A week or two ago, someone asked me if I had a boyfriend. When I said no, he asked why not. I had just met the guy, so I of course did not go through all the various factors contributing to my current single status. Actually, I probably wouldn't do that for, well, anybody. I just said, "I just don't" or something along those lines.
Later on, though, I thought about his question. And I thought it was the wrong question to be asking. Because the way I see it, being single is the default state, where you are when you don't have somewhere else to be.
Then today I remembered that one of my friends previously expressed basically the same sentiment. He is a single Mormon guy, older than the typical age of marriage for Mormon guys. And he has been asked before, "Why not this girl?" or "Why not that girl?" And he said that is the wrong question. He isn't going to marry a girl just because he can't think of anything wrong with her. He is going to marry a girl because he can come up with a compelling answer to the question, "Why should I marry her?"
I am not going to be in a relationship just to be in a relationship. I am going to stay single until I find somebody I really want to be with. And until then, if somebody asks me why I'm single, I guess I'm going to have to answer, "Because there is not currently somebody in my life who I think is worth being in a romantic relationship with, who thinks the same about me." Although hopefully I will find an easier, catchier way to say it.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Adjusting
One day last week when I was in a hurry to get to my bus on time, I grabbed the first book I saw with an interesting cover, skimming the blurb on the dust jacket to make sure it was fiction. (Yes, I judge books by the cover. So do you.) This book turned out to be LEFT Neglected by Lisa Genova, a story about a woman who develops left neglect after being in a car crash.
Left neglect is a rather fascinating disorder. When I read the dust jacket properly after leaving the house, I was actually a bit excited to realize it played a major role in the story. Basically, left neglect is your brain neglecting the left side, like you forget it's there. Everything physically works. You can see everything in front of you, but you aren't aware of anything to the left. Your limbs send sensation information. But your brain just ignores all that information. You can't consciously move your left arm or left leg, because your brain won't send them signals.
Anyway, when this lady's insurance won't pay for any more time in the rehabilitation center, she goes home. But while she was gone, her family made some changes. Because she didn't process what she saw on the left side, and she couldn't always move her left leg when walking or use her left arm to catch her, tripping became a real issue. So all the area rugs were removed from the house. Railings and grab bars were installed on the stairs and in the shower. They put brightly colored tape on the left sides of the door-frames in an attempt to get her attention, so she'd know they were there. And her mother moved in with them to help out. There were other changes, too, but you get the idea.
So I wondered what it would be like to come home and realize that your family has rearranged their home or their lives for you. Then I realized that my own family did to a certain extent when I was diagnosed with diabetes years ago. But at the time, I was just a little kid and didn't think much about how other people were affected, and now, everything just feels normal.
I also wondered how it would be to rearrange your home or life to accommodate new limitations for a loved one.
In my English class when I was a senior in high school, we once got into an argument about who had it harder during war - the boys, who were out fighting, or the girls at home, not knowing whether their men were alive or dead and not able to do anything about it. Well, while reading this book, I started wondering whether it would be harder to be the person who is living with the injuries and the knowledge of what her family is sacrificing for her or to be the family making the sacrifices and watching their daughter, wife, or mother suffer. Upon realizing that the men at war are actually seeing their friends die, I decided they have it harder. But I still don't know about this scenario.
Left neglect is a rather fascinating disorder. When I read the dust jacket properly after leaving the house, I was actually a bit excited to realize it played a major role in the story. Basically, left neglect is your brain neglecting the left side, like you forget it's there. Everything physically works. You can see everything in front of you, but you aren't aware of anything to the left. Your limbs send sensation information. But your brain just ignores all that information. You can't consciously move your left arm or left leg, because your brain won't send them signals.
Anyway, when this lady's insurance won't pay for any more time in the rehabilitation center, she goes home. But while she was gone, her family made some changes. Because she didn't process what she saw on the left side, and she couldn't always move her left leg when walking or use her left arm to catch her, tripping became a real issue. So all the area rugs were removed from the house. Railings and grab bars were installed on the stairs and in the shower. They put brightly colored tape on the left sides of the door-frames in an attempt to get her attention, so she'd know they were there. And her mother moved in with them to help out. There were other changes, too, but you get the idea.
So I wondered what it would be like to come home and realize that your family has rearranged their home or their lives for you. Then I realized that my own family did to a certain extent when I was diagnosed with diabetes years ago. But at the time, I was just a little kid and didn't think much about how other people were affected, and now, everything just feels normal.
I also wondered how it would be to rearrange your home or life to accommodate new limitations for a loved one.
In my English class when I was a senior in high school, we once got into an argument about who had it harder during war - the boys, who were out fighting, or the girls at home, not knowing whether their men were alive or dead and not able to do anything about it. Well, while reading this book, I started wondering whether it would be harder to be the person who is living with the injuries and the knowledge of what her family is sacrificing for her or to be the family making the sacrifices and watching their daughter, wife, or mother suffer. Upon realizing that the men at war are actually seeing their friends die, I decided they have it harder. But I still don't know about this scenario.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Re-Framing
They're at it again. The Valentine haters, I mean. I'm not surprised; they make their fuss every year. I've written a little about my feelings about Valentine's Day before, here and here, and I thought I didn't have anything more to say. But it turns out I was wrong.
I recently read an article online that said, "Valentine's Day is a warm, happy, romantic, charming day for nearly everyone. Everyone except people who are divorced, widowed, unhappily married, never married, fighting with their significant other, working overtime, struggling with morning sickness, in the hospital, in Afghanistan, on a business trip or can't afford a present. In other words, everyone except nearly everyone."
This wasn't really a Valentine's Day bash. It's more about handling loss. You can read it here if you want. But I didn't care much for her opening.
Sure, Valentine's Day is legitimately hard for a lot of people. I'm thinking mainly of those who are missing their loved one - the same people who have a legitimately hard time at any other holiday. But you don't hear so much about "Christmas/Easter/Thanksgiving is a happy day for everyone except nearly everyone."
The summer of 1999 I got a bit depressed at my grandpa's annual 24th of July party. It just wasn't the same as previous years, somehow. Well, my aunt talked to me then about how when you get older, a lot of holidays change, and you need to find a meaning and a way of looking at them that works for you. And that's the way it goes. Santa and presents lose their magic? Re-frame how you look at Christmas. Think of the joy of giving, think of baby Jesus.
Well, I think some people really should re-frame how they look at Valentine's Day. It doesn't have to be about the romance. It definitely doesn't have to be about gifts and money. What works for me is to see it as a reminder of all the people I love - especially my friends. Maybe not everybody can see it exactly that way. But the holiday is going nowhere. And I think being happy will come easier if they find some new meaning than if they continue seeing it as a couple's day.
I recently read an article online that said, "Valentine's Day is a warm, happy, romantic, charming day for nearly everyone. Everyone except people who are divorced, widowed, unhappily married, never married, fighting with their significant other, working overtime, struggling with morning sickness, in the hospital, in Afghanistan, on a business trip or can't afford a present. In other words, everyone except nearly everyone."
This wasn't really a Valentine's Day bash. It's more about handling loss. You can read it here if you want. But I didn't care much for her opening.
Sure, Valentine's Day is legitimately hard for a lot of people. I'm thinking mainly of those who are missing their loved one - the same people who have a legitimately hard time at any other holiday. But you don't hear so much about "Christmas/Easter/Thanksgiving is a happy day for everyone except nearly everyone."
The summer of 1999 I got a bit depressed at my grandpa's annual 24th of July party. It just wasn't the same as previous years, somehow. Well, my aunt talked to me then about how when you get older, a lot of holidays change, and you need to find a meaning and a way of looking at them that works for you. And that's the way it goes. Santa and presents lose their magic? Re-frame how you look at Christmas. Think of the joy of giving, think of baby Jesus.
Well, I think some people really should re-frame how they look at Valentine's Day. It doesn't have to be about the romance. It definitely doesn't have to be about gifts and money. What works for me is to see it as a reminder of all the people I love - especially my friends. Maybe not everybody can see it exactly that way. But the holiday is going nowhere. And I think being happy will come easier if they find some new meaning than if they continue seeing it as a couple's day.
Friday, January 21, 2011
That's Love
There is at least one song on my itunes that I don't really like but haven't ever bothered to delete. The music is fine. But I don't agree with the message. The song? That's Love by Brad Paisley. Here are some of the lyrics:
Besides, if I burn dinner, I know, and I probably feel bad about it. If it's like bad gravy on a Goodyear tire (Paisley's words) and we can afford it, you can even get us something else to eat - spontaneous dinner out, delivery, fast food, whatever. Otherwise, yes, clean your plate. But don't tell me it's great - I have taste buds too, you know.
And from what I know about love and women, a girl who says a bald head is sort of sexy may actually feel that way. Especially when that bald head is part of the man she loves.
Better advice comes in this column by Orson Scott Card. Basically, he is saying that if it doesn't really matter, you don't have to say anything. If it does, be tactful with the where, when, and how. But tell the truth. Now, that's love.
You're starin' at a burnt steakAs I've mentioned here before, I am big on honesty. I want to be able to trust that you will tell the truth. I want to know that I can count on you to tell me things I should know, even if it might hurt my feelings in the moment. Say it as tactfully as you can, but don't lie. And I take that upon myself, too. If I choose to lie, I am going to remember and feel bad about it for years to come. Yes, years. Trust me on this.
You bite the bullet and you clean your plate
And then you go on and on about how great it was
That's not a lie, that's love.
Well, it's the very same thing
That she does for you...
Your bummin' out, she says
There's somethin' kinda sexy about a bald head...
That's not a lie, that's love.
Besides, if I burn dinner, I know, and I probably feel bad about it. If it's like bad gravy on a Goodyear tire (Paisley's words) and we can afford it, you can even get us something else to eat - spontaneous dinner out, delivery, fast food, whatever. Otherwise, yes, clean your plate. But don't tell me it's great - I have taste buds too, you know.
And from what I know about love and women, a girl who says a bald head is sort of sexy may actually feel that way. Especially when that bald head is part of the man she loves.
Better advice comes in this column by Orson Scott Card. Basically, he is saying that if it doesn't really matter, you don't have to say anything. If it does, be tactful with the where, when, and how. But tell the truth. Now, that's love.
Monday, January 17, 2011
The Song of My Heart
I like to sing. And I'm pretty good at it. I also like to perform - there is just something invigorating about being in front of a large crowd, all focused on me. Assuming I'm prepared and it's not largely made up of people whose opinions particularly matter to me. Otherwise I'm more likely to become a nervous wreck.
So, of course, choir was a natural fit for me, and I have performed in several of them. Women's Choir in junior high. Women's Chorus, Junior Choir, State Honor Choir, and Concert Choir in high school. Various ward choirs. Once or twice, I sang with the Choral Arts Society of Utah for the Days of '47 Sunrise Service (Mom, was that just once? Do you remember?). And I probably would have tried to be in a university choir if I had gone to a different college, but I was not willing to compete for the U in anything. Which left me feeling slightly guilty when the Rivalry Week food drive came around. But I digress.
These days, I mostly sing alone. Sometimes I'll sing along with a song playing on the radio, or sing some song stuck in my head, or I'll join in with a group who is singing various popular songs for fun. But when I am in private and sing for the sheer joy of singing, I usually don't sing rock or pop. When I sing for fun, by myself, I usually stick with church music or things I learned for one choir or another. Maybe they fit better my preferred style of singing. Maybe they are more tied to other occasions of losing myself in music. Or maybe they resonate more within my soul.
So, of course, choir was a natural fit for me, and I have performed in several of them. Women's Choir in junior high. Women's Chorus, Junior Choir, State Honor Choir, and Concert Choir in high school. Various ward choirs. Once or twice, I sang with the Choral Arts Society of Utah for the Days of '47 Sunrise Service (Mom, was that just once? Do you remember?). And I probably would have tried to be in a university choir if I had gone to a different college, but I was not willing to compete for the U in anything. Which left me feeling slightly guilty when the Rivalry Week food drive came around. But I digress.
These days, I mostly sing alone. Sometimes I'll sing along with a song playing on the radio, or sing some song stuck in my head, or I'll join in with a group who is singing various popular songs for fun. But when I am in private and sing for the sheer joy of singing, I usually don't sing rock or pop. When I sing for fun, by myself, I usually stick with church music or things I learned for one choir or another. Maybe they fit better my preferred style of singing. Maybe they are more tied to other occasions of losing myself in music. Or maybe they resonate more within my soul.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Mr. Nice Guy
I never saw the appeal of bad boys.
We've all heard that nice guys finish last. And the idea has appeared in books and plays and movies all over the place. But I have always liked the good boys. The boys who go to church every Sunday, treat everybody kindly, and respect authority figures. The guys who, if you imagine them drinking, smoking, or doing drugs, the image in your mind would be so incongruous you just have to laugh.
I think most girls realize that they don't want a really bad boy. They don't particularly want to be abused. And for the long-term, at least, they realize that the ability to hold a steady job is good and criminal tendencies are not. But there is still apparently something appealing about the image of a bad boy. In the first book of Dean Hughes' Hearts of the Children series, three cousins have the following conversation:
Except I seem to recall Gene as being pretty popular with the ladies, and I've typically not liked the same guys all the other girls were into. Even when they were nice.
We've all heard that nice guys finish last. And the idea has appeared in books and plays and movies all over the place. But I have always liked the good boys. The boys who go to church every Sunday, treat everybody kindly, and respect authority figures. The guys who, if you imagine them drinking, smoking, or doing drugs, the image in your mind would be so incongruous you just have to laugh.
I think most girls realize that they don't want a really bad boy. They don't particularly want to be abused. And for the long-term, at least, they realize that the ability to hold a steady job is good and criminal tendencies are not. But there is still apparently something appealing about the image of a bad boy. In the first book of Dean Hughes' Hearts of the Children series, three cousins have the following conversation:
Diane smiled. "The only thing I ever think about is finding some guy who looks like James Dean... really handsome but--"But I don't want that. Of course, anybody really can be bad. But I would like a guy like Gene - someone who the girls would say can't.
"You mean, dead?"
"No. Like he looked when he was alive. He was really cute but a little bit bad. You know what I mean? I want him to be good, and in the Church and everything, but sort of dangerous at the same time."
Kathy had begun to laugh.
"See, I told you--"
"No, no. I'm sorry," Kathy said. "I'm not laughing at you. It's every girl's dream. Anne - in Anne of Green Gables - says she wants a boy who's good but one who's capable of being bad and chooses not to be. Something like that."
"Yeah. That's it. That's exactly right."
"So who isn't capable of being bad?" Gene asked.
"You!" both girls said at the same time.
Except I seem to recall Gene as being pretty popular with the ladies, and I've typically not liked the same guys all the other girls were into. Even when they were nice.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
My Choice
A couple posts ago, I said I was going to look up some terminology, then explain why the "Why are you Mormon?" question is so hard for me. Well, I looked and could not find the terminology - if I still have the notes from that class, I'm not sure where they are. If it was in a textbook, I didn't save that one. I looked for online syllabuses and class notes from the classes I thought might be applicable, but couldn't find anything helpful. And I tried searches on a couple general search engines and on Google Scholar, but didn't find anything.
I bet I could have found something with Google if I had remembered the terms I was looking for.
So I'm going to forget the terminology and just try to explain the idea myself.
In one of my college psych classes,we talked about how people make decisions about their lives. You can organize the decision-making process with a sort of rubrik with four possible outcomes. So across the top, there are two options - if you have chosen or not. Down the side are two different options - if you have explored your options or not. So the four possible outcomes are having decided without exploring options, undecided without exploring options, decided having explored the options, and undecided having explored the options. The most optimal outcome is having made a decision after exploring your options.
When we were discussing this in class, I felt a little uncomfortable. Because I thought that in my life, I really hadn't explored all the different religions out there - I settled into the first religion I was exposed to. And according to the theory, just settling into a decision without first exploring is pretty bad. I eventually came to the conclusion that I was alright - that I had made a conscious decision, not just going along with what my parents chose for me. I prayed about it, and I got my answer. So it really wasn't -fill in word for that outcome-.
But when thinking about what to put for why I'm a Mormon, I am a little concerned that when I say I've been Mormon all my life, I will give the impression that is the reason I am. I want to get across that I made an active choice. But I'm not sure if I can.
On an unrelated note, Santa brought me my tiger this Christmas.
I bet I could have found something with Google if I had remembered the terms I was looking for.
So I'm going to forget the terminology and just try to explain the idea myself.
In one of my college psych classes,we talked about how people make decisions about their lives. You can organize the decision-making process with a sort of rubrik with four possible outcomes. So across the top, there are two options - if you have chosen or not. Down the side are two different options - if you have explored your options or not. So the four possible outcomes are having decided without exploring options, undecided without exploring options, decided having explored the options, and undecided having explored the options. The most optimal outcome is having made a decision after exploring your options.
When we were discussing this in class, I felt a little uncomfortable. Because I thought that in my life, I really hadn't explored all the different religions out there - I settled into the first religion I was exposed to. And according to the theory, just settling into a decision without first exploring is pretty bad. I eventually came to the conclusion that I was alright - that I had made a conscious decision, not just going along with what my parents chose for me. I prayed about it, and I got my answer. So it really wasn't -fill in word for that outcome-.
But when thinking about what to put for why I'm a Mormon, I am a little concerned that when I say I've been Mormon all my life, I will give the impression that is the reason I am. I want to get across that I made an active choice. But I'm not sure if I can.
On an unrelated note, Santa brought me my tiger this Christmas.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)