I have come to the decision that, starting a couple weeks ago, the next year will be amazing. I'm not sure how this will happen, I just have faith that it will. There have already been small glimpses into the possibilities. I wrote before about how my vulnerability brought about stronger connections with those already in my life...I'm now learning that by allowing myself to be comfortable, I can make new connections altogether. Maybe its the simple fact that I am literally looking up when I go places. I notice people smiling, and it makes me smile back, which reminds me that I'm not alone. And this helps me stand a little taller.
I have been making some new friends and spending more time with those friends who I didn't know too much about before. Saturday, I found myself huddled under a cozy blanket, watching Disney movies on a rainy day with a friend I have only spent time with on a couple other occasions. We were supposed to be working our muscles and enjoying a nice hike in the Chuckanuts, but a lack of planning and some printer errors sent us hiding indoors. Dumbo, Robin Hood...how can you go wrong? Maybe ending our movie day with Pulp Fiction was a bit of a jump, but it was worth it! I even found myself passed out on the couch at one point in an attempt
to recover from my previous night of new friend adventures.
Sunday was not going to stop me from getting a hike in, so my classmate and I were determined to find some trail that would take us. A few weeks ago I would have found an excuse to postpone the hike and
lay low, but I am seeking adventures and anything that looks like it
might lead to one. So I found myself at the Samish Overlook with a friend who I would know a little better at the end of our three miles. It was cold, but I had coffee. And it was the perfect amount of quiet to have amazing conversations. We found snow at the top and sunshine at the bottom, then warmth back in town. I would have missed all this if I had stayed in what I thought was my comfort zone.
Taking the active step of putting myself out into the world again has brought changes and events I didn't plan on. I was unsure what would come of my decision to let go, but I'm happy I did. These new friendships and unexpected smiles have led me to believe that this will be an amazing year. This will be the year I learn to push past what I think I know and see what else I can learn.
Looking back through my binder full of old journal entries I found this. I had in mind that it would be the first page of a book I may never write. This is the wall I talked about. I tweaked it a bit to fix some writing and add a couple other things. I know its a bit heavier than the things I usually post, but I'm practicing that vulnerability I talked about.
STRENGTH, a word most people view as a compliment, a positive attribute, a rare characteristic that puts them above the rest. For one reason or another this is a word that many around me have to used to describe me. When looking from outside I can see how easy it could be to quickly throw the label my way. No matter what seems to happen in my life, it was a rare occasion to ever see me show any sort of emotional pain. Even when it had become an expectation to see my father drunk, never would I let on that it was tearing me apart inside. Only the few that I had allowed to come close would ever see me for who I was, who I am. They were the chosen ones who were given permission to witness my own personal anguish that I had learned to hide, without effort, from the rest of the world. Yet, even with my complacent attitude in times of distress I had to ask myself why no one questioned my ability to stay utterly calm when my best friend had given up on life. Or when my family friend took hers. What they didn't seem to understand was that to me, the idea of strength has simply been used as a tool, a shield against my own mentality...an escape from myself. In living with my depressed father, my strength was avoiding the problem in its entirety. I would pretend to be strong until the time came to go home. I had somehow managed to convince myself that this was how life was supposed to be; full of battles that are constantly being fought. Full of reasons to hide. And with that explanation I created a box to hold my battles and my true emotions. When my friend tried giving up, I went back to that box in hopes of carrying the burden she could no longer handle. I have tried to take the burdens of others and put them in this box and carry it on my own shoulders. Through all of these experiences, it was the box that continued to strengthen, not my ability to truly endure the situation.
STRONG, a word I have grown to hate, a word that I had chosen to hide behind. To me, being strong is no strength at all.
And I will end this post with a quote that I can't take credit for.
What does it mean to be vulnerable? Capable of being physically or emotionally wounded. Doesn't that apply to people everywhere? Physically yes, but not everyone gives themselves the chance to be emotionally hurt. People hide from it because vulnerability can bring shame and fear and uncertainty...but it brings about chances to so many great things. Connection and compassion and the ability to love and be loved with your whole heart. The shame and fear and uncertainty come when you jump in with both feet, only to find yourself on the floor like a rag doll. People applaud me for being vulnerable. I tell them I don't have a choice, that the things I'm feeling won't allow themselves to be hidden. But maybe I've been training for this. Maybe the years I spent hiding in high school and part of college, maybe they have shown me why vulnerability is so important. Because when I opened up a tiny part of that pain I had been holding onto, I met amazing people who helped me break down a little more of that wall. I recognize that part of that wall still exists and I feel myself wanting to begin building it back up. I struggle with the urge to protect myself from this physical and emotional pain, but I know this would only leave me locked up within my own prison. Building a wall is a temporary fix. I didn't realize how vulnerable I had become over the years until I lost the future I fell in love with. I find myself reaching out to friends I've known for a few months, and those I haven't talked to in years. I have discovered stronger bonds, and am beginning to realize that I helped build them. The journeys I have taken throughout my life have helped me step away from uncertainty. Sometimes I wonder what to do with uncertainty when it comes up, and I struggle with wanting to know the outcomes when there are bigger things at stake. For adventures, I crave uncertainty. I become nervous when heavy emotions and hearts are involved. But I need to remember to push through that fear when the time is right...when my heart tells me its ok. So my new mission is to hold onto that vulnerability, because pushing through that terror creates connection. I am going to remember to love with my whole heart, even though there's no guarantee. And to be thankful for these moments of intense vulnerability...because it means I'm alive.
I have amazing friends who post wonderful things. With the election growing closer I have woken up a fight for my rights and it appears that blogging is one of my outlets. And because I am also in grad school and slightly brain dead, I will steal the words of others. That's why I make a note to give full credit to Drew, and have changed it because some of you don't know who he is. Here goes...
Dear Friends who may be thinking about voting
AGAINST an initiative, amendment, or candidate because of it's stand FOR
marriage equality: When you hear or read comments about gays, please
replace the word "gay" with my name.
Syd getting married is a threat to all families.
Syd doesn't love, it is only lust.
Syd shouldn't be allowed to marry.
Syd is what is wrong with this country.
Syd is 'fixable' with electroshock therapy.
Syd has enough protection already, he now wants special rights.
If Syd can marry then we should just let people marry animals/children/objects.
Syd isn't fit to be a mother!
The "marriage equality movement" is simply about people who are in love
and want to spend their lives together. It is about a legal recognition
and protection of my commitment - Sydney's commitment - to another
person.
Why has it taken me so long to post? I know this has been burning question on the back of every one's mind. All five of you who read my blog. Cue my list of excuses
1) My computer was broken and I felt the need to ship it back to Minnesota to get it fixed
2) I had to finally think about starting grad school
3) Moving 3 hours north takes a lot of work
4) Classes started and I needed a chance to freak out
After getting a chance to stop and take a breath I can finally tell everyone how excited I am! This is first time I have been excited about reading all text books I have. The first time I am taking notes because I am sincerely interested in what is on the page. And I better enjoy it because I have 2 years of this and a whole lot of reading. I plan on keeping track of how many pages I have read as time passes. So far, since Friday I have tallied 124 pages (I want to note that those are class readings and do not include the book I'm reading to stay sane).
I will admit that my greatest fear was not the reading, or the assignments that will undoubtedly keep me busy throughout all of this...what put my stomach in knots was whether or not I get along with my classmates. For those of you who I haven't told, my program runs on a cohort basis. There are 6 first years total (yes, I said 6) and we are all in the same classes throughout the program. This means that if one person clashes with my awesome personality, there is no escape. Let us all be thankful that the powers that be (the department) chose well and I am can safely say that we will all survive. There will be a lot of chilling.
We were told by several second year students that we would cry at least once in our first year, probably more than once. So far, just once, from one of the passages in my text. I didn't cry when Dumbledore died, or in any books I've read of abuse, genocide, or other things of that nature...but a text book finally pushes me over the edge. So now I feel obliged to share this father's metaphor for his grief after losing his 2-year-old son. I hope you have tissues close by. I am building a three-sided house. It is not a good design. With one side open to the weather, it will never offer complete shelter from life's cold winds. Four sides would be much better, but there is no foundation on one side, and so three walls are all I have to work with. I am building this place from the rubble of the house I used to own...It had four good walls and would, I thought, survive the most violent storm. It did not. A storm beyond my understanding tore my house apart and left the fragments on the ground around me...And so I rebuild. Not, as so many onlookers would suggest, because I need shelter once again. The storm now travels within me, and there is no shelter from the tempest behind doors or walls. Who can show me how to build here now? There are no architects, no experts in designing three-sided houses. Why is it that that so many people seem to have advice for me? "Move on," they say, quite convinced that another house can replace the one I lost...I grow weary of consultations based on murky insight, delivered with such confidence. ...And yet among those who wish to see me house rise again, there are real heroes too. People who are not daunted by the wreckage. It is not a pleasant role for them to play because the dust clings to those who come to see and it will not wash off when they go home...Above all they know how difficult this task is, and no suggestion comes from them about how far along I ought to be.
This time I was able tot make it through without tears, but...wow. This is what I'm getting into. I will be learning how to walk into these houses and let dust cling and make no judgements.
There is another side to my future path, one that fits my hopes and goals to a tee. I read over and over again that the role of the school counselor has roots in advocating for social justice. These things pop up out of the page and I find myself nodding my head with a smile on my face. So, I am sitting here, listening to music which points out these injustices and thinking "hell, yea, I have a purpose!"
I have found myself with way to much time on my hands, and this generally begins in boredom, a little bit of self-pity, lots of reading, and eventually awesome journeys. For those of you who know about the wonderful network called CouchSurfing, then you understand the possibility for new friendships that can begin. The new friend I found, Babak, helped pushed me to get outside. On Wednesday we drove to Sequim and hiked the full 11 miles out and back to the light house at the end of the Dungeness Spit, the longest natural sand bar in the United States. I was able to explore a bit of this natural wonder last month and vowed to return and conquer. My new CS buddy and I made it to the light house after the tours were supposed to be closed, but met a kind volunteer keeper who let us in. An interesting bit of information, the spit grows by 15 feet each year, so although the light house was originally 1/16 of a mile from the end when it was built, there is now a 1/2 mile of new sand. The sun liked us enough to come out from behind the clouds and we watched a colorful sunset back at the trail to the parking lot. I put a lot of thought into what footwear to equip myself with for this sand filled journey, and although I realize that Chacos were a better choice, I have learned that wet Chacos, sand, and 11 miles don't mix well. I am still sporting some good blisters and raw skin from the sand that became trapped between the straps and my feet. Totally worth it.
Next adventure? This one found us 4 hours north in the Mt. Baker Wilderness at the trail head to Church Mountain. Another foggy day, creating an eery sense of isolation and a feeling of accomplishment when we got above the first layer. I was not prepared for the numerous switchbacks that were so long at times as to make us believe that we had reached the end. Lies! My legs burned, my lungs struggled the thin air filled with moisture, and I struggled to fight the disappointment I get on cloudy hikes. After several stops and curses at the incline we reached an awesome snow filled meadow, hidden by just enough fog to make us feel trapped in a bowl, wondering what was waiting for us just beyond. Our intention was to reach the peak of Church Mountain, but after crossing a small stream, we realized that the fog and snow was proving to be more difficult when we were ready for. Turning around with a belly satisfied with Clif Bars and trail mix, we were honored with a peek of the wilderness around us as the fog flew away for a bit. Babak grew silent after making a connection with Middle Earth...or some sort of really cool other worldly spot.
Anyone who has climbed switch back after switch will relate to excitement of being able to climb down something, and our curses when our body betrayed us, making you feel older than we want to. We were pushed onward by the taste of pizza and beer from North Fork (the best way to end any journey around Mt. Baker). Too bad these things couldn't fix the incredibly sore muscles that taunted me for the next few days. Worth it.
And then came the sad day when Babak continued his own adventures on to BC. Back to work and hours spent reading...hours spent ignoring that homework I should be doing. Then along came Alicia, who is an adventurer like me. Our destination? Mt. St. Helen's. Mission created. Let's bring Steve! I've had a lot of crazy misadventures with this guy lately.
This is how every misadventure feels
This was one of the most wonderful misadventures I've had in a long time. I will spoil the story by admitting that the only events that caused this to be a misadventure was a shortage of water towards the end, painful feet, and an inability to make it through the paths we kept taking. Always make sure you have enough water for these things. Soak your feet after. Enjoy where life takes you. The closed trails led me to a small summit and the ability to view four major peaks at once. Mt. Rainer, Mt. Adams, Mt. Hood, and the source of our excitement, Mt. St. Helen's. As we continued on side trails I was dubbed Sydney the Scout, crawling over small washouts and running along rocky trails, in charge of the tough decision on whether to move forward or retreat. I took pride in my work. After blaring sun, breathtaking views, photo ops, and silence as we followed the winding path to the car, we washed off in the cool water of the well placed pump. What's the best way to end a fulfilling day of adventure? More good food, and good beer. I slept hard that night.
So, I must admit that this post has been inspired by my friend's blog, Lady Bottle Blues, and his reflection of his own ADD. And as a typical person with all that ADD or ADHD crap, I was distracted with an attempt to read a handout for homework. Ironic that the topic was Diagnostic Criteria for ADHD. Here's my next confession...I don't have ADHD/ADD...and I'm not a hypochondriac trying to claim a disorder. My reasoning for the post is this. I believe that had I been educated in a typical school system, I might have been a victim of over diagnosis.
1) Does not follow through on instructions or chores: That homework I'm supposed to be doing?
2) Fails to pay close attention to directions: I hate minute details
3) Forgetful: How about that hike I had to cancel 5 minutes ago because I forgot that I have a wedding tomorrow?
4) Easily distracted: This speaks for itself...and also goes along with the next one
5) Avoids sustained mental effort: I wouldn't say avoids so much as, hates doing it all at once
6) Inappropriately runs and climbs
7) Squirms or fidgets
The list goes on, and although many things are over generalized, I've noticed that this explains much of my impulsiveness. But are the symptoms part of ADHD, my mania, or just being human? The friend mentioned earlier, Steve, made some interesting observations about his diagnosis. When learning new things, or adding onto older knowledge, his mind begins to paint a picture of what is being processed. As he learned about the Duwamish people who had lived in what is now Seattle, Steve's brain is now imprinted with the image of people weaving baskets along Lake Union and begins to see past the skyline of the 21st century.
Now hold on just a second. This guy sees things that aren't there? Of course he has some sort of disorder...in the restraints of our typical education system. Unless you were lucky enough to have teachers who cater to your learning style. Enter, the Open School system. The majority of my school years were spent at Clara Barton Open School, and I believe that this saved an incredible number of students from a Ridalin stupor. Rather than reading a book and turning in a two-page essay, we had the choice of an essay, a picture, a play, a speech...whatever conveyed the main ideas and proved your knowledge. To this day, I hate writing papers, but this doesn't mean I missed anything. Like Steve, when I read a book, I see past the words and and generic ideas, but fall into the pictures these words paint. My schooling, from Kindergarten to 12th grade, fostered creativity and helped kids who couldn't stay still.
Unfortunately, universities,community colleges, even graduate schools, do not follow the pattern I'm used to, and I believe the American standard of learning is why I burned out so quickly. Even this online class I'm taking is proving too "normal" for me. I am intrigued by everything I learn, but find it incredibly difficult to sit in front a screen for 15-20 hours a week. If, however, I was able to turn in an art assignment, or show my knowledge in a hands on format, this class with be a blast...but no such luck. I am thankful that Western has me working with clients for a vast majority of the program. Otherwise I could expect another painful school experience...I wonder if professors pull their students into the office to discuss the benefits of Ritalin. I think Steve has a point when he pictures the blessing of his ADHD mind.
In
the future, I imagine, teachers are going to lean in, speaking directly
to parents with a solemn tone, and say, "It appears your son doesn't
have ADD, and it's likely he is going to struggle in school."
I will leave you with this wonderful video, another tidbit from homework I am avoiding.
