I used to think that it was noble to be alone.

I used to think that I was the only person who needed people. 

Isn't it funny to look at some of the things that you think (or thought all too recently)?  Sometimes ideas can be so sneaky that you don't even notice them, much less consider that they might be terribly wrong. 

Now I think that there are certain situations when being alone is noble, or when you just have to suck it up and deal with things on your own.  But there are other times when we're supposed to be a part of a community.  That idea just slipped by me for a few years. 

Someone in my Bible study made the observation that we're always compared to sheep in the Bible.  I always thought of that in terms of the relationship between the sheep and the shepherd.  We're constantly in need of direction and most of the time we're downright stupid.  Made sense to me in that capacity.  But she was talking about the sheep in relationship to one another.  If a sheep goes off on its own, it's going to hit hard times.  That's just how it works with the flock. 

And for all this time, I thought that it was a flaw that I needed people.  If I could just get myself together, I'd be happy completely alone.  As soon as I write it down, I can see the complete absurdity of that idea.  When I get out of work on Friday, I first feel relief.  Then I feel lelt down by myself because I want to go out with friends (and don't usually have any such plans).  I actually feel guilty for wanting to be with people--how silly!

It's kind of ingrained though.  So if you happen to live in the Piedmont Triad and you don't see me around for a while, keep me accountable.  I'm trying to quit my hermitic lifestyle (adopted a mere 8 months ago, yet fairly ingrained at this point).  They don't make a patch for this particular life change.

It might be a good idea to think through some of your ingrained ideas, too.  It's easy to think that you've already thought things through and that your ideas all fit into one smooth puzzle.  Sometimes it seems like someone sneaks in a piece from a completely different puzzle.  You have to work for a while to figure it out, but it's obvious once you've really looked at the piece. 

Currently Listening Gabriel & the Vagabond / Indiscriminate Act of Kin Gabriel & the Vagabond see related

I've stopped talking about how I feel because I don't think it's productive.  There's really no point in rehashing a situation if you can't do anything about it, right?  Right.  So this is what isn't important in my life...

I work for a publishing company as a customer service/sales representative.  I like my boss, my co-workers, and my office space.  I like the hours and I can't complain about the salary.  Talking to angry or frustrated customers all day, however, leaves a little bit to be desired.  It isn't always creative or fulfilling.  I've come up with some coping mechanisms that you might enjoy.  One of those is the name game.   

Because I talk on the phone almost all day, I hear a lot of names.  Did you have any idea how many ways there are to spell something like "Terry" or "Katherine"?!  My goal is to write down someone's name the way they actually spell it.  I usually strive for accuracy only in first names, but sometimes last names as well (if I'm feeling particularly ambitious).  This is the drill...

After I do my little canned intro, they usually say, "Hi, I'm [insert name here] with [company name] and this is my problem..."  I have to write down their name, company name, and problem without blinking.  I'm better with a keyboard than a pen (and a pen is my weapon for these battles), so that in itself is a little bit of a challenge.  Anyway, the game is to try to get it right the first time.  The proof is when you look up their account after the official write-down.  It's surprising how much someone's voice can tell you about their name.  For instance, is the woman who introduced herself as "Barb" really listed as Barb in the file, or is her name actually "Barbara"?  Is she a "Barbie" or a "Barbellita"?  (Hey, it could happen.)

I don't usually notice things about people, things like eye color or those other "first look" things.  I'm sometimes even hard-pressed to remember hair color.  So this is new for me, this careful perception of who someone is from the first "meeting."  Part of me likes it, but part of me thinks that this whole perception thing is overrated.  It encourages judgment, whether purely innocent or not.  It's not that my game is a problem, but I'm actually glad now that I don't notice things about people right off the bat.  I like knowing someone before I know how they wear their shoes (tied, sandals with socks, velcroed???) or what their demographic says about how they spell their name(local accent, age??). 

But let's face it, I still need a way to make answering that phone fun every time.  Close examination does make the game seem kind of anticlimactic, so I'm going to raise the stakes.  I'm going to start keeping score.  I'm pretty "Type A," so that means a lot in my world.  I'll let you know how it goes.  Here are the standards:

5 points for every first and last name spelled correctly the first time (in a pair).

2 points for every first name or last name spelled correctly without the other (they do leave out last names a fair bit).

I'll give you an update.  Have a good time with your respective levels of first glance perception!

They call me mellow yellow...

For those of you who are familiar with Worldview Academy, you might remember me singing "They call me mellow yellow..." while dressed in head to toe yellow and on my way to victory with the yellow team.  It was appropriate.  For those of you who are not familiar with Worldview, I'm sure that you can imagine it in all of its glory.  The scene played every Thursday afternoon (sometimes Thursday morning and Thursday night as well) with passion each and every time.  Whether things looked bleak or perfect for the team, mellow was always right on.  You can be mellow as you put on your game face for a comeback.  You can be mellow as you walk into a sure victory.  It was sometimes a very energetic version of mellow, I will admit, but it qualified anyway. 

In my new North Carolina home, yellow has come to mean even more in my life than it did as a camp counselor.  You could call that early stage  the beginning of a great romance between yellow and me. 

The first few months that I was living and driving in North Carolina, I thought that I was going a little bit nutty, to be honest.  It seemed like five cars could make it through a yellow light without a strain.  It seemed miraculous.  I forgot those moments not long after they took place, however.  I remained true to the law and slowed down for yellow lights, even stopped before the intersection and waited for the light to turn red. 

Upon closer examination, I came to the realization that yellow lights here actually are longer!  I wasn't going crazy or forgetting the not-so-good old days or anything.  Now I run yellow lights with glee, knowing that they will take minutes to turn red.  Ah, the faithful yellow light.  Sometimes it seems like half of the green light is yellow.  It's beautiful, much like the setting sun.  You know that it will be night soon, but it will take a while to get there so you might as well enjoy the beauty of the moment.  No need to rush for that last moment of light.  No need to worry about the encroaching darkness. 

So if you see me driving through a yellow light, it's a good guess that I'm softly humming, "They call me mellow yellow."  And if you see me driving in another state, the odds are high that I'll be receiving a ticket. 

Anything that my refrigerator used to say about my state of potential adulthood should be overridden by its current contents.  At the moment, I have condiments and a half-eaten container of Chinese takeout in my fridge.  It wouldn't be so bad if that hadn't been the source of my meals for the past week.  I have in fact been eating leftover takeout since Saturday night (yes, that's six nights).  It was a big order.

There's an empty cereal bowl by my bathtub (because where else should I eat my breakfast but in the bathtub?).  There isn't a room in my (albeit smallish) apartment that isn't filled with dirty clothes on the floor, clean clothes on any other flat surface, or mail in not-so-neat stacks. 

And in this "grownup" home, all I want to do is cry.  I don't feel very put together today.  The worst part is that there's this other piece of my brain that doesn't like me to break down.  If it senses that I'm about to cry, it says, "Hey, don't do that, Hannah!  You're not allowed to do that.  You're brave.  Stop it!!!"  Why can't I just cry like everybody else and feel better afterwards?  Two tears stream out of my eyes and the macho complex kicks in, then a few more tears make it to freedom followed by more of the tough act. 

I can't decide if I would rather have a clean apartment or the ability to really just break down completely.  Until then, I'll be cleaning.  [And the work wardrobe is getting more "creative" as the laundry stacks get bigger... even the clean stacks are so jumbled that you can't find anything in them... I wonder if prom dresses are considered appropriate for "casual Friday."]

P.S.  Because of the aforementioned inability to break down, no friends or family have to worry about me.  I'll be as productive and normal tomorrow as ever.  Tonight just isn't so hot.  And there'll be a happy blog soon. 

Currently Reading The Code of the Woosters (Vintage) By P.G. Wodehouse see related

I was going to write about life changes from graduation day to things as they currently stand.  I was going to be long-winded and philosophical.  Instead, I'm going to tell you a story from the day I started the drive from Colorado to North Carolina with all of my (and my brother's) worldly belongings in tow. 

After two days of mad packing and one very long night of running everything from the house to the U-Haul (started packing the darn thing at 9 PM and finished at about 12:30), we were finally off on the grand adventure.  My mom and dad were going to help me drive out to my new hometown, Winston-Salem.  It was the moment I'd been waiting for since high school.  I could practically see the fall leaves turning colors.  I could taste the pork barbeque.  I could feel the freedom.

But there was something missing.  Security.  [Side note:  Have you seen Office Space?  "It would be nice to have that kind of job security."  Okay, that's all I had to say.  It seemed important at the time.]  I was leaving for this grand openness, but that's all it was.  It was a land of everything that I didn't know.  I didn't know the people or where I was going to live or what job I was going to have.  I had hope and nothing else.  And sitting in my empty bedroom at home was a stuffed animal that had gotten me through many an all-night writing session in college.  He served practically as a pillow; he served emotionally as the next-best thing to a dog.  You might know what I'm talking about if you want to have a pet, but can't because of your lease or your schedule or [insert reason here]. 

Well, I was leaving him behind with the rest of my childhood paraphanalia.  It seemed like a good idea when I was packing.  I was going to make a clean break with being a kid.  I was going to start life with a bang.  And as I did so, as I made my very first drive away from my parents' house and towards my future home, I started crying. 

I knew that for some reason, I was crying about leaving my stuffed animal behind when he should be a part of my new life.  I knew that deep down inside, as silly as it seemed, I needed him even though I like to think that I can handle everything alone.  Even if it's only an inanimate object, everybody needs something for moral support. 

All too often, I try to assert independence where I shouldn't necessarily.  On the one hand, it's good that I make myself behave more bravely than I feel.  But on the other hand, sometimes jumping off of the cliff is really just stupid, not brave. 

Now I'm planning for the next year of my life.  I'm looking at graduate school programs and considering what life would look like with or without taking that step.  And I don't know about you, but when I look at my future, I remember choices that I've made in the past.  So many of my choices were made because I wanted to act independently.  I wanted to do things on my own to prove that I didn't "need" anyone.  And the truth is, I do need people.  As basic as that sounds, I hate writing it.  Something in me wants so badly to be complete without anyone else.  And that's not how God designed us.  He made us to need Him first and foremost, and to need other people as well. 

Is it the American mentality that elevates the idea of being strong enough to live utterly independently of others?  When did it become a bad thing to need and be needed by others?  Is that something that other people (other than myself) deal with in a similar way? 

That's where I am.  Semi-deep thoughts of the day.  Too bad the thoughts aren't like semi-sweet chocolate.  Mmm.  And then there's semi-sweet dark chocolate with almond and raisin bits thrown in...