I'm Off to India. Wanna Join Me?

I was greeted by humidity.  The baggage claim was filled with people from all over the world, some transient, some coming home, some leaving.  After waiting in line for what seemed like forever the immigration agent asked me why I had come to India.  “To do volunteer work,” I told him.  He nodded his head in true Indian fashion, stamped my passport and sent me on my way.  Stepping outside the airport my friends and I experienced something we had never encountered before.  India.

India isn’t always an easy place, but it is beautiful.  India is a rising power on the global stage.  The country is a leader in technology and cricket, among other things.  However, most of the country lives in densely populated, underdeveloped communities.  Sex trafficking and disease are on the rise.  Many lack access to the education and resources that you and I take for granted. 

But I wasn’t thinking about any of this as I jumped in a taxi and headed for the bus station.  We weren’t home yet.  During the five-hour bus trip from Delhi to Jaipur I tried to make reality set in.  I was in India.  India. 

When we arrived at our host’s home we were greeted by a young girl around the age 9, the same age as my little sister.  She had a leg brace on one leg and a smile that consumed most of her face.  She’s from a small slum in Jaipur.  Her community is known to some as the “puppet people.”  They make, sell and perform with puppets.  The families in this community live in dire poverty. They have no access to sanitation, very little access to (dirty) drinking water and almost no access to education or medical care.  The organization we were working with visited the community every week and brought food and vitamins for the children.  On one visit they found this little girl in the corner of her home. She had broken her leg and her family could not afford her medical treatment.  With no options they left her in the corner.  The group was able to bring her home and fund-raise for her surgery.  When I met her she was almost fully recovered, healthy, happy and alive. 

In the same community I met a woman with a newborn baby.  She explained through the translator that she and her child were sick but she could not afford medicine.  At the time I was naive to the illness of poverty, but now I believe it was TB.  Two months after my visit I learned that the baby died. 

Another family in the community lived in a single room.  The family consisted of a 12 year old girl and two younger boys.  I believe the youngest was around age 3.  They invited me to sit on their bed and immediately the youngest crawled into my lap.  He snuggled in and would not let go, his heart obviously longing for a mother.  The interpreter explained that their mother had died in a fire and the father was a truck driver.  The daughter had been living in slightly better conditions with her grandparents and attending school.  When her mother died she was forced to stay home and take care of her brothers while her father was away for weeks at a time. 

As I sat with the women and children of the community we shared laughter. Not even able to speak the same language we still managed to talk about life’s hardship and beauty. 

Before going to India I did not understand the concepts of global health, infrastructure or development.  Now I am obsessed with them.  Call it a calling if you will.   I am devoted to the development of the global community that I am a part of and I am striving toward a future where resources are better allocated and utilized, and education, health care, and women's rights become fundamental aspects of community development.  

I’ve been awarded a $500 scholarship to travel to India with a group of medical professionals, engineers, college faculty and fellow students.  We will be working two hours outside of Jaipur, Rajasthan in clinics and helping build sustainable infrastructure including composting toilets.

To cover the cost of the trip I need to raise an additional $2500. I will be able to save a large amount of this money and have already received some donations. 

My first trip to India was difficult.  I had never before experienced such poverty or diversity.  The longer I am away the more I want to go back. I'm excited to be apart of a program that is bringing medical care to those who usually cannot access it as well as implementing sustainable infrastructure that will have long-term effects on the well being of the community.   This trip will invest in the people of Rajasthan and fuel my education in International Development.   Please consider investing with me. 

Thank you,

Jenn

+++

To donate via pay pal either click the button on the top left of my blog or send donations to jennrp@gmail.com.  You can also send a check to Jennifer Pekol, 2615 NW 56^th St, #204, Seattle, WA 98107. Anything you can give will be helpful and used with integrity.  

 Global Impact: Experience Rajasthan
Aug 20th-3rd

2010 Roundup

Well, reassessment.  I'm supposed to be doing that.  It's February and usually I take time during February to set some new goals for myself for the year.  Before I do that I need to sit with my goals from last year and see what I accomplished.

Remember I made prayer flags last year depicting my goals for the year?  Here's a picture in case you forgot.

First, a map of Morocco.  The flag was to remind to be wise with money, pay off debt and save for a trip.  I give myself a B+ on this one.  I've paid some stuff off which is good and I've started saving toward what I hope is a trip to Haiti this summer to volunteer.

Second, "Any time you can tell your story in the form of a quest or pilgrimage, you'll be ahead of the game." --William Zinsser.  I set the goal to have my work published in three places last year.  I wrote a blog for Libuse Binder about Construction For Change, I published twelve recipes for Flock and three articles for Ocsplora, two of which were featured in the first ever print edition.  Success.

Third, the tree symbolizing the tattoo I want to get.  I didn't get that one but I did get this one...

Fourth, BOOKS!  I set the goal to read 25 books outside of school reading, I read 16.  Here's the list:  The Writing on Her Forehead, The Namesake, The End of Poverty, Dreaming of Baghdad, Arafat and the Dream of Palestine, Ecological Intelligence, Zen and the Art of Writing, The Fellowship of the Ring, Middlesex, Shanghai Girls, Savage Beauty: The Life Edna St. Vincent Millay, Half the Sky, The War of Art, A Poetry Handbook, Snow, Strength in What Remains.  For school I read: Brain Rules, Our Kind, The Government and Politics of the Middle East, Naked Lunch, On the Road, Veiled Threat and The Silenced Cry.  Total I read 24.  I win.

Fifth, the onion symbolizing cooking.  Did you read the part where I published 12 recipes? 

Sixth, the yoga person symbolizing self-care.  I got my migraines a bit more under control but I don't think I fulfilled the goal.  I didn't stick to a regular yoga practice which was the main part of the goal.  But there's always 2011.

An unexpected event this year was that I started painting.  See them here, here and here.  But here's one just in case you're lazy.

So, time for some new goals. Travel, reading, writing...and an old favorite is back.  Sit tight while I figure out 2011 and set your own goals while you're waiting.  If you need some help check out Chris or Jolie for inspiration.  They're the ones that inspired me to start this little yearly project.

Full Moon Dream Board: I Am Not A Fraud.

This week my free-will horoscope said:

Are you slipping into one of those moods in which you feel like a fraud? Are you starting to worry that maybe you're not who you say you are? If so, I want to remind you of what happened the last time these feelings got stirred up: You became super motivated to prove that you are indeed who you say you are. And that had a most wonderful effect, didn't it? It led you to locate and call on resources you hadn't known you could have access to; it spurred you to purge some self-deception from your system; and it roused you to intensify your commitment to rigorous authenticity. How about an encore?

I don’t care if you believe in the authenticity or even the holiness of horoscopes—wisdom is wisdom and this is exactly where I find myself this month.  I feel a little like a fraud.

I had an interesting encounter with my writing this quarter.  Kerouac, Burroughs, Ginsberg—they all made me want to put down my pen.  They did to me whatever the opposite of inspire is. But my Government and Politics of the Middle East class has had me enthralled all quarter writing papers on topics I found so interesting I wish I could have wrote a whole book on them. 

Needless to say, I feel very unbalanced artistically. 

I wrote an article a few months ago for Ocsplora about my contradicting desires.  These desires match exactly to my feeling of being a fraud.  How can I, one little person, want everything at the same time?  But I’m not a fraud and I do want them, so this month’s Full Moon Dream Board represents that. 

First, the puzzle and chain link fence.  Both of these images pertain to art.  The puzzle is whimsical, natural, round edges around every piece.  The fence is a metal, rigid, mathematical pattern.  Both are art.  I want to find the balance between the two.

The girls.  In the bottom left corner is the image of person made out of pins.  I often feel like I’m on pins and needles, a ghost of person and stagnant.  The girl walking down the country path is a whole person with flowing hair and is warm in a surrounding that is cool.  She is moving forward down her path to what is next.

Home.  Ah, there it is—my cabin by the lake.  (Ok, this is not really what I picture, but it’s close.)  There she is nestled into the trees and the field and I know the lake is nearby because that part of the picture was torn out and has been hanging on my bedroom wall for years. The upside down picture is Istanbul, my other home.  These represent my desire to be in one place and travel the world.  

Full Moon Dream Board: Peace

So ends my four-day writing marathon. (It was more like four and half really).  I have a word count, but I feel like it is really no way to measure what happened inside me this weekend.

I lived. 

I’ve started my first real piece of fiction (I say “real” because I’ve written fiction before I’m sure, but never seriously.)  Currently my characters are still only giving me the beginning of their stories—their tragic stories.  I am begging them to give me a glimpse of their futures so that I can trust that their story redeems. 

Being the narrator has always frightened me because for so long I was convinced that God had an “ultimate will” for me.  I have come to believe, to much relief, that in fact, the joy of writing my own story is before me.  As the author, I have created these characters with names and faces and fathers and fears.  I’m hovering above somewhere, hiding behind a tree maybe, and I can see the torment they feel.  But I don’t know yet what they will choose tomorrow.  I want to interfere, to control the story.  But I will not.  It is their story, not mine to tell.  I can only plea with them…

                                             Thoughts on Fiction

                                             29 Mar 10

I want to write a redemptive ending,

But I don’t know if my characters will let me.

They’re stuck

Somewhere between the ninth hole, the Baring Sea and delivery day.

And they are running from,

If not paralyzed by,

The fear

Of an ever growing roundness protruding from her belly.

My dear characters, may your joy grow with each day.  We are hoping for you. 

And while I am hoping for my characters, I can only pray that someone is hoping for me.  I was amazed, ashamed and confused by some of the things that crept out of me over the last few days.  Solitude and expression can do that.  Anxiety has been overwhelming me. I’ve spent moments sitting silently; asking the screaming little girl inside what she needs to say. 

She wants to be accepted.  I guess that means           

I want to be accepted. 

Yael Naim - Far, Far

As these and other beautiful and hideous thoughts rage through my being (I swear I can feel them in every joint), I know that there must be somewhere they can be placed where some other power can quiet them and I continue on in peace. 

Because peace is beautiful. 

How convenient that the moon is full and birthing creativity and excitement.  I shall use her offering of energy and offer her back my creativity.  I made a box.  Not just any box—a beautiful box.  The tag on the front reads “everything will be okay in the end…it’s not the end.”  Inside this box I will place my fears, crazies and gremlins.  (I suggest taking a listen to this and embracing the restful breaths it offers to the creative soul.)  I’m sure it will fill fast but that guarantees that I can fill with peace and light. 

And so I end my evening with a cupa, a warm meal and The Science of Sleep.  The rain will sing me to sleep tonight, like she has the past few nights and tomorrow I will wake and write again. 

Live at peace,

Jenn

2010 Book List-This Year With Reviews

Book reviews terrify me.  I'm not sure why.  Probably because I just spent hours taking it all in and now you want me to spit out a few sentences summarizing the book.  But, last year I sped through fifty books without giving a single review.

Here's my list so far this year.  I'd say it's pretty impressive considering the quarter I had.  I'm working on quiet a few books over my break and have a good list for the spring including the ones for school.  

Please add your suggestions.  I have more than enough books on my shelf to read, I'll probably buy plenty more, but I want to know you are reading and get some suggestions.  

1.  Stones Into School, Greg Mortenson  

Written in what feels like a rush and using a bazillion pages to tell the Central Asia Institute’s story in Afghanistan (a story that was hinted at in Three Cups of Tea), this book floored me; the Afghani men who represent the antithesis of the Taliban, the desperate fervor for life.  Afghanistan may hold my heart more than any other nation.  Afghanistan has the second highest illiteracy rate the in the world and not only one of the highest birth rates (seven births to each women), but the country’s infant and maternal mortality rates are just as high.   I could go on forever, at least fifteen pages, as that’s how long my research paper was this quarter.  But I suggest, for the hopeful side of the story, you read Stones Into Schools.   Mortenson presents a look at the Taliban, the most forgotten people in the most remote corner of the world and how pockets of the US Military are changing their approach.  Every page of this book cries out “everything must change.”  And I cried through every page. 

2.  The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien

How many reviews have been written on LOTR?  Must I give another?  Let me say this much—the trilogy stands as a testament to passion.  The amount of time and creative energy that was spent for its purpose are evident through every word of every made up language.   The culture of creativity is seen in every character.  And the book reminds me, above all, that even if I were to know all that would hinder me along the way, the journey is still worth every step, every tear and every crumb of Lembas. 

3.  Savage Beauty, The Life of Edna St. Vincent Milay, Nancy Milford

I’m sorry to say that I could not finish this book.  In fact, I could barely start it.  While Vincent ranks right up there with Zelda and Sylvia in tortured famous females, there are a lot of pages filled with very little depiction of the world outside of Vincent’s own mind.  The author herself writes in a such a straightforward manner that I believe it actually contrasts with the manic nature of Vincent too much.  As a result, I could not engage with either fully. 

* Veiled Threat: The Hidden Power of the Women of Afghanistan, Sally Armstrong

This was a book for school, so it doesn’t actually count for my twenty-five, but it is worth making a note of.  Armstrong, a Canadian journalist, follows the story of RAWA through the refugee camps of Pakistan and parts of Afghanistan.  Veiled Threat exemplifies the kind of writing I most want to do.  She gives a history of the women, the Taliban and the current war and provides the stories of the Women who have endured all of it and have continued to fight for their own futures.  This is one of the most captivating books I have read on the subjects of both Afghanistan and women’s right.  

4. The War of Art, Steven Pressfield 

What can I say?  The day I opened this book on the bus, I stayed on the bus for a few extra stops, planted myself in Stumptown and skipped class.  The next day I called a counselor.  Being an honest person, I will say that I am a drama ridden, justified hypochondriac. I hate this about myself and have often wondered where this comes from? The book has helped me explore some of the roots of these character flaws and see how the directly relate to my creative expression.  Pressfield doesn’t leave anything untouched.  He address the ways artists try to escape the pull of our art, he draws the picture of a professional and shows you just how much time you need to put in to make your work sustainable, never once sugarcoating his own long journey to success.  The Art of War is wise, contemplative and raw.  It’s kicks your ass. 

Working on Now

5. The Two Towers, J.R.R. Tolkien

6. Snow, Orhan Pamuk

7. On Writing, Stephen King

8. A Poetry Handbook, Mary Oliver

The Spring Reading List

9. Little Women, Louisa May Alcott

* On the Road, Jack Kerouac (for my Beat Generation Lit. class)

* Naked Lunch, William S. Burroughs (for my Beat Generation Lit. class)

* The Pocket Beat Reader (for my Beat Generation Lit. class)

10.  Half the Sky, Nicholas D. Kristof

11. A Moveable Feast: The Restored Edition, Ernest Hemingway  

Thoughts on the Summer Books           

12. Strength in What Remains, Tracy Kidder

13. The Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien

14. The Outliners, Malcolm Gladwell

15. What the Dog Saw, Malcolm Gladwell

16. What is the What, Dave Eggers

15. Zeitoun, Dave Eggers

16. The Kite Runner, Khaled Housseini

17. The Bookseller of Kabul, Åsne Seierstad

18. The Evolution of God, Robert Wright

19. Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides

20. I really am not at a loss of books here…But I’m leaving room for suggestions.  Help!!

21.

22.

23.

24.

25.

If you wrote your life story, what would the first line be?

Insomnia has struck again.  The reasons are obvious.  I have been obsessed with writing and have spent most of my time the last few days sitting at my desk moving nothing but my fingers.  I tried to go the gym, but apparently they are open twenty-four hours a day every day but Saturday.  So I did yoga in my room and then wrote some more.  It’s four AM.  I think the neighbors (the ones who live in a van on my street) are having a rock concert. I am wide awake and suddenly obsessed with the first lines of stories.  So, like any sane person I went through every one of my books and recorded the first line of the ones that struck me. 

Please enjoy

“EVERYTHING WITHIN TAKES PLACE AFTER JACK DIED AND BEFORE MY MOM AND I DROWNED IN A BURNING FERRY IN THE COOL TANNIN-TINTED GUAVIARE RIVER IN EAST-CENTRAL COLOMBIA, WITH FORTY-TWO LOCALS WE HADN’T YET MET. “ –Dave Eggers, You Shall Know Our Velocity

Sometimes, I sleep with Dave’s books.  Now that I saw that out loud, it sounds creepy. This, on the other hand is incredibly intriguing.  

“By the time you finish reading this book, ten thousand children will starve, four thousand will be brutally beaten by their parents, and one thousand will be raped.” – Peter Kreft, Making Sense Out of Suffering

I almost didn’t add this one because well, it’s traumatizing.  But then, maybe that’s why it should be included

“Then there was bad weather.” –Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

            I will read this book once a year until I die.  One day I will read it in Paris. 

“I am old now and have not much to fear from the anger of gods.” –C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces

            This is possibly the first book I ever read that truly left me speechless.

“No one ever told me that grief feels so much like fear.” –C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

This book has always come to me at the most needy times. Last year I read it after reading The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, the same day a good friend died. It was a pretty hard week. 

“Sometimes I feel as though I were born in a circus, come of my mother’s womb like a man from a cannon, pitched toward the ceiling of the tent, all the doctors and nurses clapping in delight from the grandstands, the band going great guns in trombones and drums.” –Donald Miller, Searching For God Knows What

            Dear Don, write me letters will you?

“It was one of those nights, one of those lovely nights, dear reader, which can only happen when you are young.” –Frodor Dostoevsky, “White Nights: A Sentimental Love Story”

            Yay for the Russians! Yay for short stories! Yay for Sentimental love stories!

“When Mr. Bilbo Bagins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his elventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobiton.” –J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

Whenever I read these books I usually spend the first hour on the first line.  It’s magical.  And then I spend the next hour wondering how the hell he got from there to Mount Doom and why he never thought of this…

 
“As a child, I had a number of strong religious beliefs but little faith in God.” –Karen Armstrong, A History of God.

Perhaps the one woman who has helped make more sense out of God than I have been able to find anywhere else, except, of course, for Anne Lamott...

“On my forty-ninth birthday, I decided that all of life was hopeless, and I would eat myself to death.” –Anne Lamott, Plan B

My dear Anne Lamott, in the words of Kelly Clarkson, “My life would suck without you.”  Thank you, Anne, most sincerely, for allowing me to be myself and think all my crazy thoughts and still be sane (mostly).  And mostly, thank you for believing enough in the human race to write about them with truthful aggravation and expansive compassion. 

           

(this post has no title)

I’m not going to lie.  I’m feeling very conflicted at the moment. I’ve been writing for two days.  I’ve been alone in my room for the most part. I’ve been studying the written word.  Taking the time to do the one thing that I love more than anything else in the whole world—the thing that I have almost no time for between school and work.  But I’ve been living the life the last two days, and will be for three more. 

I was supposed to have my wisdom teeth out but the surgery was cancelled last minute.  I decided that I would spend my time the writers who I admire and the books I learn the most from.  The first day I spent time with Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art exploring the roots of my resistance.  I wrote about the first poem I ever wrote and how a fire destroyed them all in 2005.

Today I remembered things.  I used Natalie Goldberg’s book Old Friend From Away to help me remember the things that mark my past and shape my future.  I wrote about the contradiction of my desires to travel the world forever and to be grounded in one place, living quietly day-to-day. 

Tonight, after a friend’s art show and drinks with some friends, I came home to edit these two pieces.  And there it was.  A tiny voice whispering tiny lies.  “You can’t write.” 

Even as I write this I can’t help but think that these things I am typing on this screen are not real words.  That they make no sense at all and that the idea that anyone, anywhere, at anytime would ever want to read them is absurd. 

I keep highlighting my sentences with notes in the margin that read “I know what I’m trying to say, but I’m not saying it.”  Isn’t that the point of writing?  To say it? 

I’m starting to feel crazy.  Like famous female poet crazy.  At this point I think the difference between me becoming a Sylvia Plath or a Mary Oliver is knowing when to stop and sleep.  Sleep heals everything.

A Giant Step (Forward or Back? I'm Not Sure.)

It turns out pen and paper are not tools enough

To suppress, regress, extract and contrast

The fear my heart is anchored in. 

Full Moon Dream Board: Steadfastness

It's a little late, but all that unharnessed creative energy is driving me mad.  Last month I got to thinking about what makes me feel "steadfast."  It's not a feeling I'm very familiar with.  This month I want to explore the things that keep my heart settled and my mind clear.

The quote is one my yoga instructor said that has stuck with me.  "The integrity of your art is directly affected by the steadfastness of your heart."  I often describe myself as floating on the sea and this year is the year of sailboat for my girlfriends and I who are sick of failed relationships and are sailing on to new and better places.  I am the tree.  I'm strong but delicate and not fully budded but am enduring the winds as they whip through.  I am setting sail into the great well that is my creativity and my words and I hope to find myself there and find the thing that holds me in place and centers me.


As I go in search of my own steadfastness, I'm curious what yours is?

Fact.

Commas and I do not get along very well.  I want to use them, and they defy me.  It's the commas fault.

*8 Things I Need to Remind Myself That I Love and Too Often Make Myself Ignore

1.  Recycling & composting.  I really hate not doing these two simple things.  I’ve gotten way too lazy lately and I won’t settle for it anymore.  Either I care or I don’t, and I’d rather care.  It’s amazing and simple and it goes far beyond food and plastic.  I’d rather buy recycled products like clothes and trade things with friends.  I want to reduce the amount of waste I produce and the amount of plastic I use.  I would love to commit to not using plastic at all. It’s a big commitment, but I have good inspiration. 

2. Writing/Reading/Blogging/Words in general.  I don’t have words to describe this.  I’ve been avoiding writing because every time I write a little bit my head starts swirling and then I want to write everything. I literally feel my soul die a little bit every time I ignore the words that live inside me. The same happens when I start to read—I want to read everything.  Oh books!  They are my very best friends. When I moved back from New Zealand I got rid of clothes so my books would fit in my suitcase.  To this day I will skimp on other things so I can browse used book stores.   When my house burned down I had 297 books.  I said goodbye to each one of them by name.  I am often still devastated by the great loss of words in that fire, my own and those of others.  

3.  Drinks with friends.  I never have been a “going to the bar” kind of person.  I know little about alcoholic beverages.  But lately I’ve been out a few times for drinks and these times have been intimate and encouraging.  They have replaced communion in a way and I long for that relationship with quality people. 

4.  Cooking and, most importantly, watching my friends enjoy the food. I love to cook, obviously.  I’ve been cooking for myself a long time and I’m kind of getting sick of it.  Meals, like drinks, are meant to be shared.  There is no reason to be lonely.  That was my valentines days lesson.  To be lonely when there is food around is to be deprived the great richness of life. 

5.  Silence/Aloneness/Poetry.  I love to turn to the music off.  I love to turn all the lights but my little lantern off.  I love to read the words of Rumi and Rilke and Mary Oliver and be lost in the wonder they impose on me.  These things breathe a kind of life into my soul that I can only attribute to something eternal. 

6. Creating things with my hands/designing furniture/helping build furniture/Painting furniture.  I bet you didn’t know this about me.  When I was 17 I really wanted bookshelves.  I had a very specific vision so I drew them out.   They were measured to my favorite books, my favorite lamp, the stereo and logical storage in my tiny little room.  I gave them to my grandpa and he built them.  They were with me until my apartment building burned down.  I miss them.  Since then I’ve helped build other things, like houses and coffee shops.  I’ve also painted stuff I’ve found for cheap that needed a new life.  I’ve created paintings and quilts and poetry with my hands and that kind of satisfaction is maybe my favorite.

7.  Organic things.  For about six years now I have been devoted to Organics.  It started with shampoo, and then food because I wanted to start taking care of myself.  Then I started to see the quality difference.  Now I’m very aware of agriculture, pollution, waste and the corruption of the food industry, specifically meat.  I can taste high fructose corn syrup in things.  I can’t take hydrogenated oils.  They taste gross.  We vote with our money.  Sometimes it costs me more (though, you’d be surprised how much I save by staying out of the center aisles of the grocery store).  Sometimes it takes more time.  But I’m confident that by choosing to not be part of the demand, I will make a difference. 

8.  Rock Climbing.  Another little known fact about me.  I love rock climbing.  Sometimes I dream about it.  I started climbing in New Zealand and I was getting pretty good and had nice muscles happening and then I moved back to the states and don’t have gear or a climbing partner or the knowledge.  Last year I thought I would start, but I didn’t.  It’s still on the list for this year.  Hopefully, but publicly admitting that deep inside I love hugging big rocks, I will be more active in making it happen.

Be inspired by Magpie Girl and join *8 Things yourself!

Full Moon Dream Board: Prayer Flags

Last year I decided to take a note from my friends Chris and Jolie, and set some goals for my year.  I accomplished most of them, but realized this year I needed some kind of visual to keep me inspired.  I set my goals at the end of December and have spent the month formulating them into a few distinct categories.  The end of the month full moon was perfect timing to create this special "dream board".

I decided to make prayer flags, each with a symbol of a set of goals. 

From L to R: 

Morocco:  paying off debt, saving money, freedom to travel (first stop Morocco). 

"Quest or Pilgrimage":  one my writing heroes, Zinsser, said "Any time you can tell your story in the form of a quest or pilgrimage, you'll be ahead of the game."  I want to have my writing published in three more places this year.  So far, I am in cahoots with Rachelle and just found out that the online magazine I write for will be putting out a print edition, which I may very well be in.  I kinda want to pee my pants a little :) 

The Tree:  I traced the painting of a good friend of mine who is drawing my tattoo.  I've talking about getting one for so long, I need to just do it.  The tree symbolized strength and will be on my left arm.  We are using her painting as the inspiration for it. 

Twenty-five:  I made a little book out of the pages of my journal.  Last year I set the goal to read 50 books.  I fell a few short and this year I'm school full-time.  So my goal for the year is 25 books outside of school related reading.  I'll probably read more than 50 at that rate, but I'll be more focused on actually reading outside of the school world.

An Onion:  I love to cook!  Onions are my favorite ingredients.  I want/need to start my food blog and improve my skills as a chef.  I also have tons of food sensitivities that I want to use as a springboard for creativity instead of a hurdle to get depressed about.

Yoga:  My health is fine, but I my Vitamin D is dangerously low, I'm still having migraines and my body gets tired so fast I usually only last until Wednesday.  I need to allow my self the time to be healthy and grounded this year.

fivehundredwords: The 750th Time.

I am a woman.

I was born in affluence. 

I was born in a country where my voice not only matters, but is encouraged.  I was born in a place without restrictions.  I had the stunning realization a few years ago that with this freedom, I carry the burden of obligation to my gender. 

I am a living, breathing, beautiful, powerful woman who happens to have a pen in hand and a heart for women around the world whose lives are directly affected by lack of resources.  I can’t quite wrap my head around it all: women without access to clean water, medical attention, education, freedom?  Women around the world who die of things that most in my country wouldn’t think twice about like childbirth and TB?

You know how sometimes when you see the 700^th picture of a child in Africa, you become numb to the images?  I read the news for fun.  I read books about global issues like some read novels.  But I still waver.  I’m sad to say that sometimes I catch myself thinking, “yeah, I already know about that.”  But then something happens.  The next story I read, the next image I see sends me over the edge.  Suddenly I’m looking at a picture of a mother dying of AIDS holding her malnourished child who is about to be an orphan, and they are all that matter. 

Everything stops.

This woman is dying of a disease, that if she had access to very common treatments, she could live with.  Her child is dying from hunger…

I just    

there are not

how can  

no. 

tears.

But I must find my words again.  Not for me.  For them.  For us.  For women.  Elie Wiesel, in his Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech talks about how we are all connected.  “That while their freedom depends on ours, the quality of our freedom depends on theirs.”   I can go on with my life.  Listen to my ipod on the bus on my way to Urban Outfitters and grab a coffee on the way.  But these things don’t determine my quality of life. 

What determines my quality of life is the quality of life of women around the world.  Am I using my resources wisely?  Am I using my words powerfully?  Am I taking every opportunity handed me?  Am I keeping myself connected to the greater source of life and strength at the core of all women? 

I’m never going to fully understand the plight of these women.  But I’m going to try.  I’m going to try to acquire understanding, to build relationships and bring awareness.  I will tell you their stories 749 times so that when you hear it for the 750^th time, your heart will break and you will start to grasp the gravity of the situation.  It’s then that we will be connected, and our outrage and strength will overpower the factors at work against us.  

I’m going to use my words for the benefit of my gender, bringing to light our struggles and great triumphs.

What will you use?

Full Moon Dream Board: The Stories Within

Every twenty-eight days the moon is full. It is large and round and reflecting its little heart out. Every twenty-eight days I can't sleep, I write like mad and I seem to find some new vision I feel I must live. A few months ago I discovered the Full Moon Dream Board.

It's a chance to harness all that energy and creativity and focus on something beautiful. It's a time to dedicate the next month, the next cycle of the moon the earth and my own natural rhythms to something meaningful.

This month it's "The Stories Within". I came across a quote the other day by William Zinsser (whom I am in love with and plan on hanging a picture of him on my bedroom wall like I did Brad Pitt when I was 16). In his book On Writing Well, Zinsser says, "...any time you can tell a story in the form of a quest or pilgrimage you'll be ahead of the game." Brilliant. Beautiful. Zinsser, you are my hero.

This blog is part of my quest, my stories are my pilgrimage. This month I will write the words that have been wondering through the wilderness of my mind. And like the dancers and animals and ships hanging by strings, I will frame them and find joy in them. I will tell a great story.

When I am a Great Poet

Someday that will be me.

Among the poets and their paint brushes

Among their rhythmic symphonies.

I too will reach into the darkness

And pull on the lose strings

Of that wondrous flying carpet.

I will brush the dust

Off the picture of the woman

Who could be my

Great, great, great

Grandmother.

I too will tap endlessly

The keys of formation

And draw upon the mystery

Of my magic wand.

My tongue will dance

Among the shapes

That make the sounds.

My ears will hear

Soft songs and

Roarous tones

Through my history and hope for tomorrow.

My heart will swell inside my chest

And squeeze dew from my eyes

As I see what I have never seen before

But had always known was there.

September Came and Went...

My alternative approach to life has sent me around the world and amazing journeys and has brought me to Seattle, a place where I am happy and excited to plant myself. Now, after all my travels and experiences, I find myself rooted in this amazing city and studying writing. I started college and I’m soaking in every bit of wisdom I am gleaning!

All the things I was told were true. I have no time to read or write anything that is not for school. I’ve just spent the last five hours in a teashop in Ballard doing homework and have reached a point where I need to do something else. I’m so far ahead on my homework that I can write for my own good and not just a grade.

Here’s a quick update on my September goals. I feel behind the books, but my October list will more than make up it ;).

Books

1) A History of God, Karen Armstrong

2) A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, Donald Miller

Café: Café Fiore, Ballard. If you want a place full of bearded men, this is it. Good coffee, beautiful café, delightful music, many beards.

Restaurant: Odd Fellows, Capitol Hill. I had the BLT and Ester had this fantastic salad of organic greens and duck. UH…WOW!

Thing: I went to College!

That was my September. The change of season has brought the rain and the revelation of my dreams to work toward being a “real” writer. I’m excited to write my October update as the first two weeks have been the most exciting of my year yet! Stay tuned….

July + August = Reevaluation in September

Fall is my favorite time of the year. I love how much things change. The leaves on the trees, the way the wind blows and the way the sun sets. I love wearing sweaters and scarves and drinking piping hot coffee. People run off to the next quarter of school to learn new things, schedules change and I start reevaluate how I’m living, knowing full well the bleakness of winter and how it easy it can be to stay in bed for the long months ahead if I don’t get inspired now.

I believe the reevaluation of one’s life should take place yearly, if not more. In February I set a year’s worth of goals for myself, the biggest of which was to read fifty books in one year followed closely by starting college. Minor goals included travel goals, health goals, art/hobby goals and financial goals. In August I hit a wall and lost the joy I was finding in fulfilling these goals; however, as September 2009 hit me out of nowhere, I’m pretty impressed with how well I’m actually fulfilling these goals. I took some time to reevaluate my goals to see where I was falling behind and where I was exceeding goals.

Reading

Like I said, the biggest undertaking was a fifty-book reading list. As of the end of August I have read thirty. Since my last update at the end of June I’ve read the following ten books:

1) The Time Travelers Wife, Audrey Niffeneggner; 2) The Nine Parts of Desire, The Secret Lives of Islamic Women, Geraldine Brooks; 3) The Life of Pi, Yann Martel; 4) The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Jean-Dominique Babuy; 5) A Grief Observed, C. S. Lewis; 6) Where the Wild Things Are, Maurice Sendak 7) Red Bird, Mary Oliver; 8) Love and Other Difficulties, Rilke; 9) You Shall Know Our Velocity, Dave Eggers; 10) Old Friend From Far Away, Natalie Goldberg

My highest reading recommendations go to The Time Travelers Wife, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Red Bird and You Shall Know Our Velocity. Each one moved me to tears, fed my soul, helped my grieve and inspired me to live life with intensity, desire, adventure and an overcoming spirit.

Something I did not expect to happen was the formation of my very first book club. Paula, one of the founding mothers of FUN, and I started one with some of co-workers and we meet Sunday to discuss our first official book, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.

Travel Goals

My travel goals were set with the purpose of helping me focus on what is right in front of me, Seattle. I set out to visit one new café, restaurant and do one new thing in Seattle every month. This is where I have started to get lazy.

Café: July-Herkimer coffee, Greenwood; August-Firehouse Coffee, Ballard (my backyard and the home of the Lavender Latte).

Restaurant: July-Taste of India, University District, August- FAIL , September-El Camino, Fremont

New Thing: July- FAIL , August- watching the Salmon run at the Ballard Locks

I hit up Canada this summer for two weeks and head to Mexico at the end of the year for an epic family vacation and some exploration of ancient ruins with my dad. I’m blessed to be able to head down a day before the other sixteen family members on the trip. I will use my day on my own in Mexico to drink Margaritas , review the year and set some goals for 2010 will staring off into the Ocean.

Health Goals

In May I had a very large kidney stone removed after six years of pain, took advantage of my brand new dental insurance to have some cavities filled, started acupuncture for Migraines, emotions and the cyst in my left wrist. These seemingly simple things are healing health problems I have been ignoring for years while I without insurance and unable to afford the care I needed. Hopefully we can help Obama change this for future generations.

Art/Hobby Goals

Writing: My goal was to write about ten hours a week. I have to say that I have yet to achieve this, but I still hope to by the end of the year. I also started this blog (with a new one coming soon!). I must say, thanks to Old Friend From Far Away by Natalie Goldberg, I have filed journals full of memories and emotions that someday will be edited into a breathtaking book about life’s beauty and pain…someday. I’ve also started a collection of short stories, something very new for me and mostly just an experiment for now.

Other new ventures: I didn’t know what these would be when I started this year and I must say that I’ve been pretty surprised by some of them. My goal was four new things and four previous hobbies. I’ve started the blog with a new one coming soon. I’ve started redoing old furniture, will shortly be starting a stand at the Fremont Sunday Market and buying a sewing machine.

With my first quarter of college starting in two weeks, a new stand at the Fremont Market, writing, working full-time and taking care of myself the fall and winter look pretty busy. I have a feeling that this next season of life is going to be stretching, but exciting.

The Blog You've All Been Waiting For: The Freelance, Unconventional Nun?

I will now tell you about freelance, unconventional nunnery.   It’s an idea that was birthed after witnessing too many boys gone bad.   I was telling a co-worker about it and he pointed out that as an acronym, Freelance Unconventional Nun spells F.U.N.  Ironic. 

A couple weeks ago my friend Josh asked me what the Freelance, Unconventional Nun (FUN) was.  I told him that it “basically means I’m bitter.” I don’t like this reality, but it’s true.  The term was coined at the beginning of the year and has been a collaboration effort.

It started with a boy that shall remain nameless whom I was involved with for a few months when it ended quite bitterly.  In the wake of this I got lost in the flood that is my string of “relationship-like experiences.” Thinking back over the last few years and contemplating the possibility of becoming a lesbian, I came to the realization that my only real option was to become a nun.  

During our homemade happy hour I announced to Nicole that I was becoming a nun.  She then presented me with the idea of being “unconventional” which allows me to avoid the vows of celibacy and poverty if I want to (it changes daily).   Later that week I was telling Paula at work about my unconventional Nun-hood and how it was all on my own terms.  She responded with “Oh, so you’re freelance.” So you see, while F.U.N. is my current identity the credit belongs to many.

I’ve had a string of what I like to call “relationship-like” experiences.  All of whose identities will be protected even if I don’t want to.   I’m a girl who likes boys, always have and I think I always will.  I have a lot of friends who are girls who also like boys.  So we find these boys…somewhere.  Things are fun.  Relationships build, and then things go awry.  This seems to be the normal cycle of single men/women relationships.

I think I’ll start with myself (while trying to protect identities).  There was a time in my life when I lived in what some would call a commune.  Through our community came and went a man who caught my eye (let it be noted that I will now mash a few men into one).  We spent a lot of time together, maybe too much.  He displayed many of the characteristics of a gentleman that would be distracting to me, but we were living in this environment that was not conducive to normal romantic relationships.  Over the course of many months unsaid feelings grew too strong.  Finally the day came when (in usually an embarrassing manner) I divulged my feelings.  Maybe I wrote a letter or brought it up during a long car ride so neither of us could escape. The result was often the same: In an effort to save the little bit of face I had left, I still never told the full truth.  Usually I was in some sort of second place, but at least I was pretty and a great friend.  Ouch.  Let me tell you the problem with this story.  The problem is that all these things that were happening went un-mentioned and un-validated.  In the end everything was just left ambiguously hanging for us all to ignore.  I moved and moved on.

So, now I live in Seattle.  I’m surrounded by girls, which I reckon is pretty good.  It can be more dramatic but with fewer love triangles.   There will always be the ambiguous relationships that hang over our heads, slightly mess with our hearts and lead to a few tears.   However, this year my friends and I have witnessed some situations that have left us all a little catatonic. 

I will start with Laura’s story.  She has given me permission to use names.  His name was Chris Conners, at least that’s what he said. He was a good boy, led the church youth group, lived in a community of men and snowboarded (supposedly).  He gave Laura great presents like backpacks and Chacos and a trip to New York which were all paid for with the money he stole from her and wicked web of lies he weaved over the course two months.  I kid you not folks.  Turns out upon further investigation he was a pathological liar. 

Ok, and then there are more great stories, which, for their own good I will fabricate details so as to get across the ridiculousness of them without breaking trust or faces.  Let’s see, there is the boy who can’t make up his mind so he keeps all the ladies around for “options”.  There is the man who just decides that he wants to beat his wife and leave.  There is the ex-lover stalking.  How about “I don’t want to hold hands with you in public, but why don’t you spend the night.” There is the guys who awkwardly pauses after seeing someone’s facebook photo because her personality is apparently lost in the shadows.  Should have had a better photographer.  There is the emotional whore.  There are the ones who like the “young ones,” and the ones who ignore her until he needs something. 

It has been a long year for my friends and I.  Its easy to joke about it, laughing is better than crying right? We have seen many situations play out before us, sometimes involving us; things that have left us wondering whether this love thing is real, whether we’ll ever find someone we can enjoy and be broken with and have the opportunity to forgive in the moment rather than the explosions and pain that are rooted to deep to ever rectify.  Some of us are wondering if any of it is even worth it considering the divorce rate.

I’ve just painted a not so pretty picture of men but let me take a minute to clarify that women aren’t out of the clear either.  I myself am one of the most emotional people I know.  People like me read into things and often put too much weight on things.  It often feels like we hurt ourselves in this sad, masochistic way, but who is responsible for the ambiguous interactions and words that leave us wondering what the hell that could have meant?  And what happens when someone finally wakes up and decides that all the things we were trying so hard to ignore have affected us?  What happens to those of us who find ourselves hurt by both jerks and great men alike because we were simply hoping for something good?   My little bit of experience tells me that men often don’t think enough and women think too much.   Women are taught to sit quietly and be pursued, to not speak up.  For me, I usually don’t want to scare him off.  I seem to forget that if he is scared off, then he probably wasn’t as strong as I deserve anyway.  Either way, we don’t call men out when they are messing with our heads and hearts whether they are aware or not.

The Freelance Unconventional Nun is one part cynical, one part bitter, one part wounded.  The first two sometimes are only there to camouflage the third.  But there are moments that can still be F.U.N.     …to be continued