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CHSFootballGirl
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Name: Jamie
Birthday: 11/21/1985
Gender: Female
Interests: Current obsession: Triathlon training
Previous obsession: Chinese
Previous obsession: Artmaking
Previous obsession: Hip Hop music and culture
Previous obsession: Hawai'ian music
Previous obsession: Bluegrass music (Iron and Wine, baby!)
Previous obsession: A cappella music
Previous obsession: Rock climbing
Previous obsession: Football
Expertise: Being under construction
Occupation: Student
Industry: Academia
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  CHSFootballGirl
Member Since:
11/10/2003
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| I don't want it to be true.
“If your right eye makes you stumble, tear it out and throw it from you; for it is better for you to lose one of the parts of your body, than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. If your right hand makes you stumble, cut it off and throw it from you; for it is better for you to lose one of the parts of your body, than for your whole body to go into hell."
And I don't want it to be true.
Jesus said it. And if I believe any part of the Bible to be correct, it should be the words of Jesus. But Jesus would rather have a perfect, created body maimed; would rather see a horrible, disfiguring scar; would rather have a person partially incapacitated; would rather see a body never again perfectly whole . . .
And yet, logically, it makes sense. Better to be down a hand, disfigured, incapacitated, never whole than to be in hell.
But I don't want it to be true.
And it might not be. There might be another interpretation. I might be reading it too literally, or not literally enough. There might be some historical, social, or cultural element that I don't understand. It might not apply in the ways I think it does.
But I don't know if it's worth it to me to cut off an elemental part of myself. Maim and destroy what I've come to see as God's creation.
And so I don't want it to be true.
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| So today was good. Talked on the phone with Kim for a long time. Like, a really long time. Almost 4 hours. And we didn't say a whole lot. But I basically came out and said that I'm moving to Boston with her at the end of next season. Needless to say, she was very excited. I couldn't believe how excited. And it's real, now.
I mean, it was real before. Monday night, when I woke up--no! Sunday night when I woke up after dreaming about being a Girl Scout whose donkey wouldn't move, and then about being lost in a big city and not knowing where I was or where to go or even (really) who I was with. With whom I was? Whatever. That was the night after I had sort of freaked out and spent hours tossing and turning, wondering if I could really do it. Then I had those crazy dreams which were so obviously about my hesitance and fear in taking such a huge step. It seemed like a worse idea than ever.
But somehow, it was at the end of that day that I'd made up my mind. And now I'm decided. Now it's real.
It became real last night, as I was sitting up, thinking. Planning what I would need to get done in the next year, and setting goals for how I would do it. Saving. Paying off debt. Being in a good position to move. I wrote everything down. And from there, I made a sort of . . . um, like a business plan, sort of. I decided that I can't settle for less than 40 hours a week at work. And whatever I need to do to make that happen . . . Well, I just need to do it. I'll give myself to the end of the year to be up to 40 hours a week, come rain or shine. I'll do whatever it takes.
And then it became real again today. Because I went to lunch with Sue, and boy was that a blessing. For one thing, I wanted to tell her about Boston, about my plans. Because I know that Kim knows me really well, and I trust her opinion of what I would enjoy, or even (to some extent) what I need (and is that foolish?), but there's no doubt that she presents a biased opinion. And I can't talk with Carissa or with Johnny or even with my family about it, because they're equally biased. And I talked with Jocelyne very briefly about it last night, but that still wasn't much help. So I needed a neutral party. Sue provided that.
We talked about a lot more than I expected. Not in so many words, I suppose. I sort of hemmed and hawed; I danced around the subject of spirituality. I didn't want to come right out and say it. But even so, I think she divined what I was trying to say. She encouraged me. She--oh my goodness--I think she spoke truth to me. She looked right in my eyes and told me that God loves me and made me the way I am and that I should love me, too. The weight of that statement is just now starting to sink in to my brain. I knew before that it was a special and meaningful and powerful moment, but it's only now that I think I really understand . . .
You know, I've been hoping for this. Asking for it. Looking high and low for it. It's what I was expecting out of the friendship with Meredith (and we know how that's panned out!); I've been thinking about calling Candiss, Jenny (not that either of them ever returns my phone calls), or Jennifer; I've considered trying to arrange an appointment with Brian Folden. I was trying so hard to think of other people in my life who have meant something to me. Who have provided spiritual guidance. Who have been to me a well of living water. Laina. Larissa. And so on. I was trying to think of a way that I could talk with them, express myself spiritually, in a way that wouldn't be too weird. Too needy. Too unfairly demanding.
And I couldn't come up with squat.
But then, the very day I was considering where to turn for some sort of stability, some sort of spiritual anchor, in pops Sue and says the very thing I needed. She presented a statement that wasn't exactly absolute--she seems to imply that she is still learning and growing as much as I am--but she is stable. She is solid. She believes. And while there may be room for questioning and challenging, she still believes, and has a faith in God (and--indeed--a God) that is big enough to stand up to the questioning.
That was what I needed. Someone who was older and wiser. Someone whose opinion I respect, both as a person of faith and as a fellow human being, who could say, "Yes. Keep trying. It is worthwhile."
But more than that: in answering my prayer, God reaffirmed my person-hood. Yes, Sue said (and perhaps, through her, God?), you are valuable; you are created; you are God's. This is truth. Walk in it.
It occurs to me, in retrospect, that I often changed the subject back to matters of academics, of semantics, of (dare I guess at this word's meaning?) semiotics. Knowledge for the sake of knowledge. Mere play. Afraid of the real. Huh. How about that?
You know what I really want? I think I want to be understood. You know, there's that Relient K song--"I am Understood"--and that's what it's about: it's about God understanding us. But I don't know that he does. I mean, I *do* believe that he does. But I don't trust it, and I don't see the evidence of it. Or maybe Sue's statements are in some way evidence of it. I think they might be.
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| Last night, I had a dream.
In it, I was a Girl Scout. Or not a Girl Scout. Hanging out with Girl Scouts. Participating in some kind of activity, some kind of race for some reason. In this race, I was supposed to ride a pony. It was like an adventure race or a relay. I had to come into this stable, saddle my pony, hop on, and ride off.
I came into the stable in first place. I had packed and prepared my saddle and all gear in advance. When I got into the stable, I was informed (don't know by whom) that I would have to use a different saddle, one of the ones provided by . . . whatever organization. Girl Scouts, maybe. My plans were all thrown off.
And for some reason, I could not get the damn saddle on the damn pony. I had some other girl helping me. I was trying to go fast. I watched one competitor come in and out, then another. Pretty soon all had passed me, just like at Chris Cross in Lawrence last month. I was in the lead. Then, suddenly, I wasn't.
It's evening now, and the dream is a distant memory. But I remember thinking at the time that it was about me wanting to leave. Wanting to move to Boston with Kim. About not being able to do it. Not being able to get going and get out there. And I don't remember, exactly, why all of that connected. But it seemed obvious: I'm going to have trouble going. I don't know if it will be trouble leaving this place, or trouble adjusting to that new place, or a little bit of both. But it seems clear to me that it will not be easy.
And yet, for some strange reason, I also seem to be a lot closer to making that decision today. Last night, I tossed and turned. I weighed options. I considered and re-considered. I struggled, like in the old days, with the notion of what I should do. What is right. What is God's will (as if I even really care about that, at this point). No. I do care. I fear that taking this step might cut me off from something very important. It might push me even farther off the path. It might make it even more difficult for me to somehow, someway, someday make it back to God.
Of course, Kim thinks that I'll never be able to find my answers here. And perhaps she's right. But she's hardly a neutral party. The answer she wants is clear. And I wonder if (in the sheer strength of her personality) she can ultimately convince herself that what she believes is right about me. I think she might know me better than any other friend I have. Perhaps better than any of my family. Perhaps better than myself.
But that doesn't mean she knows all. And it's entirely possible that she might (with the very best intentions) convince herself that it is to my good to move to Boston and be near her. She might be right. She might be wrong.
Jocelyne asked me an important question: Why do I want to move to Boston?
I don't know. It's a new place. I secretly believe that I must end up there eventually. But is that because I perceive it to be true, or because Kim believes it? I'm afraid to get caught up in the maelstrom of any person's influence, no matter how charismatic, no matter whether friend or politician. I influence myself. I do things for my own reasons, for my own purposes, by my own logic. Not in blind faith of someone else--anyone else.
But then, why do I want to go to Boston? It's true I want to be near my friend. I believe it's inevitable that we eventually have some grand adventure together. I don't want to get stuck in Wichita. I do know a few people, there, triathlon people. The market is bigger. The triathlons are bigger. There are hills and forests. There are more gay people. Better chances of meeting the girl of my dreams. More opportunities. More to do. More to see. Symphony. Orchestra. Art. Poetry readings.
More competition, too. Better trainers. Better triathletes. Better coaches. Better songwriters. Better poets. More of everything, and better.
I want to be a big fish in a small barrel, and I don't. I want to meet new and brighter people.
I want to be near the ocean. I want to be near the mountains. I want to be near the trees.
But why Boston, out of all the places in the world? I could go anywhere, do anything. Even going to the west coast instead of the east, I would know more people, know the lay of the land better, be familiar with the culture, have a ton of friends, already know which churches do or don't suit me (if that will matter at all when I go, 'cause it sure as hell doesn't make a difference at this present moment).
I could go bike riding with Claire. Cyclocross with Jamie. I know there are other bloggers in that area.
But this is home. And I love it. And I know it.
If I fail, is there a safety net? Would I be able to come back to my home, to my family, to my house, to my job, to my other responsibilities?
Am I really ready to go?
And does it really all come down to her
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| There are more queer characters on television than there have ever been. But there are no lesbian characters on network television. None. There are bisexual women. There are gay men. But there are no lesbians.Why is that? The short version ('cause I'm getting ready to go take a nap): It still freaks people out that two women can have a great time without a man. Think about it: lesbians don't really need the fellas. We do fine without them. A bisexual woman still likes men. Lesbians? Not into it at all. For some reason, it's hard for Americans to believe that there are really people out there who have no desire for penis at all. Gay men like the dick. Bi women like the dick. Straight women like it. And straight men like it (at least when it belongs to them). Ack! So Freudian! Not everyone likes penis! Why isn't that okay? | | |
| Once I had no need for personal space. I had no issues with standing near a friend. Invading personal space. Hugging. Touching. Back rubs. Now? I don't do very well with it. Hugs from my mom make me very uncomfortable. Embraces are awkward. Standing too close makes me feel really, really weird. Why is that? | | |
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