Mermaids & Meltdowns

I had two meltdowns today. I thought I would spend tonight writing about my trip to Weeki Wachee. Maybe I’d discuss the importance of the classic roadside attractions or the natural beauty of Florida or the complications of being a tourist in your own home state. Instead I find myself wanting to sort through my feelings.

I’ve wanted to visit Weeki Wachee for while. It’s a classic Florida tourist attraction. Going to Weeki Wachee as a Floridian is kind of like visiting Coney Island as a New Yorker. If you haven’t heard of it, maybe it’s a little too “classic.” Weeki Wachee is a natural spring that someone turned into a small theme park in the 1940s. It’s famous for having live underwater mermaid shows. For a while it was owned by the American Broadcasting Company (ABC), was flooded with visitors, and attracted huge celebrities like Elvis.

Today I had two goals: to have a nice day and to get a picture of myself doing the former. The issue arose when I tried to get a photo of myself. I have been riding a high of confidence lately. I’ve been working out and trying to eat well. Unfortunately, I can’t pose for a picture to save my life. Like, what do I do with my arms? Sometimes I look fine in pictures, this either takes a lot of time in front of my bathroom mirror or a few vodka-sodas but today I had neither of those. I took a few awkward pictures, got discouraged, and had a mini-meltdown. 

Sometimes small things hit me hard in the chest and I can’t help but want to cry. 

I just want to feel good about myself— and that’s hard when I walk around feeling confident and then see a photo of myself and look completely different than I feel. I wanted to cry but I told myself that would be ridiculous. Instead I got mad and blamed the person taking the pictures. I felt stupid for getting upset but I was flustered and disappointed. 

Later in the day I had a full blown melt down. Like, crying hysterically in my car. Like, had to pull over and let someone else drive. Why? Because I wanted to watch the sunset over the Gulf but left the house too late.

Sometimes pressure just builds for a while until I have to explode. For days, maybe weeks, maybe months I’ve been planning exciting trips and events and goals and then failing to make them happen. I hate being disappointed—by the people I care about and by myself—and I don’t want to disappoint others either. 

I feel a lot of pressure to look like I’m having a great time. I quit my job in September in order to travel more while I’m still young and without too many responsibilities. Even though the goal was to be free of obligations and schedules, now I feel obligated to use all my free time and constantly schedule exciting trips. 

For years I’ve been trying to convince myself that having feelings is okay. Sure, it’s embarrassing to cry to a sad song in traffic and maybe it’s unproductive to spend a day in bed watching old movies and eating ice cream, but sometimes I need that catharsis. Feelings are normal and sometimes meltdowns happen. 

I’ve spent too much time not getting attached to anything, avoiding getting my hopes up, and running to the bathroom to wash my face so I don’t cry. It’s better to have two meltdowns in one day, in between having a great time with someone you care about, than to not feel anything at all. Highs come with lows, lows come with highs. The only way to avoid lows is to stay neutral and sacrifice the highs.

I spent the last few days with my significant other/ex-boyfriend/best friend. My feelings are more volatile around him because of our sort of ridiculous relationship, but I’m happy to have someone I can be emotional around. I guess when there’s someone there to pick you back up, you can really let yourself fall down hard. There’s something comforting about having the privilege to break down and still be loved.

Trying to be Grateful

My blog is titled “somewhere I have never travelled,gladly beyond” but lately my life has been more like “somewhere I have been every morning at 8:30 AM.”

***

That’s how far I got into writing before my computer froze up under the pressure of word processing.

Sometimes being grateful is difficult and now is a good example. Part of me wants to set this computer on fire. Instead I’m going to keep writing. My parents actually bought this computer for me. They spent way too much, way more than I wanted them to, but my mom knew I would be happiest with the Macbook. She told me it would be worth it. We agree that it was.

Despite my complaining, this computer is actually 6 years old. That doesn’t seem like a big number but a lot has changed in that time. Google Chrome was just beginning to become popular then or at least that was when I first began using it. Now it’s the most popular browser in the US. Some people’s cell phones still had keyboards in 2010. I turned 18 that year. I started college that year.

A lot has changed. My computer got slower over the years and my life moved faster. I’ve been out of college 2 years now. I have a full time job as a content writer. This computer is older than my dog who is about to be 5 in August. Somehow, despite it barely working, I’m still writing this now. So I have reasons to be grateful, and yet, I’m not feeling especially grateful.

I go to work Monday through Friday and I hate it. I hate going to work. I really do. I’m trying to be grateful. I have bosses who are kind, give us bonuses, listen to what we have to say, and want us to have fun and feel relaxed at work. I want to be grateful and I’m trying. So I decided to start writing about it.

In a way the blog name still works. This long stage in my life where I’m anxious for change but continue to work every day is going to take a lot to move on from. Besides feeling stagnant, it’s comfortable to live like this. This is somewhere I have never travelled gladly beyond. Hopefully I’ll find my next adventure soon but for now I’m just trying to be grateful.

420

Today I noticed that the status quo has adopted 4/20 as a holiday. It is no longer an immature holiday for 12-year-old outcasts and rebels. It’s a full on celebration for normative adult society, complete with commercialization. There were $4.20 pitas at Pita Pit. They offered free broth at the hot pot restaurant. Moe’s used the tagline, “packing bowls all day” on an advertisement featuring a picture of a burrito bowl set in front of a tie-dye background.

Although the transition into normalcy is not complete, because marijuana is still technically illegal under federal law and most states’ laws, it is quickly becoming ingrained in everyday American culture.

As always this is a case of cultural appropriation. I know--insert eye-roll here--but it’s worth noting. For the past few decades smoking weed was part of a subculture, and now, it’s just part of our culture.

Picture from Alan Turkus on Flickr

Decades ago:

Hippies, dirtbags, deadbeats, and losers smoked their lives away. It was quickly labeled as a “gateway drug” and a slew of propaganda was released to scare kids away.

Now:

Smoking weed is normal. The people who don’t smoke or never have are squares, conformists, old-fashioned, or closed-minded.

The upside is that marijuana is being celebrated for its amazing medical properties. Just this week I read the story of a man with mesothelioma (a rare cancer) who is treating his condition with only a healthy diet and some supplemental oils including cannabis oil. He’s doing better than doctors ever expected him to do with traditional medical treatments.

It’s natural. Unlike cigarettes, marijuana is not some science experiment formulated in a lab paid for by big business (at least not yet). It isn’t packed with chemicals, it’s just a plant.

The downside is that this is all being sold to you. Clothing companies put marijuana leaves on socks and hats and sell them for 3 times as much. You buy food from the “cool” restaurants that offer deals on 420. You’re being sold on items you wouldn’t normally buy the same way as the millions of people who run to the store on Black Friday to waste their hard earned money on material things that their kids will return in a month and a half.

It’s not a subculture now, weed is part of American culture. It’s “NORML” like the group has been campaigning toward for years, but will they regret it?

Legalized it’s taxed and regulated. The government profits off the very plant for which it has been criminalizing people for decades. Instead of being punished for their hypocrisy, the government is being rewarded by even easier money. They benefit from taxing legal marijuana sales and fining citizens for illegal marijuana sales.

Dealers who sold drugs as the only way to pull themselves out of poverty will soon no longer be relevant. Maybe he’ll get put in jail for drug dealing, if not he’ll have to find a new way to get by. Drug dealing will become a trade of wealthy businessmen and the government (what’s the difference though, amiright?). If you want to get into the business, you’ll need a lot of money to start a dispensary, money for licenses, registrations, and retail space.

In all honesty I hate it all. I don’t like smoking (I’m a square) and I think it’s an annoying habit. 420 has never been a celebration for me (although I did eat Pita Pit for lunch today) and likely never will be. I’m excited for the advances that medical marijuana will make. I’m also happy for those who will be less persecuted for using a drug less harmful than many prescriptions. However, I can’t shake the thought that this situation is unnerving.

Marijuana has finally been adopted by the majority and is no longer exclusive to subcultures.

It’s normal. Is that what you wanted?



**Note: this was part of a 10-day writing challenge I started last week. (I'll add a link to it when I get to a fully-functional computer.) Everyday I write something starting with "today I noticed" and today's happened to develop into a blog-worthy thought.

Owning a Pit Bull, Despite the Bull$h!t

For the past few months I have been struggling to find the words to explain to others why I exert so much of my time, energy, and money to keep my dog. Now that she is napping on the couch next to me, I think I can attempt to rationalize.

Since I was a little girl, I have always lived by simple virtues: Family comes first, always be honest, and everyone carries their own burden.

Nobody leads a life without trouble or difficulty. I have always been aware that all people suffer in their own way. I wasn’t born with some incredible gift for understanding, this was just something that I observed early on.

What I failed to see, and continue to struggle with, is the way people choose to carry their burdens. Not only that but I’ve been baffled when I see people choosing to bear a weight that they could easily put down.

Over the past few years I have carried an unnecessary burden for the sake of proving a point. Why? Maybe I'm just stubborn. I won’t change my mind about what’s right just because it’s difficult.

You won’t hear me say this often, but, Olive is just a dog. Yes, she is my friend and I love her a lot, but if I lost Olive I could get a new dog, or just not have a dog. The world would not explode and I would not die.

When I was about 9 I had a Golden Retriever. I loved that dog more than anything. He was my best friend, just like Olive. If Olive were a Golden Retriever I would never have to fight to have her. That’s not okay with me. She deserves a happy life as much as any other dog and to me that’s worth fighting to prove.

I have always chosen the simple path, the easy way. It was just efficient and peaceful. Now, I choose to work hard for what I have because it benefits me greater than simply receiving. 

The lessons that I’ve learned by keeping Olive are invaluable.

Laundry Day

Lately it feels like I’m carrying a big load of laundry from the dryer to my bedroom without a basket. Little things keep slipping out from the bottom and if I try to pick something up I lose five more things.

In the last week I have managed to lose my car, my dog, and my peace of mind. And my relationship is dangling on the edge of my pile of responsibilities.

So far being an adult has just been one load of laundry after another.

On Thursday I got a (rude) letter from my landlord threatening to evict me if I don’t get rid of my dog within 7 days. Apparently, not only are there ridiculous breed restrictions at this rental company, but dogs aren’t even allowed to VISIT unless the company gives consent.

On Friday I attempted to drive to my parents’ house to get supplies for a backpacking trip and to drop Olive off for a couple weeks. In between two distant exits on I-95, my car completely gave up. Olive and I waited in the dark for my parents to pick us up. The next morning I scoured the internet for a reliable car repair place. In the end, the repairs were going to cost more than the car is worth and we left it at the repair shop to be junked.

So I spent Saturday and Sunday being harassed by car salesmen. One offered me a 30% interest rate and then asked me how he could make it a better deal. Another saw me looking at a used car and tried to convince me to buy a brand new car almost 10,000 dollars over my budget instead.

Monday I looked for a psychiatrist to see if Olive can qualify as my Emotional Support Animal. I hate doctors and looking for one online was almost as uncomfortable as sitting in a Lysol-coated waiting room.

Tuesday I looked for lawyers because I thought maybe my rental company would still have the right to evict Olive, even if I could prove that I need her for emotional support. Lawyers’ websites are as annoying as car dealership websites.

I’m writing this on Wednesday. Tomorrow I leave for a backpacking trip and I haven't packed at all. I don’t even have a backpack to pack yet. I watched 5 episodes of How I Met Your Mother when I got home from work and I’ve probably watched 15 more since Thursday.

But then I got a text from my sister:

How could something so tiny make all of my problems seem so small?

God/Science

Have you ever heard of a false binary? A binary is made up of two opposing ideas. Obvious examples include: black/white, male/female, even/odd. So the best example of a false binary, and the one that irks me the most, is God/Science. I haven’t encountered too much debate over the matter recently since we’ve had better things to talk about (e.g. racism, tragedies, marriage equality, police). However, recently my niece, in typical soon-to-be-eight-year-old fashion, blurted out something that her best friend told her, “People who believe in God don’t believe in science.” I calmly explained to her that it’s important not to listen to everything that other people tell us and that plenty of people believe in both.

This is something I hear somewhat often and unfortunately it does have a taste of truth to it. But here’s the problem I have with this way of thinking: It’s small-minded. The God/Science binary may seem logical based on the news, some loud-but-ignorant people, and American politics but if we took some time to think it out it really doesn’t make any sense. I’m not denying that it is ridiculously common to find people who ignore scientific concepts in the name of God, what I’m denying is that this is a correct way of thinking.

God: A concept that varies between different religions but the general idea remains the same. God is mysterious because it is beyond human intelligence and understanding. A god is larger than life, incomprehensible, incredible, unexplainable, unattainable, all-powerful, and whatever other hyperbolic superlative you want to use. God is an abstract concept and one that simply cannot be proven or explained or put into a little human brain box. People who believe in a god use their logic and intelligence in their spirituality but they would be fools to say that they completely understand their god. That would go against the very nature of the word.

Science is nothing like a god. Science can be explained. Actually, science is almost literally synonymous with explanation. Science isn’t just this overarching, over-general term of  “science” it’s biology, ecology, chemistry, physics, all those classes I almost failed in high school plus a thousand more that are studied by smarter people than me. It’s not as if the ideas of science aren’t as powerful as the idea of a god, it’s that they aren’t even in the same competition.  It’s dangerous for us to refer to “science” as “Science.” We can’t give science God status, because it doesn’t and shouldn’t work like that. If we let people worship the idea of “Science” instead of studying the actual concepts of science, we risk the same ignorance coming out in the name of “Science” as comes out in the name of “God.”

Science is not an abstract concept; it’s complex. There’s a difference. Let’s not over-simplify science. Let’s think more, experiment more, and question everything.

A Social Commentary

            When I was young, I knew I was pretty. I knew I was pretty because all of my relatives told me I was, because I was skinny but not too skinny, because Justin Cote left a heart-shaped box of candy on my desk in 3^rd grade on Valentines day, and because no one ever said I wasn’t. I had long brown hair that grew out as quickly as I wanted it to so I could cut it into short bobs when I thought that was cool or grow it down to my butt when I thought that was more fun. I never called it mousey brown because my mom told me I was a strawberry brunette and I believed her about that being a real color because she always complimented me on my beautiful natural highlights.

She told me a hundred times to never dye my hair because I would never get those highlights back and I would end up like my sister, Stefanie, attempting to get her natural color back but never succeeding. I was born with natural beauty and I was supposed to keep it that way. I was also reminded quite a few thousand times to never grow up. Please, please, please, stay my baby forever. Don’t grow up and be mean to me like your sisters. I did what I was told on both counts: I never wore make-up, except to formal dances, I didn’t have my first kiss with a boy until I was 16, my hair stayed naturally medium brown and was only changed by the sun or a pair of professional scissors, I only ever got piercings in my ears, and I didn’t start dating until I was a senior in high school.

Slowly I noticed what had happened to me: I was a future veal cutlet. My mother had put me in a small box when I was young so I wouldn’t grow too much, move too much, or become less tender. I was stuck in the mindset that if I followed the rules that hadn’t been presented to me as rules I would stay pretty forever. College made me antsy. I looked at myself and I didn’t see myself. I saw the allowance they gave me as a way of keeping me in line rather than a gift. If they controlled the money that fed me, they controlled the rest of me too. It took me too long to grow up but I finally did it.

After I finally got a job, things changed a little bit. When I was 21 I dyed my hair pink. For the first time in my life my grandfather said something to me that wasn’t a tremendous compliment: He told me my hair made me look cheap. I have two tattoos now, one of which is a very large sunflower on my leg. When my dad saw it for the first time he told me it was hideous and you really out-stupided your sisters this time. I should stop paying for your car insurance for this one. I’ve gained about 10 pounds in the last year, not exactly noticeable or too unhealthy, just enough to fill out my cheeks a little more. My sister told me my arms are getting fat, what happened?

When I was young, I knew I was pretty. Now that I’m not young, I don’t care.