I'm a jumper. While other people wait their turn, patiently biding their time, I leap with both feet. I know that my feet will occasionally hit the ground painfully and I'll need to climb myself out of that rabbit hole, but I just can't seem to help myself. When I choose to do anything, I prefer to do it full force, like a hurricane. This is not always the best idea but I have an insatiable need to give things my all. This has always been especially problematic in the area of my romantic inclinations. No matter how bad they appeared on the outside, or to outsiders, I was all in. I could not stop myself from giving everything I had to these situations. This led to a lot of frustration and heartbreak. This does not, however, mean that I have spent a lot of time in love. There has always been the possibility for love but the boys I dated from my second high school boyfriend to my last college boyfriend were always lacking. I had dated every variation of personality since high school: the boy with an unnaturally colored mohawk, a bassist in a garage band, a drummer, a frat boy with a genuinely good heart (albeit very poor judgement), a socially awkward engineer and the various other boys who have wandered into my life through the years. I threw my hat into the ring with wild abandon with each of these young men, and each time results were catastrophic. While I loved each one of these boys with all of my heart at the time, none of them were able to rise to the difficult challenge of loving me like I loved them. At the same time, I knew in the back of my mind that each of these relationships was not the right one for me. I ended each one, and as was the fashion for young women at the time, mourned the loss of my relationships with the same interminable zest that I lived the rest of my life with. I wallowed, I wept, I wandered around in a heartbroken daze like a zombie who hadn't yet been to see the wizard to restore her heart to her chest.
Now, after college, I reconnected with an old friend from high school. This coincided with the year of my discontent when I found out I had cancer. On September 17th, 2009 I was officially diagnosed with pappillary thyroid cancer. Dreading the moment that I had to tell my family is the ultimate understatement. I waited for my family to assemble at home base like the Avengers waiting to be debriefed after a long mission and bought myself a pair of boots (affectionately nicknames my "cancer-boots"). My plan to beat cancer was the same as my plan for all challenges: like a bull charging a matador except this time I would gore the shit out of the matador and not be slowly tortured to death by that ridiculously dressed senor. So I strongly, although reluctantly, walked into my parents kitchen and asked them and my sister to gather in the kitchen and sit. My Dad announced that he was already cooking the "Alli Doesn't Have Cancer" victory dinner. As everyone sat down you could see the intense concern in my mothers face and a vague confusion on my sister's (who had been at college and only come home to do laundry). The following is a representation of telling my family and also an example of why I,
a) love them so much
b) love our inappropriate family dynamics
c) find strength at the route of our ridiculous natures
"Alright, so I have an announcement. "
Blank worried stares and an unending silence.
"So." I uttered this in several seconds to draw out the moment that I wasn't the cancer ridden sick daughter. "I have cancer..."
As I said this I heard a huge SLAM as my mom's hand hit the kitchen table and she uttered the sentences that would become my never-ending motto to surviving this diseased state. As she slammed her hand on our kitchen table she practically shouted:
"Oh thank God! I thought you were pregnant!"
There was a long (or pregnant, if you will pardon the pun) pause while we all processed these words in a whirlwind of confusion.
"Mom, what the fuck?" my sister replied first, emphasizing each syllable with an astonished comprehension dawning on her face.
"Your eldest daughter just told you she has cancer," she finished flabbergasted.
"Cancer is treatable, pregnancy is not," were the words my mother had chosen to defend her outburst.
At this, I burst out laughing and I laughed until tears poured down my face. This brutally honest statement gave me courage and that was the moment that I knew it would be alright. My mother was where I got my tenacity and I would need that to conquer this demon. Unfortunately, being a force of nature also sometimes means saying, "I'm fine," even when you're not. It became a never-ending statement. Then there was my old high school friend, who was serving overseas. Online, truth is a lot easier to face than in person for me, so we stated talking about everything. How we were feeling, admitting for possibly the first time that we were both struggling and going through a really tough time. Eventually I told him that I had cancer and he became my emotional confidant. We started dating while he was in Iraq and eventually he came home. He was going back to school roughly 2 hours from where I was living and we made the decision to move in together. I moved halfway across the state to follow my heart (again, attacking everything with an excess gumption). In the end I tried but our relationship imploded and then like a large scale nuclear reaction exploded for several months in one of the most bitter and atrocious break-ups I have ever experienced.
Now, over a year later, I find myself at a cliff. The constant advice I get is to be patient and keep myself calm and see what happens. However, this is really an intrinsic part of my personality. if I hadn't jumped feet first into my career two years ago, where would I be today? Last year when my school's administration renewed my contract only if I taught middle school (my former worst nightmare) would I have become the best teacher possible if I hadn't jumped right into it?
Along with learning to love myself completely, I have to love what makes me who I am. Part of that is approaching each challenge like a spider monkey attacking a threat to her little monkey babies. A part of that is also faith based. I have a sense of conviction that although these leaps of faith don't always end well as I claw myself up out of the hole that I've dug, that I will end up where I need to be because of them. So in my life's current mercurial state, I find myself leaning towards the boldness that I had always favored. After all, no one really gets anywhere without having a little bit of moxie. As Eleanor Roosevelt famously said, "Well behaved women rarely make history," and this lady is most assuredly not a well-behaved, well-mannered lady. Not while that bull in my head is still goring the shit out of that matador.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Recluses, Eccentrics and Babies
I have a theory... Everyone knows the age-old story of some innocent small child who is challenged to face some fearsome beast, only to find out they're cute and all warm and fuzzy on the inside. In modern times, it seems to always be a group of the aforementioned pre-teens who have to face some sort of supremely dilapidated house where some sort of horrific creature, whose true horrors none can fathom, resides. The story that comes to mind is "The Sandlot." A bunch of pre-pubescent boys accidentally hit a baseball over a fence only to try to outsmart a fearsome beast who is hoarding treasure like Smaug (for those without nerdy inclinations, the dragon from Tolkien's The Hobbit). Eventually they defeat the creature only to realize he's just a big lug with a heart of gold and they decide to tell the guy who lives in the house about what happened. At which point they meet a kindly old gentleman who used to play major league baseball but lost his sight and now, more or less, keeps to himself. While the rest of the universe focused on the moral of the story (when you do something wrong, just be honest about it/don't judge a book by its cover, etc.) I was so fascinated by the old man. What did he do all day? What did he eat at mealtimes? Did he believe in astrology? Does he celebrate holidays? Does Santa bring presents to kindly albeit capricious old shut-ins?
As I reached my teenage years, people would start asking where I saw myself in ten years and I started saying that I fully intended on becoming some form of the scary town witch/cat/bag lady. The one who wanders around town dragging a cart filled with junk and eventually heading home to a rickety house with a seriously overgrown yard that looks like it would only be fit for habitation by a truly horrifying creature. I even proclaimed at that early age that I assumed I would chase the town's children off my lawn waving an old piece of wood with rusty nails while screeching, “GET AWAY FROM HERE!” Now at this point, adults would either look shocked and mumble something like, "weird kid..." or they'd laugh and say, "I'm sure you'll find something."
College soon approached and the wording changed slightly. People still reacted in shock and said I was odd (not untrue) but the ones who laughed it off had changed their tune. Instead of "You'll find something..." they started saying "You'll find someone..." At first, it didn't bother me because I found it funny that they didn't understand my humor. But the seed had been planted. I started to doubt if I had been using that story to justify being what I assumed I always would be: "terminally single." Sure, maybe I would meet some nice nerdy boy who totally got me, but it felt like the odds were certainly not in my favor. As I hit my late 20s, however, I was able to see this with new perspective.
As you hit your mid-twenties, everyone, it seems, starts getting married. Not just your friends but people you hated in high school. The girls you thought would just party through their 20s even tied the knot. Then as if the universe is a giant game of Texas Hold 'Em, they up the ante. Suddenly everyone is pregnant. You run into people and they're inflated as if they're stealing a 20-pound turkey for Thanksgiving. Then suddenly, and yes for us single-lady holdouts it seems instantaneous, everyone has the kids and the spouse and the house with a yard and a strong old oak tree to hang a swing or another cute something-or-other. If you're lucky, when this happens you'll have some form of career or job that you're madly in love with to distract yourself, even if you don't have a boyfriend in any traditional sense of the word. If you don't, you'd end up like Kristen Wiig in Bridesmaids: In a tailspin of self-pity because everyone else seems so content with their lives and here you are barely hanging on by a thread.
There are a few things dreaded by single people. Being the only single person at a dinner party. Going to a bar as if you're ready for battle to ward off the advances of mangy curs who seem they'd be better suited to rule as a pirate king than bring you on a date. Finding out that the one ex who you were serious with is suddenly getting married. All of these would send a weaker person into the throes of woe begotten misery. You, however, are a pro and can handle all of that with grace and aplomb. The two things that do grind your gears are dreaded questions, always posed by non-single people. The first being, "When are you going to settle down and get married?"
A. Does it look like I'm some sort of fortune teller? Is there a magical crystal ball that I'm unaware of that will find that person who doesn't make me want to strangle them 80% of the time?
Then there's the even more dreaded statement that causes an aghast reaction each time. Maybe you're at a family party, or at a friend's new housewarming festivity when someone needs you to hold a baby. Don't get me wrong, I'm a strong proponent of clocking baby time. Plus they smell so good and they're all mushy and soft. Then in the midst of your blissful baby time, someone comes up and says, "Makes you want one of your own, huh? So when do you plan on having children?" At first, you start replying with witty repartee, "I plan on having a test tube baby genetically engineered sometime after 2050. I hear that's when the technology will really hit its stride." Or my particular favorite, "I don't. I'm holding out for legalized human cloning so I can raise a new me and live forever. Technical immortality!" After a few years, however, these questions start to annoy and frustrate. Suddenly you want to defensively reply, "It's none of your business, kindly old woman who is clearly Satan in disguise. I WILL NOT GO TO THE DARK SIDE SO STOP ASKING, DEMON SPAWN."
Which brings me to my brand new perspective on the town shut-ins. Those who get a bad reputation as the eccentrics. Maybe they act crazy so the world's "normal" people will stop fucking asking when they're going to settle down and have babies. Perhaps they find it far easier to create this kooky persona than to worry about answering these incredibly intrusive questions. When I answered these questions as a kid, I just enjoyed the shocked looks I received from the adults around me. Now when I answer these questions (while still thoroughly enjoying the incredulity of those around me) I feel a greater affinity with the eccentrics of our society. They may be unconventional, but at least they're original and share my deep love of cats.
As I reached my teenage years, people would start asking where I saw myself in ten years and I started saying that I fully intended on becoming some form of the scary town witch/cat/bag lady. The one who wanders around town dragging a cart filled with junk and eventually heading home to a rickety house with a seriously overgrown yard that looks like it would only be fit for habitation by a truly horrifying creature. I even proclaimed at that early age that I assumed I would chase the town's children off my lawn waving an old piece of wood with rusty nails while screeching, “GET AWAY FROM HERE!” Now at this point, adults would either look shocked and mumble something like, "weird kid..." or they'd laugh and say, "I'm sure you'll find something."
College soon approached and the wording changed slightly. People still reacted in shock and said I was odd (not untrue) but the ones who laughed it off had changed their tune. Instead of "You'll find something..." they started saying "You'll find someone..." At first, it didn't bother me because I found it funny that they didn't understand my humor. But the seed had been planted. I started to doubt if I had been using that story to justify being what I assumed I always would be: "terminally single." Sure, maybe I would meet some nice nerdy boy who totally got me, but it felt like the odds were certainly not in my favor. As I hit my late 20s, however, I was able to see this with new perspective.
As you hit your mid-twenties, everyone, it seems, starts getting married. Not just your friends but people you hated in high school. The girls you thought would just party through their 20s even tied the knot. Then as if the universe is a giant game of Texas Hold 'Em, they up the ante. Suddenly everyone is pregnant. You run into people and they're inflated as if they're stealing a 20-pound turkey for Thanksgiving. Then suddenly, and yes for us single-lady holdouts it seems instantaneous, everyone has the kids and the spouse and the house with a yard and a strong old oak tree to hang a swing or another cute something-or-other. If you're lucky, when this happens you'll have some form of career or job that you're madly in love with to distract yourself, even if you don't have a boyfriend in any traditional sense of the word. If you don't, you'd end up like Kristen Wiig in Bridesmaids: In a tailspin of self-pity because everyone else seems so content with their lives and here you are barely hanging on by a thread.
There are a few things dreaded by single people. Being the only single person at a dinner party. Going to a bar as if you're ready for battle to ward off the advances of mangy curs who seem they'd be better suited to rule as a pirate king than bring you on a date. Finding out that the one ex who you were serious with is suddenly getting married. All of these would send a weaker person into the throes of woe begotten misery. You, however, are a pro and can handle all of that with grace and aplomb. The two things that do grind your gears are dreaded questions, always posed by non-single people. The first being, "When are you going to settle down and get married?"
A. Does it look like I'm some sort of fortune teller? Is there a magical crystal ball that I'm unaware of that will find that person who doesn't make me want to strangle them 80% of the time?
Then there's the even more dreaded statement that causes an aghast reaction each time. Maybe you're at a family party, or at a friend's new housewarming festivity when someone needs you to hold a baby. Don't get me wrong, I'm a strong proponent of clocking baby time. Plus they smell so good and they're all mushy and soft. Then in the midst of your blissful baby time, someone comes up and says, "Makes you want one of your own, huh? So when do you plan on having children?" At first, you start replying with witty repartee, "I plan on having a test tube baby genetically engineered sometime after 2050. I hear that's when the technology will really hit its stride." Or my particular favorite, "I don't. I'm holding out for legalized human cloning so I can raise a new me and live forever. Technical immortality!" After a few years, however, these questions start to annoy and frustrate. Suddenly you want to defensively reply, "It's none of your business, kindly old woman who is clearly Satan in disguise. I WILL NOT GO TO THE DARK SIDE SO STOP ASKING, DEMON SPAWN."
Which brings me to my brand new perspective on the town shut-ins. Those who get a bad reputation as the eccentrics. Maybe they act crazy so the world's "normal" people will stop fucking asking when they're going to settle down and have babies. Perhaps they find it far easier to create this kooky persona than to worry about answering these incredibly intrusive questions. When I answered these questions as a kid, I just enjoyed the shocked looks I received from the adults around me. Now when I answer these questions (while still thoroughly enjoying the incredulity of those around me) I feel a greater affinity with the eccentrics of our society. They may be unconventional, but at least they're original and share my deep love of cats.
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