imagining

Imagine a woman
who believes it is right and good she is woman.
A woman who honors her experience and tells her stories.
Who refuses to carry the sins of others within her body and life.

Imagine a woman
who believes she is good.
A woman who trusts and respects herself.
Who listens to her needs and desires and meets them with tenderness and grace.

Imagine a woman
who has acknowledged the past's influence on the present.
A woman who has walked through her past.
Who has healed into the present.

Imagine a woman
who authors her own life.
A woman who exerts, initiates, and moves on her own behalf.
Who refuses to surrender except to her truest self and to her wisest voice.

Imagine a woman
who names her own gods.
A woman who imagines the divine in her image and likeness.
Who designs her own spirituality and allows it to inform her daily life.

Imagine a woman
in love with her own body.
A woman who believes her body is enough, just as it is.
Who celebrates her body and its rhythms and cycles as an exquisite resource.

Imagine a woman
who honors the face of the Goddess in her changing face.
A woman who celebrates the accumulation of her years and her wisdom.
Who refuses to use her precious life energy disguising the changes in her body and life.

Imagine a woman
who values the women in her life.
A woman who sits in circles of women.
Who is reminded of the truth about herself when she forgets.

Imagine yourself as this woman.

--Patricia Lynn Reilly

impermanence

Standing in line in the cool, dim drugstore amidst a hot thunderstorm booming outside, I had a revelation of sorts.

Summer was in the air, with mamas in short shorts and tiny tank tops, kids reluctantly scrabbling along behind, hot and pink and sticky. The cold waiting beyond the sliding automatic doors was a refuge, a haven, a promised land amidst the heavy, wavering heat rising from the pavement. I pushed my way through the crowds to wait in line at the counter, complacently standing in place while a woman in front of me unloading an entire cart-full of goods, happy to be still in the cold air.

It was then that I heard it. The instant photo machine beside me, spouting out advertisement after advertisement, catching my attention with a Christmas greeting.

Yeah, a Christmas greeting. Just in case you were interested in making your photo cards early. Seven months early.

So there I stood, listening to It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas loop over and over again as I waited in line in the air conditioned drugstore on a stifling June day with the heavy clouds looming outside, while mamas in short shorts and tiny tank tops drag their hot, pink, sticky kids reluctantly behind, when I realized:

even though it was Wednesday afternoon, a typical day in June, and I couldn't even see to the next day never mind the next week, terrified at the thought of next month or the month after or my next breath, there was a comfort in knowing that December would come and I'd be listening to Christmas music again. June would finish whether I achieved goals or not, and July would follow, and August and September and October and November, too. Christmas would roll around and I'd be sitting someplace warm and cozy away from the ice and snow and be dreaming of summer, probably.

I get so mired down in details and small things and lose my head in the sand instead of the clouds. But at least Christmas music will come again.

ponderings

I feel what I cannot write.

I yearn to express what I cannot say.

I began blogging to hold myself accountable for my life. To keep details in mind, to remember to take pictures, to properly process thoughts and emotions. I'm afraid I'm not very successful at doing so otherwise.

This blog functions as a tool to remind myself that being me is not a bad thing. That it's okay. That feeling my feelings and thinking my thoughts is just as legitimate as anyone else doing the same thing, whether in blog form or otherwise.

It was a good realization, for awhile. Until I became confused about what to share here. This isn't a diary. This isn't a floral-bound book tucked under my mattress for my deepest, darkest secrets to abound. This is a very public journal.

So for months now, questions have swirled through my head, like, Do I remain positive, and positive only? Do I fake happiness until I make happiness? Or do I share negativity and heartache, too? But is it unfair to my readers to whine and complain and share greivances? (After all, I DO have a tag category called "Greivances," and it's quite full, which I often kick myself for.) I always wonder these things. Is it better to blog about happy things, when you're not feeling happy, for the sake of trying to force yourself to feel happy? Or is it better to let it all hang out, and show no discrimination, and blog about ALL the truths of life, in order to be the most truthful?

I know this is a common predicament for bloggers. But I have to remind myself--I started this blog for me. And I plan on writing for me, too. It's just hard to remember, sometimes. And it's hard to articulate, a lot of times.

Which often results in blog absences for periods of time. Which makes me feel like I'm not being honest, with myself or with my readers. I don't want to only post when I'm happy. I want to post all the time. Because if I made this blog to hold myself accountable and help me process my thoughts and emotions, it doesn't really work to only use it at high points of life, does it? I want to look back on this and remember everything, everything I was going through at this point in my life. The very first time I was confused about this, I went two whole weeks without blogging. But back then, I promised myself I wouldn't do it again. I went those two weeks, which happened to be two very tumultuous weeks of my life, without properly processing what was going on.

I hated doing that again.

So I'm vowing to blog for me. To blog about what makes me happy. And to blog about what makes me nervous or sad or anxious or scared, too. Luckily, there are other bloggers out there who help me with these decisions.

I don't feel like I'm being very articulate here and I fear I'm beginning to not make any sense, so I'll stop here. Hopefully this is something you can relate to, too.

Should blogging be this difficult?

foggy-headed

I'm so confused.

I woke up this morning, early, thinking it was Sunday. I distinctly remember thinking to myself, Oh darn. Yesterday I had all the fun, and now today is Sunday, the blah day of the weekend. Why am I trying to wake up so early? I must have set my alarm by mistake. So I proceeded to shut off my alarm and go back to sleep.

Until I was jolted out of my sleep by the realization that it wasn't, in fact, Sunday. But that it was Thursday. So I dragged myself out of bed and tried to figure out why I had thought it was Sunday.

Wrong again. It's definitely Wednesday.

All day long now, I've been thinking it's Thursday. I filled out the attendance spreadsheet wrong. I wrote the wrong date at least three times. At one point I even reverted back to Tuesday (even more wrong). I've had to consciously think about the date and day of the week about every seven minutes, now.


I guess my brain's just in a fog today. Does this ever happen to you?




(Image via weheartit)

pause

This weekend, I'm going to take a pause.


Tara Brach, in her book Radical Acceptance, emphasizes the importance of pausing in life. She says, "Through the sacred art of pausing, we develop the capacity to stop hiding, to stop running away from our experience . . . In the pause, we become available to whatever life brings us, including the unfaced, unfelt parts of our psyche."

For some reason, this is what I'm feeling pulled to right now. I tried a new yoga/meditation class last night, hoping to gradually sink into my pause. Little did I know, meditation is not for the weak of heart. For me, it was practically painful, as I lay there trapped with my own emotions and grief with absolutely nowhere to go but my mat. You're forced to face your feelings and emotions and, while not necessarily solve them, accept them.

You're stuck with yourself.

Apparently, that's difficult for me.

So this weekend, after much thought and option-weighing, I've decided to take a day to myself, and only myself. I have no idea if it will make me feel liberated or uneasy, but I'm going to try.

As the Vietnamese Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh has said, we need to pause to "keep our appointment with life."

So I think I have an appointment to get to.

PS

I'd highly recommend this book, Radical Acceptance: Embracing Your Life with the Heart of a Buddha, by Tara Brach. I'm not a Buddhist, but it's extremely insightful.

this has been in the back of my mind for days

(Found via Hope Chella)

solo vacationer

Photo via AliciaBock, via TheDrifterandtheGypsy.

I think it's about time for a solo "vacation." Maybe one is needed every 22 1/2 years to recharge. Because that'd be just about the right time, then.

I've been contemplating this for awhile. I feel like I just need to get away, to "turn so far inwards I think I'm inside-out," as Melanie put it. I need time to think things through, without the distractions of daily life. Even just to get out my room, house, town--I need something.

My first, and perhaps most pressing, thought is that this is, essentially, a very selfish choice. It involves nothing but me. Guilt follows, somewhat naturally, I suppose. But I think we need to be selfish, every now and then. And if taking time out for myself could make me a better sister, daughter, friend, teacher, coworker . . . then it's not really all that selfish, is it?




Then comes the hard part of deciding what to do. Taking a long walk won't do. Travelling for a week won't, either. I've looked into yoga retreats, but let's face it: as an AmeriCorps volunteer, I'm perpetually broke.

Tell me: have you ever taken a solo trip? Have you ever taken time out of your usual, daily life for yourself?

a thought for your late-wednesday night.

"When she lived at home,

the things she looked at scolded her

and made her feel sad and depressed.

They said, 'Wash me.'

They said, 'Lazy.'

They said, 'You ought.'

But the things in her office are magical and invite her to play.

They fill her with light.

It's the room where she can be quiet and still

and listen to the voices inside herself.

She likes being alone in the daytime."

from The House on Mango Street

Doesn't everyone dream of a place this splendid?

how i love this girl.

We met one fateful day at a study abroad info session. We took the MBTI and were the only two INFJs. Little did we know, we also had a lot more in common. SO much more in common. It's like we're long lost sisters (only, we look nothing alike). We are so similar, it's uncanny.

We roomed together once we got to South Africa, and roomed together once we got back home, too, in our own little on-campus apartment. Nothing could stop us.

Except for the fact that I graduated in May, and she didn't. We were roommates no longer. It's quite sad, really. I feel lost without Stephanie. She's finishing up her four years at UConn, and I'm . . . not. We suffer.



That's why drink dates are so necessary. I love our time together, chatting about the perils of living back home (she moved home for her last year) and reminiscing about our escapades studying abroad. We don't see each other nearly enough.

Scorpion bowls, here we come.




(Doesn't sushi always cure what ails you? It does for us.)

a bunch of rambled thoughts because i can't figure out how to form them together into a coherent post.

Last night, while driving through town with my mom, we came across a couple of cars pulled over to the side of the road. A few men were hurrying around, shining flashlights into the nearby woods and shouting to each other.

My mom slowed way down. "Uh oh. Do you think someone lost control and went off the road?"
It sure looked like it could be something serious. The sight of beams of lights jumping off the trees and lighting up the men's faces made me think of some crime TV show episode. Maybe they were searching for a body or something.

We were wrong. It was a stray cow, escaped from the farmer's pasture and wandering the roadside, eluding the men's grasps and causing obvious frustration. One man even had a huge branch he was trying to herd it with. My mom and I laughed so hard our bellies hurt.






MH (my nine year old sister, for those who don't know) is getting to that age where she's really starting to care what she looks like. And usually, that involves looking like me. When I got bangs, she wanted bangs. It's actually kind of comical.

Her new thing is wanting to wear my clothes. My clothes. And headbands. And shoes. And she's about . . . sixty-five pounds and I'm about . . . a little more than sixty-five pounds. Needless to say, she's been grasping at straws.

Today, she left the house for school after shopping through my closet. At first she wanted to wear this long, olive green, toggle-buttoned sweater--you know, one of those "dusters" that were popular when I was about thirteen and now just functions as my bathrobe. "All the girls at school wear long sweaters though, Ruth--and with leggings! I can just roll up the sleeves!" I politely declined, deciding not to tell her that said "girls at school" were probably fourth-grade brats who would make fun of her for showing up to school looking like a stocking-ed hobo.

Instead, I pulled out a blue and white striped button-down and asked her if she wanted to try that instead. (Hey, I know what it's like to be a little sister that just drools over every single thing your older sister owns, just because it's an older sister's. I'll placate her.) She readily agreed, put it on over a little-girl t-shirt (remember those?!), tied a white belt around it, and paired it with white leggings that had lace at the bottom. I think she even posed in front of the bathroom mirror for a few minutes, clearly happy with her decision.

Of course, she ruined it by wearing clunky white sneakers with it all (this little girl's got big feet and spindly little legs, and she is just nine), but it still made me smile. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, right?




Today is my boss's birthday. I made a card and had all the other teachers sign it, and my kids made her their own card, and I brought her these cherry-red alstroemeria all wrapped up with a bow (even though I would loooove to have them on my own desk!).

She said in the past she hasn't ever really worked on her birthday, always taking the day off. Today though, she said her boss remembered her birthday, everyone at Central Office was wishing her a happy birthday, and now she got flowers and cards.

She said maybe working on your birthday isn't so bad, after all.

I hope my birthday won't be so bad, after all, either.




Happy Tuesday!




(Photos via ClothPaperString)

missing south africa.

Do you remember?

When we would trek down Main Road in Mowbray, through Claremont and into Rondebosch? We'd try our best to stay out of way of the swerving minibus taxis almost barrelling onto the sidewalks and avoided any eye contact with hawkers trying to get us to take their taxis before they moved on again.

Do you remember?

When we would wake up late on Thursday mornings because we were so tired from trance-dancing at Roots the night before (well, it was Wednesday, ater all) and run to the Jammie shuttle and hope to get to University of Cape Town in time for class? Sometimes stopping for those vegetable samosas and guava juices were really just making us even later, but wasn't it worth the embarrassment of walking into class smiling?

Do you remember?

Filling up just one backpack with all three of our computers so we wouldn't look too vulnerable for a mugging, and traipse down the street and across the highway into Observatory to Cocoa Cha Chi to get our fix of paper-writing and cappuccinos (and sometimes big cookies)? Cocoa Wah Wah was a good second resort, too--even though it didn't compare. We could spot those orange awnings and fences anywhere.

Do you remember?

If you don't, maybe this will remind you.



Remember? We could never take a picture of it ourselves--whipping out our cameras on the street would have been asking for it. Thank God for Google.

Somehow, I miss being in college.

if you're not making it, can you fake it?

Okay, so I've had this post in my head for awhile now and I think it's had just about enough time to percolate and can now be released to the blogging world:

Can you really fake it till you make it?

Positive thinking, affirmations, plain old optimism--does it really work? If your life is in shambles and you find it difficult to see anything in a positive light, can you just trick yourself into thinking so? Can you just repeat some mantra every day for a month and poof! have everything right-side-up again?

I struggle with that on my blog. What do I put on here? I read all kinds of blogs--some that let it all hang out, and some that stick to the happy and positive only. Which is better? I can't say. But I just feel so fake if I only talk about the good parts. If I only put up pictures of myself that I've double-chin and bad-hair approved first. If I only highlight the fun activities of my weekend and not the arguments or mood slumps or moping around the house. But who wants to hear about my weekend mood slumps?

Is it better though, to hear and read about other people who are possibly going through the same things that you are? So that you can feel some belonging to the human race and know you're not alone?

Or is it better to surround yourself with positivity? To read blogs that make you happy and lift your spirits when you're feeling down? In other words, to purposely be fake for the purpose of making yourself happy? (Because let's be honest, we're not all happy, all the time. It's just not possible. Even the happiest and most content of people have their down days. Right?)

So now I'm turning to you, readers.* What do you prefer in a blog? Would you rather see the blogosphere through rose-tinted glasses, or are you a realist that just damn wants it told like it is?

*And for the sake of an "example," I'm going to embrace the realist side of my argument and say: I don't know how confidently I can address "readers"--do I have more than my whopping thirteen followers? Half of which are family members? Sometimes blogging can be so disheartening. There!

Are You Happy?

So straightforward: just change something. Is it that easy? What do you think?

(Found via automatism, via Typcut)

The end of my (former) life as I know it

Caution: Ranting and raving follows. I become gloomy and fearful and pessimistic and melodramatic in the sentences to come.



When I was younger, I was never one for change. I hated everything from moving around the furniture in my room to wearing a different color nail polish. I needed order.

I guess I was raised in a very habitual home. My parents are creatures of habit. My dad has parked in the same spot in the driveway for as long as I can remember. My mom always cooks too little vegetables at dinner and way too much meat. They do things the way they’ve always done them, and I don’t think they’re going to change anytime soon. Maybe that’s partly where I got my fear of change. I liked things the way they were and never wanted them any differently. I saw change as bad, for some reason.

Seasons were even worse. I know, I know—I just wrote a whole post on how I didn’t mind summer ending and loved welcoming fall. I do. I really do. But the whole adjustment from season to season has never been easy for me. The end of summer always meant a new school year was starting, the end of fall always meant everything was halfway over, the end of winter always meant a year was all over, the end of spring always meant the school was over and I’d be another grade older.

Wow, I guess I really wasn’t the most optimistic of children.

But this year, I wasn’t going back to school. I didn’t have to be another grade older or sit in classes all day again. But I did have to start my Big New Job.

And that meant the end of my life as I know it. I know that sounds negative, but I don’t mean it that way. My life as I knew it was just . . . not going to be anymore. Everything would change. I would go from college student (yeah, so maybe I continued to call myself one throughout the summer . . .) to working professional. Even though it’s not really a real job, it’s still somewhere I have to commute to and work at from nine to five. Anyone reading this over the age of twenty-five is going to roll their eyes right now, but I just feel so old.

I actually pay attention to the traffic updates now. Rush hour is my enemy.

The night before work I have to seriously consider what I’m going to pack for lunch the next day, and then make it by myself and pack it some kind of lunch box thingy that won’t make me look like a child nor a middle-aged working mother.

I come home and when someone asks me how my day was I have to say things like “We had a really long workshop today” or “Meetings can just be such a drag.”

I have to actually put gas in my car more often than every three weeks.

This is me? Is this how my life is now going to be for the next year, at least?

I know I shouldn’t be complaining, because I at least have a job and am making some money, but I can’t help but feel strange about all this change. I’m trying to jump in with both feet and really embrace this new opportunity, but I’m a little wary.

Do you often feel intimidated by changes, too? Even if it’s a really positive change?

Pardon me. I’m grappling.



(Bottom photo via J.Ota)

The Time Traveler's Wife

I saw it. I semi-liked it. Some parts were good, some parts were bad. If you haven't seen it yet, I would highly suggest reading the book first. Really. I guess this is usually the case, but the book was just about a bajillion (jabillion? majillion?) times better. Go ahead. Read it. And then go see it. And then we can talk.

And if you've already seen it, what did you think? I personally hate when foreign actors try to put on American accents. And when little kids don't act like real little kids do. And having twelve-year-old girls sitting behind you in the theater giggling over parts that are non-giggly probably doesn't help, either.

Perhaps I'll re-read the book . . .

Revealed

Let's have it out.

As you may know, I've been looking into AmeriCorps for awhile now. It's been what I've wanted to do since high school, pretty much. Yes, I'd be making no money, and yes, it's a year of "volunteer" service, but it's what I want to do. It's really what I want to do.

Well, this afternoon, I accepted an AmeriCorps position. A good AmeriCorps position--an afterschool program coordinator in one of Hartford's public schools through an organization called Hands On Hartford. They have strong ties to Haiti, too--we actually did a lot of work with this particular church when I went to Haiti in 2007, and I just realized it was the same one. So it's nothing to sneeze at, this Hartford position.

But I also turned down a program in New York City. YEAH, New York City. My dream. I think this was the hardest decision I've ever made in my life. There were tears. I predicted that though. I knew that whatever I decided would still be really difficult. I know, this is only for one year of my life and I've got the rest of it ahead of me, but this is the first thing I'm doing after graduation. I feel like it's the ultimate decision that's going to affect all other decisions to come (silly, I know). It's difficult, though, to decide what to do with your life.

In the end, New York just wasn't realistic. I'd be getting even less money than the Hartford position, and that's saying something since I'd already be getting next to nothing (imagine: living on $200 a month in New York City. Not possible).

Not to mention, I would have had to be packed up and driven to Staten Island for orientation this Sunday. As in, five and a half days from now. And I only just found out that I was accepted last night. I don't know if I could have been mentally prepared for that. I definitely would not have been mentally prepared for that. I would have been a wreck.

So, that's what I'm left with. I'm actually a little excited, because now I can go on my family reunion vacation to the Outer Banks of North Carolina that I would have missed. I'll be making a little money, that I can save, plus a few other financial benefits that made it worthwhile. In the end, they were both afterschool programs, they were just in completely different cities.

I think the hardest part is facing that I'm going to have to live at home for the next year--while my friends are going off to new lives with boyfriends and new lives in grad school and new lives in their own apartments. I won't have much at home for me. I'll be having family dinners and entertaining Mary and babysitting on the weekends. I'm trying to tell myself that it won't be so bad. I know tons of people live at home after graduation, but I just really didn't want to. My little town in Connecticut is probably one of the most boring places to live. I don't know how people choose to live here permanently.

Maybe this will be a year to save a little and get experience and make connections and go off somewhere fascinating afterwards.

I'm really trying to believe that right now. Even though it's insanely difficult. And I don't really believe it just yet.



(Photo via phantomwise)

This Post Brought to You by: Coffee

Caution: Proceed through this post at your own risk. Lack of sleep, PMS, and irritable children have caused me to turn religiously to coffee as a means of getting me through the morning. This post is, right now, my outlet. So I'm apologizing in advance. Don't say I didn't warn you . . .

Maybe it's the full moon. Maybe it's because it's hump day. I don't know. I just need massive amounts of coffee, and then some. Plus shopping sprees and fruit pies and a new iPod/phone and a job with benefits. But I don't have those things. I just have the coffee. It'll have to do, for now.

GeorgeLittle said to me just a few minutes ago, "Ruthie, 'member that time we went to Starbucks and you got the coffee that was double as strong and had too much caffeine? Why'd you do that? Wasn't it making your heart go 'puh FOOM puh FOOM puh FOOM?'"

I could also use a trip back to South Africa. That picture is from April of 2008 when we went on a full moon hike up Lion's Head in Cape Town. Granted, it was an extremely difficult hike (read: climbing ladders and chains up cliffs) and we failed to consider that once we hiked up and saw the sun set we'd then have to hike down in the ever-increasing darkness, it was still amazing. There's another full moon tonight, and it made me think of that day over a year ago. Where does the time go?



Now I'm here, living at home, friends dispersed, nannying for the neighbors and still trying to figure out my post-graduation plans. I guess I'm just still grappling with it. It's almost been three months! I can't help but think that if I were in elementary or high school, my summer would be over already.

What now? I know that I haven't just sat around and twiddled my thumbs since high school graduation, but it gets hard to hear about all the great things other people are doing with their lives while I sit next door and take little children to science museums (no offense to said little children).

I just need a strong drink. Pronto. Is it only 10:30am?

I was recently reading a good blog and found out about The Happiness Project. Once I get some spare time to really read it, I'm going to start using The Happiness Project Toolbox, which also looks pretty cool. Does it make someone sound dumb to say they're using a Happiness Toolbox on the internet? Probably. Do I care? No. (Okay, well, maybe a little.) But I'm doing it anyway.

God must be belly laughing right now because I have to run--the kids just innocently walked in from the deck with Nutella all over their shirts that they ate OUT OF THE RECYCLING BIN. I guess they don't realize that PMS is rearing its ugly head today.

I don't think I've ever asked this but . . . when is summer over again?

To 'Book or Not to 'Book

That is the question.




I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook. We've been pretty rocky lately. Actually, our relationship has always been pretty rocky.

The summer before I went to college Facebook was just becoming hip. I immediately signed up, found my future roommate, stalked her all summer, and so it began.

Everyone at school had Facebook. You could look up the cute boys who lived in the dorm room downstairs or the cute boy you bumped into in the dining hall. You could search for long lost friends or past crushes (this was before anyone realized they should make their profiles private, and everyone could see everything). Hours were spent in the same room as other human beings while each one of us would be on our laptops, getting sucked into Facebook page after Facebook page. My roommate and I would be up until the early hours of the morning, not speaking for hours besides the rare, "Oh, go look at so-and-so's profile, they updated their interests and you just have to see it." (You think I'm kidding, but I'm not.)

Throughout college, this infatuation grew. Finally, I moved to South Africa for four months and just couldn't handle the pressure. I "deactivated" (read: canceled) my account. Facebook wanted to know why I was leaving. I selected every option (too much drama, too much time wasted on it, not purposeful, etc). I just didn't want to be wasting time in Africa on my computer at all, let alone a social networking site. Also, internet there was ridiculously expensive and Facebook's endless amounts of photos and videos just sucked up all my bandwidth. It was quick and clean.

I got back to America and the endless nights of jet lag forced me to find something to do online. I signed right back in and Facebook welcomed me with open arms. I knew I always loved it. I caught up on everything I had missed in the past four months and updated my profile. I even added pictures. We were happy again.

Fast forward a year. I never went on. I found that skimming through practical-strangers' photo albums really just didn't do it for me anymore. I wasn't as enthralled with snooping on who wrote what on whose wall yesterday at 3am. I'd get the infrequent emails informing me whose birthdays were coming up, and I just deleted them. If I really felt strongly about wishing someone a happy birthday, I'd just call them. And if I didn't have their number, well, I probably wasn't close enough to be wishing them happy birthdays anyway. I once again deactivated.

Just recently, I decided I needed to be more social. After much deliberation, I reactivated my account (again, Facebook let me right back in. So reliable). I realized that yes, I did miss it a teensy bit. I'm practicing self-control and not wasting every waking minute on it, but I do go on from time to time and see what's new. Before I knew it I was getting friend requests and weird group invitations and messages and realized that even my ex-boyfriend's mother was on it.

I used to scan each person's profile who friended me and decide if I should really accept or not. After all, some of these people I hardly even knew. Now, I don't care much. Facebook isn't the end-all-be-all and I really don't take it seriously. I'm not going to tell you if I'm looking for "A Relationship" or "Random Play" or "Just Friendship" and I'm not going to update my status every five minutes with what I'm doing next. While I will censor any pictures tagged of me and what people write on my wall, I'd probably think a little less of an employer if they didn't hire me on the grounds of something they saw on my Facebook page.

I still love Facebook, but we're really in more of an open relationship now. I don't care if the layout is changed every other week with new silly gadgets and applications, and it won't care if I don't log in for weeks at a time. We've come a long way. We've been through a lot. It's okay now.

I'm curious: what do you all think of Facebook? Do you have a profile? Do you use it often? Are you addicted? Do you hate it? Do you boycott? Do you think less of those who use it?

This social phenomenon (which I truly believe it is) fascinates me.



. . . . . And don't even get me started on MySpace.

How to Lead a Fabulous Life

You're Rachel. That's how. You work hard and don't give up and know what you want and go out and get it.



I don't want to go home.

Hello, July

Wow. It's July 1st. Who would have thought? I thought it was just April and I was writing this . . .

Monday night I went to my third yoga class. Have I told you I'm in love with yoga? Because I am. It's so relaxing. And especially now when I can't stop my mind from spinning out of control with all I have going on, it's really good for me. I'd recommend it.

Do you ever get that way? Like you just can't turn off your brain? Sometimes I wish mine had a switch. It's so difficult for me to unwind and clear my thoughts . . . even at yoga when I have an instructor training me to do it. Secretly, (or maybe not even so secretly) I hope other people have the same problem I do. Doesn't it make us all feel so much better when we know other people are going through the same things?

So back to it being July 1st. If I were a kid, summer would be just starting. But I'm not. I'm twenty-one. Summer is halfway through!

(I was driving the kids I nanny for to camp this morning and we were talking about birthdays. George Little [not his real name] asked me when mine was, and when I told him, he guessed right away that I'd be turning twenty-two [these kids are way too nice to me, and are so infatuated with the details of my life]. I made some silly comment about how I was going to be so old, and his response was, "Yeah, but you won't be as old as an old man!" I love having kids like George Little around to put my life into perspective.)

And then, we lost power last night because of all the storms we've been having around here. My first thought of course was of how the internet would be out, too. I died a little on the inside. Not check my email before bed? Not add a new post to Ruth Writes? I knew then that I really am addicted.

I've started a new list (surprise, surprise) that I'm thinking of sharing with you soon. It's all about change, and my summer is going to be all about change. I've been reading countless books on the subject and really can't wait to start turning my life around. And preventing myself from spending too much time on my computer is going to be my first step, I think.

After all, I don't have all the time in the world. I could hit my head on the plane when I go to visit Rachel (so soon!) and never wake up again. I could get cancer tomorrow. Or I could suffer cardiac arrest. (I know, I hate it when people truly live every day like that Tim McGraw song about living like you were dying because I think that's a terrible way to live every day of your life, but go with me here.) But really, it's true. Why proclaim change and inspiration if you're not going to let yourself change or be inspired? There's no time like the present (I apologize for my profound use of cliches this morning, really, I do).

As George Little says, it's not like I'm going to become an old man or anything anytime soon.

Thank God.

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(Photo via Tinaylin)