I guess my wish is that we wouldn’t expect anyone to conform to one way of living, because, in a way, we’re all different.  I guess my wish is also that we would love each other, because, in a way, we’re all the same.

Never was a cloudy day…

Do you remember the 21st night of September?
Love was changing the minds of pretenders
While chasing the clouds away

Our hearts were ringing
In the key that our souls were singing
As we danced in the night
Remember how the stars stole the night away

Ba de ya – say do you remember
Ba de ya – dancing in September
Ba de ya – never was a cloudy day…

["September" by Earth, Wind & Fire]

And just like that, with a few rain showers, we said farewell to summer. 

It seemed like one day we were wearing shorts and flip-flops, rushing indoors to an air-conditioned space to cool off.   Then the next day, we grabbed our jackets and expected trees to change color any day. 

I wasn’t ready for summer to be over, honestly.  I was enjoying the warm breeze on my face and extended daylight  into eight or nine p.m.  I knew fall would come sooner or later, but I didn’t know it would arrive so unannounced.  Wasn’t it just yesterday when we were making plans for a bbq at the park?  Weren’t we just wiping the sweat off our faces as we waited underground in that stuffy subway station?  Didn’t the kids just break from school for the summer?  I don’t know.  Where was I?  What did I do?  How did September sneak up on us like this?

Lately I’ve been looking in the mirror and noticing a different face.  I guess it’s not just the quick passing of summer that has surprised me.  Somewhere between yesterday and today, age set in.  I’m not necessarily talking about a wrinkle here and there on my forehead or a gray hair or two.  I can deal with that.  But lately when I look in the mirror, I see a pair of old, tired eyes.  The kind that has seen much and yet, knows there is much more to see.   I suppose I’m talking about brokenness.  I suppose I’m talking about pain.  Loneliness.  Rejection.  In the world.  In my self. 

There’s been a lot to celebrate this summer of 2009 – the beginning of new lives, in the way of marriages and births.  There’s also been much to grieve and ponder over, as we faced deaths of loved ones and became aware of tragedies occurring around the world… and sometimes in our own neighborhoods.  I watched a community of people who joined together for one cause and the result was nothing short of a miracle.  I saw in my own life, friendships that used to come so naturally became much harder to maintain.  I became much more honest, and that made things easier in some instances and much more difficult in others.  Dreams were realized.  Other hopes were dashed.  I saw love coming.  Then I saw it leaving.  And again, I saw it dancing around the bushes. 

And now my eyes are old and tired.

I suppose that’s how life goes. 

I never knew those were the lyrics to September.  Now that I’m reading it, it’s just another cheesy love song.  But it’s still fun to dance to anyways.

1,277,500

Yes – you won’t believe it.

Today I was wondering why I shed more from the right side of my head than my left side.  Every time I look down throughout the day, I have noticed that there are hairs hanging down mostly from the right side.  Cumulatively, I think I shed approximately 100 hairs a day.

Then I thought, how many hairs do I have on my head that I still have a full head of hair?  I said to myself, hypothetically, let’s say that at this rate, I go bald in 35 years (that would bring me to retirement age).   That would be 100 hairs a day for 365 days a year for 35 years. 

The result:  1,277,500 !!!!

OMG – we have more than a million hairs on our heads!!!!

How awesome is that.  Here’s to an amazing Creator.  Cheers!

I am not married.

I am not married, but I have a thought or two about marriage.

Today my sister sent me a link to a NY Times article about a woman who went through a tough period in her marriage and handled it quite differently than the average married American today.

I won’t share my thoughts at this time, but I thought it was worth sharing this article for anyone who still has hope in the words, “’til death do us part.”

Happy reading.

Animal style.

Just landed in JFK a couple of hours ago, and I can’t help but feel really sad about everything we left behind in Cali.  It was a marvelous week.  I thought I’d recount some personal highlights, to share and also to reflect.

• In-N-Out burgers are probably the best fast food burgers in the business.  Thanks to a little tip from a new-found friend, we ordered animal style burgers and I was not disappointed.  I got a burger, fries and a drink for less than $5.  I felt funny uttering “animal style” but no questions were asked.  I actually tasted potato in them fries, and probably enjoyed them even better than the burger.  Now if someone had just told me that I can order them extra crispy…
• In one short week, acquaintances became family.  Late night chats with my roomie, connecting with awesome kids from all over the country, playing with an electric guitarist who ended up being the nicest man on earth (I want him to adopt me), our hosts Dr. & Mrs. Intha – aka “mom” and “dad” (and getting to know them and their huge hearts), the Tran family (we’ll always have our scenic route through Hollywood!), Joe – our “personal” photographer, tour guide and friend, Uncle Kevin for late night In-N-Out runs… I can go on and on.  We were welcomed and treated like family.  I’ve never experienced such a thing.
• I sold all 100 CDs that I sent over there.  I signed autographs.  I keep telling people that my signature’s not worth anything, but they want it anyways.  I appreciated their gesture and support.  400 left and I’m debut-album free!  Help!
• I know I’m a New Yorker and should stay loyal to the great city that we are, but I can now say definitively that food in California is hands-down better than food in New York.  Maybe that’s an unfair statement, but everything we tried tasted much better and more authentic.  We had Vietnamese, Thai, Korean, Chinese, Japanese…  incredible incredible.  Did I mention, incredible?  Maybe there’s just better Asian food on the west coast.  We had back to back buffets in one day.  That was a first.  And probably the last.
• I was a bit unprepared for the week-long trip, as I forgot my phone charger and camera battery charger.  So picture taking was out of the question.  I’m not much of a phone-person, but I do text quite a bit.  I was only online an hour or two here and there at the local library.  Other than that, I was completely electronic-device-free and OH SWEET FREEDOM DID I TASTE!  I’d rather go back to the days when life was simpler.  Write me a letter or come see me.  I spent so much quality time with people this past week.  That’s the way I like it.
• Spending the week and playing with two of the most talented musicians that I know.  It’s such an honor.  And I’m taking advantage of it while it lasts. Love you guys, J & F.  :)
• I fought back tears as we said our farewells to everyone.  Who knew one week could make us grow so fond of each other?

Back to life.  Back to reality.

There’s a lot waiting for me here in NY.  I walked into my temporary home tonight and remembered that there are people here that I love.  I am sad that I left California.  I am also glad to be back in New York.

It’s good to have a burger animal style.  And sometimes just regular, too.