Overlooking26’s Weblog

So I’m mildly freaking out

Over nothing really

Over the overly analytical sides of my brain

Mistakes are unavoidable

Love is immense and encompassing

The sheer adoration I have keeps me humble

This is taking a lot of trust

Our simplicities and routineness

We have to continue allowing room for growth

I don’t ever want to think I have you figured out

I want you to constantly amaze me

Am I asking too much

Can you do it

Do you want to

I don’t mean to get offended

I don’t mean to be a jerk at times

I know that we’ll go far

I just get worked up before I really know why

I need time to process and think

I need space as much as the next

But I’m working on my disciplines

I’m trying to be most devoted to myself

Are you sure you love me

Are you sure you’re ready for me

I’m sure

But feeling way vulnerable

I need your assurance

How am I so lucky

How have I found such a wonderful man

Why do I think I’m gonna fuck it up someday

I have such a hard time being vulnerable

I have such issues believing

I want to

I want to trust you and us and be comfortable

I’m scared,

I’m scared of how much I love you

I’m scared of allowing it to just be

I’m scared of even saying this

Does that make my insecurities real

Does that make me a shit

I’m so in love

But it scares me

I don’t even get worked up when we disagree

I know we’ll figure it out

That means I’m comfortable

That means I’m expecting it to be

Expecting us to be

Does that mean I haven’t learned

Does that mean I am naive

Or does that mean that I have learned

I’ve learned how to love again

It’s all in perspective

It can all be debated

Debated in and out and over and under

Nobody knows

Nobody has it all figured out

We’re all just guessing

Each situation is half individual and half like everyone else’s

That’s where generalizations come in

But I’m getting away from the point

Everyone feels uncertain at times

Admitting that makes me feel badly

But a little lighter

Should we not discuss the truest deepest parts of ourselves

The ones we need the most guidance on

Does it hurt our others

Does it really help us

Does it really create unity

Egos interfere with my intentions

It doesn’t mean I love any less

In fact, it means the opposite

It means I love more

Much more

So much that i analyze it and am careful about it

That it is something I treasure so much

That I want it to be the best it possibly can be

Can anyone relate

Does anyone have advice for this fucked up little heart of mine

That’s what I’m in need of

Connections and perspectives of others that I admire

So to my friends, to the universe

Talk to me

I for a very long time, rejected anything “religious”. I was very put off by thinking about such things. I should probably back up and give you some background info. I grew up a preacher’s kid. And like most preacher’s kids (PK’s we’re commonly called) I had a long rebellious time that started too early on in adolescence. I wasn’t too crazy or anything but definitely rebelled against a lot of what I think my parents tried to instill in us as kids. Now don’t get me wrong, the folks are great. They weren’t crazy strict or anything. Comparatively, they were pretty laid back. Other people who went to our church were often questioning my parents about the variety of things we were allowed to do. However, when you grow up a preacher’s or a politician’s kid (I was lucky enough to be both) you are an example for other mindless folks out there who don’t know how to raise their own children. I never really liked that. I mean who says that my parents knew what they were doing any better than anyone else. Just because they felt religious convictions to follow the path that all good Christians are supposed to do “Preaching the Word”. Why does that mean that they have life all figured out? I mean seriously, who has life figured out. It just means they’re doing what they feel is right and that’s what we all should do right. I have HUGE issues with our society’s lack of personal accountability and this is just one example. “Well my preacher’s kids get to watch PG-13 movies. So it must be ok for my kids”. I mean come on. Make your own decisions for your individual circumstances. Nothing in life is a big blanket statement that applies to everyone in every situation.

But I’m getting off topic a bit. I did not like being an example my entire life. I didn’t care for it. I liked some of the attention, I suppose but whenever we had fund-raisers at school we weren’t allowed to bring them to church. Whenever we wanted to skip church for an event or to study for an exam, my parents had to have an all-out deliberation about it. What music we could listen to, what shows we could watch on tv, what clothes we could wear, at what age I could start wearing make-up or shaving my legs….it was all subject to scrutiny and in writing this, I guess I’m still a bit resentful.

So my thoughts for this post were going to be more along the lines of …….what does it mean to be religious? How do you know what religion is right for you? Do you call yourself religious or spiritual? Do you believe in fate or destiny or divine intervention? Do you know? Does anyone really know? Aren’t we just evolved animals? I think about these things, A LOT. Probably a bit too much. But I didn’t always. I did growing up. I did in high school. I did even a bit in college. But when my good-hearted, good-intentioned, honest, loving, hard-working parents got (excuse the language) FUCKED over by a fellow church, I lost most all of my faith, or what was left of it. I had reasoned myself out of faith as I think most college intellectuals kind of do. I had realized that life goes on whether or not you go to church on Sundays and Wednesdays. My parents had given so much to this ideal. They struggled for years so all three of us kids could go to private school til 8th grade. They devoted themselves to the church they had started. My father, after working 7 days a week at 2 to sometimes 3 jobs, was finally able to go full-time into being a preacher when I was in high school. I remember when I was a kid and my dad worked midnights at a gas station while going to Bible College when we lived in Oklahoma. They believed in this completely and wholeheartedly. It humbles me in a way that makes me embarrassed to question anything they taught me.

But I do and I can’t ignore that, so I write.

A few years after becoming a full-time preacher, my dad had decided to “merge” with another church in the area. This was a church that they had a great relationship with beforehand. Our church had shared resources with their’s, our youth groups went to activities together, etc. This other church had their own pastor at this location, but had decided to alternate weeks when joining. My dad was never under any kind of impression that this wasn’t ok. However, being so honest and trustworthy, he also assumed that it was fine to join with them without any contract or anything. Unfortunately after six months, their intentions became quite clear. They slowly started pushing my father out, after acquiring all his church’s resources and parishioners. Needless to say, it was not pretty. My father was heartbroken when he realized what was happening. When he realized that the one thing he had put everything into, the church he had started on his own, the vision he had for its future, was all fading away. He took it pretty hard the day it all went down. I saw a part of my dad die that day. He has never been quite the same. I think he lost a lot of his faith and subsequently, so did I.

So a year ago, my good friend, then distant acquaintance, Tally moved into my house and became one of my roommates. Tally was obsessed with religions and spirituality. She frequently would question me when I would make statements about my feelings of religious and spiritual practices. I would try to explain myself, then get frustrated and walk away or snap at her that “I didn’t want to talk about it anymore”. This was obviously a reflection of the fact that I hadn’t really dealt with my feelings on all of this. In the winter term, I needed a break from my hectic schedule of the previous term and I decided to take a one credit Tai Chi class. I loved it! I never felt like going, but always felt immensely grounded and peaceful when I went. I would practically dance my way home from class. Tai Chi, for those of you who don’t know, is all about finding your Chi and is very meditative and internal. It furthered my self-reflections that had been increasing since moving to Portland. So I began to think about spiritual things. Tally and I began to have more and more serious discussions about such things. We talked about my past, where I lost my faith, why I had some resentment towards self-proclaimed Christians and religious folk, why I didn’t ever see myself going to church again on a regular basis. It was a lot for this little lady to process, but it was incredibly therapeutic, as most things I resist are.

I’m still working on figuring it all out. My brother recommended a book about the history of god. That really helped me let go of my concepts of god and jesus and church and faith. I get to define my own versions of god. I get to define my own faith. I feel very empowered. I still don’t think that my folks completely get it. I still think some amazing people I love dearly don’t get it. I still think that I don’t completely get it. But a lot of the anger and fear is gone. For what its worth, I feel more confident, more centered and more grounded as an individual. So there’s some progression…..there will always be growth. There will always be love. There will always be doubt. There will always be logic. There will always be faith. We get to embrace and negotiate it all.

I always find myself attracted to strong, independent women. Not in a sexual way, in an admiring way. I grew up a middle child, preacher’s kid in the Midwest. I wasn’t allowed to do all the fun stuff my older brother was. My oldest memory of this, is when my dad and my brother used to wrestle. I would beg my dad to let me join and then without fail every time I would get hurt and cry to my mom. My dad would always say, “see this is why we don’t want to let you wrestle with us. You always run crying to mom.” I remember seriously wanting to be a boy as an adolescent. I played every organized sport, I even tried to make my voice sound deeper. I remember being told that I just couldn’t do things because I was a girl. When I was in middle school I learned that the boys would let me hang out with them if I kind of flirted with them. My father was heart-broken to learn his little girl had her first “boyfriend” at the ridiculously young age of 12. To make matters worse, the boy was 15. We didn’t do much other than calling each other and occasionally hanging out in church groups or at friend’s houses and holding hands. I remember having our first (and only) awkward kiss when he was helping me grab my backpack out of the trunk of his older brother’s car. I closed my eyes and leaned in. I don’t think I even hit most of his lips but my knees were weak and my face was red. I continued my flirty nature and my “boyfriends” throughout the remainder of middle school and through high school. I rarely dated a boy my age and even more rarely for more than a month or two. This was usually the time frame in which I lost interest and wanted to date a different boy.

In high school I wore a lot of my brother’s and dad’s old clothes. I bought shirts at thrift shops and stopped playing sports. I started to do the other things boys in high school do. I started smoking cigarettes, drinking beer and slowly lost interest in school. I discovered that I could pull off B’s if I half-assed it, versus working my butt off to get A’s. The choice seemed clear. I made friends with the rebellious crowd of skin-heads and straight-edgers. Me and four of my closest girlfriends dated most of them at some point or another. I thought I was bad-ass and hardcore. I thought I was pretty tough and desirable to most boys. And I did most all of it without having to be “girlie”. 

I then entered college. At this point, I focused a little more on my studies and decided to double major in Psychology and Women’s Studies. I adored Women’s Studies. I got to take classes where I learned about rebellious women of the last two hundred years. I got to skip tests to go to protests. I got to skip classes to go to meetings and see speakers and bands. I got to write papers based almost solely on my opinions of the sexist, patriarchal society that had socially constructed my little lady self into my tom-boyish ways because masculinity was socially rewarded. I also found the “hippie” culture while working at a locally owned, family run health food store. I learned that I didn’t have to shave my legs, brush my hair or wear makeup and the cute boys with beards and tattoos would want to date me still. I settled down for a three year period with one of my coworkers. We had lofty pipe dreams of running our own health food/vegan diner someday. We moved to downtown Detroit to be part of the “grassroots” movements happening in our small social circles. We drank lots of beer, smoke lots of stuff, we joined drum circles and moved often. We had unsteady jobs to pay the bills and constant talk of future plans. Nothing about this point in my life seemed really certain. Eventually we decided to move across the country to Oregon.

This is the point in my story where reality started to set in. After being in Portland for two months, I was still jobless and the boy and i were not getting along anymore. He constantly talked about all the beautiful people in Portland. So after another month or so, we split. Its odd how even in this situation, I felt the sting of being a girl.  Because I was the caretaker-type, I got the dog. Because of lots of things, lots of decisions I had willingly made, I was in the worse situation. I’m not trying to avoid responsibility for those decisions, mostly just saying that I followed the path that women commonly follow. That of their men.

I feel that there is a part of me that is starting to accept some femininity. I rejected it most of my life. I even got a pedicure the other day and discussed waxing. But it still feels somewhat like I’m giving in to the system or to something. I am always a little bit scared that I am losing my identity and becoming more of a typical woman. And that is something I simply never imagined being…for what its worth.