The Catcher in the Rye

If I had tried to read Catcher in the Rye as an adolescent, I would have been outrageously frustrated. Holden (the narrator) is all over the place. Every thought in his head spills onto the page. He says a lot of swear words. He's a little crazy - seriously. He's actually a little crazy. He is just so intense that he's a little exhausting.

I had to take a few breaks.

That being said, I'm tremendously happy I read this novel as an adult. I found Holden endearing, heart breaking, hilarious, frustrating, confusing, complex. I found him incredibly fascinating, and I am still wondering why he would choose to be a catcher in the rye above all things? I guess this was an effective novel, since I'm still thinking about it....

Anyway, that phrase "catcher in the rye" is from a Robert Burns poem. I looked it up. It's a masterpiece, and I feel like reading it has rounded out Holden for me in a way I wouldn't have understood without the poem:

O Jenny is all wet, poor body,
Jenny is seldom dry:
She draggled all her petticoats,
Coming through the rye!

Coming through the rye, poor body,
Coming through the rye,
She draggled all her petticoats,
Coming through the rye!

Should a body meet a body
Coming through the rye,
Should a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?

Should a body meet a body
Coming through the glen,
Should a body kiss a body,
Need the world know?

Should a body meet a body
Coming through the grain,
Should a body kiss a body,
The thing is a body's own.

Also, this song is stellar, so click here.

There is no "I" in Me and Myself.

I woke up feeling very much like myself this morning.

That could come off sounding a little strange, because - hey, don't we all wake up feeling like who we are? Because, we'll we are who we are?

Maybe. Sure.

But, today, I woke up feeling very much like who I am this morning. I still woke up to the tremendous ball and chain that is my health, but I also don't feel like I'm lost somewhere in this sea of 'what is the illness and what is me'? It's easy for me to drown in myself: my external self needs a lot more maintenance than my internal self.

Last night, I spent a lot of time reading about writing which, in turn, caused me to spend a lot of time thinking about who I am as a reader, writer and observer of the world. I was relieved when I read about how sometimes we get the crazies when we write, and everything just kind of falls onto the paper/word processer with no real restraints - because it shouldn't happen that way. For some reason, this rang true to my little soul.

Writing. Writing. Writing.
I love doing it. So why don't I always do it? I think about it, but I never do it. Sometimes, I just want to write down snippets from the conversations of the people around me, or a funny idea, or a word a teacher said wrong. I find myself hooked on little, seemingly meaningless nothings and I want to write them down but always never do for the sake of normalcy. But writing is cathartic. It's healing. It should go uninterrupted but never does. Writing takes you out of yourself, but also deeper into yourself. It should just be allowed to happen.

I mean. what do we do when we really, truly care for someone? We write for them: letters, poems, quick little notes. It's like we take tiny pieces of our soul and draw them with words on paper for them to keep and look at. Here. Here I am. And we cherish those things. Haven't you ever found yourself going through all your old notes (I'm talking about the ones you wrote and received in the middle/high school years), wanting to toss them but feeling like somehow you're committing an awful crime? It's like you're looking at the essence of who these people were and are, evidence that they existed in that moment, words that were selected specifically for you.

Writing is powerful. It's humbling.

So, with the security of knowing that I can deconstruct and reconstruct and rearrange and totally recreate my world through writing, I woke up feeling much more like myself this morning, knowing I am never lost inside myself unless I choose to be.

Tag, You're It.

I have a problem with blog writing which is: I always want to write about something deep. Something profound. I want to make a challenge to the world. I want to explore a topic until I've reached all its corners and divulged all its secrets.

So, the problem? Public blogs make that difficult. How can I provide a true, completely and totally heartfelt account of something without the fear of judgement on a blog so public? How can I broach any topic without people feeling as though it is somehow directed at them, or an attack of their character, beliefs, eating habits, exercise regimens, preferred types of cheeses?

I mean, let me be frank: I understand that I'm not so deep as to be able to write an earth shaking blog post every day, but I feel like I keep things 'shallow' because I'm afraid of letting everyone know what's really beneath this surface...this bubbly exterior that's truly boiling underneath.

A dear friend of mine recently asked me what my purpose of creating a blog was, and in talking to him I recognized that I'd abandoned the true purpose of this blog. Not that it's not fun to visit and write silly things in for people to read and all....I'm just a little sad that I've lost yet another 'outlet' to the public by way of full disclosure.

I truly believe that some things should remain anonymous (note that I said 'anonymous' and not 'private'). So, maybe I should take a hint from a flicker of a friend of mine and create a new place to write - a place without my name stuck to it. A place where I can have those free-flowing thoughts, in a space where I can share them, without fear of my character being judged for them.

So....
I know where I'll be.

All you have to do is find me.

If At First You Don't Succeed, Cry About It. Then Try Again.

It's funny (not really) how life seems to slap you in the face.

You open up to the world, tell everyone "Hey! I'm afraid! I'm insecure about this thing!" and what does the world do? It kicks you when you're down.

I recently blogged about how I so badly want people to view me as their intellectual equals. Well, I guess that was the wrong thing to say because....today I got my MTLE Content Area Exam scores. I passed part one.

I failed part two.

Let it be known that I am mortified. Absolutely horrified. I am devastatingly embarrassed.

Sure, tests may not in any way be an accurate measure of someone's knowledge, but that doesn't matter a whole lot because, at the end of the day, the tests are still what matter. They count. Those tests decide what and who I get to be. And, right now, I get to be the one who had to take it x amount of times. I'm the one who, despite having a degree in the field, can't pull it together enough to get the minimum score. So yeah - tests may suck, but I am still the one left feeling like a complete idiot because I couldn't choose the right.freaking.answer.

So, I guess this is just life's way of telling me I am truly intellectually inferior. And, if not intellectually inferior, I'm still the world's worst test taker.

If I'm still allowed to become a teacher someday, I am going to make sure to do this to make sure my students never, ever fail a test:

I Pray You, Remember The Porter.

Confession: I was a really awkward adolescent.

I am not entirely sure what happened to me in my early adolescence, but I somehow decided to become "that girl" who wore her teenage brother's clothes, listened to awful music and identified more easily with young adolescent males than females. When I did finally decide that I wanted people to look at me and think "girl" .... I floundered. I went from looking like a girl dressed in boy's clothes to looking like a girl who liked girls.

As you can imagine, this did wonders on my self esteem (but, hey, adolescence does a number on everyone's self esteem). To cope, I became the "funny" friend - the cool girl friend who hung out with the guys "cuz she's like one of the guys." I managed to trade in my true thoughts in feelings for a mask of humor. It was comfortable, but had unforeseen side-effects - some of them long lasting....one of which I'd like to complain about right now: I don't think anyone takes me seriously.

Humor is great for a lot of things. It makes people like you, it makes you seem kind of witty, it's useful when you're in a large group. Humor can be used to deflect off-putting questions, or feelings you just don't want to deal with. Humor can save you from all sorts of little anxieties - which is why I relied/rely on it so heavily. It has some serious benefits.

But the price for all those benefits is that I feel like I'm a walking joke (not all the time, let's not be melodramatic...). I occasionally feel that, when I have a serious thought on something, it gets brushed off because I'm just silly. Or, when my incredibly intelligent friends begin conversing about authors, etc, I assume (yes, that evil word) that they expect that I won't know any of the books or authors they are talking about because, well, perhaps I just don't operate on the same level of intelligence as they do (...I know...what a nerdy thing to be insecure about). *disclaimer: I am fully aware that my insecurities do not accurately portray the feelings of others.

So, it leads me to this point where I feel like I want to jump out and say to everyone I know, "Hey! Surprise! I'm really super smart!" I may be awkward and uncomfortable and, sure, somewhat average in many respects - but I'm an intelligent human being! I have a large compilation of complex and well written essays on abstract or 'dry' topics that prove it. Accept me!

For some reason, I feel like this is my biggest social hurdle. I desperately want people to see that I am smart. I want them to accept me into their circle of intelligence, but I fear that my *ahem* ambivalent nature deters from the fact that I am an intellectual equal and therefore causes people to think that I am somehow simple minded. And, while I could be worrying about whether or not people see me as beautiful or talented or whatever other female insecurities are out there, this is the one that affects me most deeply.

In short, I really want people to like me for what I can truly bring to a group or a friendship - and not just the comic relief. If people would give me the chance, they'd see I'm deeper than the drunken porter or Juliet's nursemaid.

I can be a complex character in the novel of life, too.

Little Sisters

When I was 13, my mom told me she was pregnant with a girl.
Up until that point, I'd only lived with brothers. Stephen? Check. Kameron? Check. Keanu? Check. All brothers, all there.
I was fully expecting another brother.

I was so surprised to hear I was going to have a sister that I told my mom to go back to the hospital and have them turn her into a boy, or else.

She told me I wouldn't always feel that way, that I'd see that baby girl and love her. I didn't believe her but, MAN, was she right.

Last night, I was getting a little annoyed with my 10 year old sister. She was talking a lot, and being similar to velcro. I've been sharing a room with her for three weeks, and had been thinking about how nice it would be to be back in my own room, in my quiet space. No clothes scattered across the floor. No stuffed animal mountains in the corner. No weird plates or rocks or things jumping out to attack me.

But, then it hit me, that would mean no more baby sister. As I was lying in bed (HER bed) I started to get a little choked up. There I was, thinking about all these things that were kind of annoying. Things that mean that my little sister is still a little girl. She's still young enough that she thinks I'm the coolest person on earth. She still wants to cuddle on the couch, and draw me silly pictures. She still tells me everything, including really strange jokes. She still likes me enough that she ditches her friends for me. She shares her favorite stuffed animals with me, and plays arcade games with me.

I kind of decided that there is no way I can be annoyed with her little antics. Her picky eating. Her sometimes awkward comments. Not when they're so short lived. She's already grown a full 10 years, and those went by in the blink of my left eye.

Who's to say the next 10 won't happen in the blink of my other eye?

My baby sister is my best friend. My mini me. My little shadow. I'm so glad she wasn't born a boy - and I secretly hope she never grows out of thinking I'm awesome. Maybe when we're 20 and 33, we can still cuddle on the couch and watch animal planet.