why does megan's blog always inspire my posts?

Yes, I was reading Megan's latest blog (at work) and it provoked my thoughts and inspired me to post my own blog (at work).

If you had asked me when I was 12 where I saw myself in ten years my answer would be something like this: Done with college, and either in med school or working as a biologist (don't ask where or how, I didn't think it through that far). I'd have graduated always at the top of my class, far and above the rest. Winning scholarships left and right. I'd be going steady with my boyfriend of a year, probably engaged. I'd be living in California if I was in medical school or in Hawaii if I was a biologist. I would have been on at least 3 mission trips.

If you had asked me when I was 17 where I saw myself in five years, my answer would be: Done with college, with an English or Journalism degree and a music minor under my belt. I'd be a copy editor or some title like that for Insight magazine, or I'd be an English teacher at BMA. On the side, I would be actively singing and writing songs, perhaps even recording. I'd be heavily involved in youth ministry, and will have spent a year overseas as a student missionary, and preparing to serve as a chaperone for BMA's yearly mission trips for the next several years. Also, I would be engaged, maybe even married.

And here I am, age 22. I'm a nurse, living in California, still working on my bachelor's degree. I've been on exactly one mission trip, and it doesn't look like I'll be going again any time soon. I can barely carry a tune with an extremely limited range(after several years of choir and a couple years of private lessons), play piano on an advanced beginner level (despite 10+ years of lessons), and hardly ever draw or write (despite poem upon poem and drawing upon drawing I used to spit out like an exploding ball of artistic creativity). I live alone, as single as the day I was born. Life doesn't really go as planned.

I used to want bigger things. I wanted to travel the world. To go on frequent mission trips, to make waves in my church, to be a breakthrough something. And if you looked at my track record, I was well on my way. And then somewhere along the way, I seemed to settle for mediocre. I started to blend into the background. Not doing anything outstanding, amazing. And I don't know if I chose this path, or if I just fell into it. Did I really let go of my dreams? Or did I just grow up? Is this really where God was leading me? Or is this where my own foolishness has led me? Sometimes I'm content, but more often, I'm restless. I never feel accomplished.

Where do I see myself in 10 years? Right now, I'm hoping to be married, had at least 2 kids (adopted and maybe biological--if I've been married long enough). Done with my masters in Marriage and Family Therapy, working 3, maybe 4 days a week, but primarily being a stay-at-home mom and good housewife. I will have gone on one more mission trip. Basically, even more settled than I am already.

Where is this big story I though God had promised me? Have I screwed up beyond reckoning or is this just a waiting period? I used to be a planner, now I'm realizing, the more I plan, the more likely I'll fall short.

reminiscing

Christmas was always my favorite time of year. At school, there was always some Christmas program to prepare for. In elemetary, it was a school play. We'd always take lots of time from classes to rehearse. I think it was even tradition spend the entire day before the program (which usually took place on a Thursday night) in rehearsal and forsake classes completely. Then in high school, we had the Messiah Concert to prepare for. Prepreation for that usually started in October, with more and more sectionals outside of our regular rehearsal time as the date of our performance approached. At first it was exciting, then entire choir always kept singing whatever chorus we were working on as we left the choir room and walked to our various classes. But as P-day approached, tensions would rise as we realized: 1) holy crap, this performance is our FINAL and 2)how the hell we were supposed to memories all those melismas? Then there was dreaded DEAD week, the week of performance, and the week before finals. while the sane kids who weren't musically involved enjoyed the time to buckle down and focus on actual studying during study hall in the evenings, I was in 2 1/2 hour rehearsals for three nights. One day was for mass choir, another for select choir, and another for the piano recital. And it always seemed like the whole music weekend was doomed. Yet somehow, every single year, we pulled it all off. It was glorious.

As for home and personal life, it just wasn't Christmas until I had blasted my Hanson Christmas CD (don't laugh, you know they're good. And anyways, it later became my Avalon Christmas CD... much better.) at full volume. Mom, Earl, and I (Dad was usually working) always decorated the house Thanksgiving weekend. Decorations for Mom and me was an artform. The tree's lights and ribbons always had to circle the tree an even number of times or it was just unacceptable. Then, our color-coordinated ornaments had to be distributed evenly, and crystal ornaments had to be placed last and always near a light. Dad would put up our Filipino Christmas star above the door, since he was the only one who wasn't afraid of heights.

Then there was the gift wrapping. As a child, I would watch my mother wrap gifts. (not mine, of course, though I always managed to accidentally find my presents before they were wrapped. And I really do mean accidentally.) Again, here was another work of art. We're not talking about pretty paper and slapping a bow on top. We're talking exquisite, beautiful wrapping paper, perfectly aligned and folded, and not one edge of the paper to be seen. Later, as the gift wrapping became my responsibility (mostly a voluntary undertaking on my part) I further developed my perfectionism. The images on the wrapping paper had to be aligned, everything pefectly parallel. One year, Mom bought the metallic wrapper that's sort of like cellophane. Gorgeous stuff, but practically impossible to fold perfectly. I spent a half an hour folding just one present. I made Mom promise to not buy that kind of paper the next year.

I could go into detail about how every night I would compulsively rearrange the presents under the tree, grouping them together by family member, placing outgoing gifts in the front, stacking them just right, arranging them in various attractive angles. But I've already given enough evidence that I'm an obsessive-compulsive mess. And yet, I love Christmas. I love even the stress of preparing for the day, I find it relaxing in my own weird way. So here's to Christmas and our own weird and wacky traditions.

Merry Christmas!!

Bad to the Bone/I am not the Grinch

I really don't have much to say. It's just that this site is usually blocked at work, but not tonight! So yes, I'm at work as I type this. I should probably be taking a nap instead. But I'm hungry, and I can't go to lunch yet, because I'm the only nurse in the room.

What can I type about? Oh yes, Christmas. I probably won't have time to type up a Christmas blog on Christmas day, so I'll try to get that out of the way now. Why won't I have time? I'm working Christmas Eve AND Christmas day. Yes, it stinks. So I'm just focusing on the fact that I'm getting time and a half for two shifts. I'm looking forward to this paycheck. It's pretty sad how the older you get the less excited you are by the holidays. They become more and more of a hassel and source of frustration then actual cheer. There's school, work, and trying to find presents. I've prided myself in giving really good gifts, but I have to admit, this year, I'm all out of ideas. I even gave the same exact gift to a friend that I did the year before. Now THAT'S embarassing. Also, if it wasn't already hard enough shopping for girls, guys are virtually impossible. The only guy I never run out of ideas for is my brother. And the only reason is because I don't really put a budget on what I get for him, since he's my brother. With my dad, he's weird, I never know what to get him. He's not into technology or building stuff like most dads, and he already asked that we not buy him anymore sweaters. He's set for the next 10 years. As for guy friends, it's really tough. I can think of lots of stuff I'd like to gift, but they're all outside of my budget. Not only that, if I gave some of the stuff on my list, said guy friends might end up wondering if I had more than friendship on the brain. Not a cool situation.

My other problem is when to celebrate Christmas. I'm not one of those who care if Christmas is actually celebrated on Dec. 25th, having a doctor and nurse for parents taught me to be flexible on that. But I am used to declaring a certain day as the offical day to celebrate. Problem is, all my friends out here are nurses, and none of our schedules match up for the next month or so. We might just end up "celebrating" mid February at this point.

I swear, I'm not turning into the Grinch or anything. It's just a part of me growing up. Dang it, I swore I wouldn't, but I guess it's inevitable. The precious few remnants of my childhood are quickly slipping out of my grasp.

balance is essential to keeping sane

Last night I spent the evening hanging out with one of my best guy friends and a bunch of other little boys. Yes, boys, Little, hyperactive, college boys. What would have driven most girls my age/maturity level insane made me insanely happy. I'm so totally surrounded by estrogen at home twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, that, at this point, there's no such thing as too much estrogen. I even, *gasp* flirted a little. Gotta say, I'm quite rusty, but it's alright. I did say they were little college boys. Well, all except for the one I stayed up talking with until 3:30 this morning. Yeah, I'm staying at a friend's house, and I really didn't know the guys who live here. And being the shy girl I am, I expected things to stay the same. But you get bold around midnight when there's nothing else to do, so I started talking to one of them, and my gosh, this boy is hot. No mutual chemistry, but at least I made a new friend.

Testosterone, how I've missed you in my life.

drive-by blog

Much as they annoy me and stress me out, I have to admit, I'm pretty damn good at writing papers. Especially for a nurse.

Let me clarify that.

Most nurses rarely have to write papers. And if they got into the profession through the A.S. degree, they've never really had to write them even in school. So for me, an A.S. degree R.N. I'm a damn good writer.

Most (ok, all) of my posts have been negative thus far. Here's a rare moment where I actually get to brag about myself.

I'm a damn. good. writer.

faker

I'm a faker.

I went through twelve years of school staying at the very top of my class, and I worked only about half as much as everyone else. I got to college, and I realized, "Hey, I actually need to study here." Problem is, I don't really know how to. Study, that is. I learned a bit in college, but now that I'm back for another degree, and I've got work and bills thrown into the mix. I'm drowing. I'm used to people constantly telling me, "Wow, how do you manage to do all that/get good grades? I wish I could handle all that." Now, here I am, only in school part time, work full time. And I feel like I can't. do. it. I know there are so many people out there who go to school full time and work full time. Why can't I do that too?

I know a big part of it is that I can't stay on task. I'm so easily distracted. For every hour I spend studying, I spend two watching tv/on the internet/doing nothing. I've always put forth the image of myself as a hard worker, an overachiever. Set a challenge in front of me and I'll overcome it with ease. And therein lies another problem: I don't know how to work hard. Things always came easily to me academically as a child, and I guess I expected it to always be that way. But it's not.

So now I feel like a big, fat, lazy, faker. And failure. I expect the praise without having to do the work. And I know that's not how life goes. I'm a praise whore. And I don't know how to work.

It took a while to see myself in true light, but here I am, and it is NOT a pretty sight.

God, weight, and marriage

I've struggled with my weight for the past 12 years. I'm not obese, but I'm definitely overweight. I know the main reason I can't seem to lose weight is that I just don't have the self-discipline. But I think there may be another reason. I've prayed for years that God would help me to lose weight. And I fully believe in the power of prayer. But now I'm begining to wonder if maybe God was allowing this problem of mine to continue for a reason. Because of my weight, I don't have that much confidence. Because of my lack of confidence, I've pretty much chased away any chance of ever having a romantic relationship--yet another burden on my heart. I wonder that if I had lost the weight in my teen years, I would have had a boost of confidence, but a false one, based on my looks. Perhaps I would not have been so careful with my heart. Perhaps I would not have learned the valuable lesson that my worth is not found in my appearance or weight. (Although, I'm still learning it.)

Anyways, my greater point is that, I've been praying for a while now for God to show me what my purpose is in life. I know I want to help people, I know I want to serve Him. I knew I was meant for something big. And I feel like now I know what that something big is.

I heard a sermon on singleness. It wasn't like most sermons on singleness. It's focus wasn't "Hang on, God's got someone for you, it's just on the way!" It's focus was this: singleness is a calling. I won't get into all the details, but basically, being called to singleness is perhaps even greater than being married. The reasons are: 1.) more time to focus on God, and 2.) it's not easy. While listening to this sermon, I first got mad. Then, as I kept listening, I felt God tugging at my heart, like He was saying, "My child, this is for you to hear. This is your future." And being your average girl, I wanted to fight it. I felt like my entire world, my entire meaning just fell apart into a million pieces. I've hoped and dreamed of getting married. I've hoped and dreamed of having children to call my own. And it doesn't look like either of those things are going to be a part of my future.

I know God wants to give me the desires of my heart, but that often means that He will change our desires to match His will. I have to learn to let go of these dreams. It kills me, but it just makes sense. Given the path my life has been headed, I can't help bu think this is exactly where God is leading me. I'm not happy about it now, but I'm sure I will be later. God will be my partner, and the children I work with will be as my own. I just have to pray that God changes my heart and my desires. Hopefully sooner than later.

On the down side

A few weeks ago, I went to a free depression screening at the school's clinic. I was definitely feeling down in the dumps, and I noticed I had begun to pick up some bad habits. Nothing serious, mind you, just a little irresponsible shopping. Which, while I love shopping, is totally unlike me. So I decided, what the heck, I'll go to the screening.

I got there, filled out their little questionnaire thing, then was introduced to this guy whom I believe was still a student, still working on his practicum hours to become a counselor/therapist/shrink/whathaveyou. By the time I left I was 100% sure he was still new. When we first sat down to talk, I could see he was kind of excited at the idea of a new client. He hid it well, it's just that I can usually read these things pretty well. Anyways, he took a look at my questionnaire, and you could literally see the disappointment transforming his face. He tried to hide it, but wow, did he do a sucky job. He sighed and said, "Well, you're not depressed. Why'd you come in here?" First off, way to put your client on the defense. I told him my situation, that even though I tend to be moody, what I was going through was unusual, and so I just wanted a professional opinion. He basically said, so long as you've got good friends to talk to, you're fine. You know what you're doing, so you can control it.

The whole point was that I was going to a "professional" because I didn't feel like I had good friends to talk to. Also, I kinda wanted to see if I could identify their therapeautic listening tactics. This guy was so transparent, it just made me mad. I probably didn't quite fit the descriptions of a clinically depressed person (even though I certainly felt like I did), but
invalidating my worries and fears does NOT make for good client rapport. It rather made me want to yell at him and just throw the word "suicidal" around.

It truly amazes me how terrified medical doctors can be of uncovering psychological wounds. And now I'm amazed at how therapists' love of uncovering those wounds can be so thinly-veiled. It's like, if I wasn't raised by a druggie mother and raped by my alcoholic father I'm not worth the time to counsel. Go figure.

commencement

Not really. But here's where I can get away, speak my mind. And not worry about offending anyone.