Monthly Archives: November 2013

Stew. For breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Seriously, , ,

I had an AFGO the other day.  (Another eFfing Growth Opportunity, for those of you unfamiliar with my genius dad’s brilliant catch-phrase.)  And I have been stewing over it ever since.  And not just stewing… I’ve also ruminated on it, mulled it over, worked myself into a frenzy, wrote and deleted angry emails about it, and given it major lip service.

(I tend to have a very hard time just letting things go… like you don’t!)

Was all of that stewing, etc, worth my while?  Probably not.  And I need to get over it.  So I’m going to blog about.  Because that’s what I do.

It boils down to an issue of respect, and ultimately, sexism, I believe.

I offered up a genuine concern to a colleague.  I was told I was wrong.

Fine.  Difference of opinion.  That happens and it’s ok.

(No, Michele, I am not talking about you. You can relax now.)

But then I received a phone call about the issue.  A phone called that started with laughter (laughter!!) over my concern.  My legitimate and professionally raised concern.

And it was then that my blood boiled.  BOILED.

Don’t worry, I spoke up.  I said that the laughter was inappropriate, belittling, and disrespectful.  I was quickly taken off speaker phone.  (In-ter-es-an-te…)  Many patronizing efforts were made to placate me, but I was already done.  Checked out.

I had already been accused of “throwing a temper tantrum” by this person once.  And I play by NIH softball rules–  you start with one strike.  (For those keeping score at home, that makes three.  OUT!)

I was invited to sit at the metaphorical table and I stood my ground while I was there.  Unfortunately, I was not respected for doing so and, having witnessed civil discourse related to several disagreements with other male colleagues, I have every reason to believe that the lack of respect stems from the fact that I am a woman.  Hence the boiling, roiling blood.

Sexism in the twenty-fourth and a half cent-ur-y!!!

I started college in 2001, grad school in 2005, and entered the professional work force in 2011.  You would think that after year 2000, sexism on campus and in the work place would be a thing of the past.

Ha!

I have experienced blatant and disturbing sexism in all three places.

In college, a professor told me that he didn’t know what I was getting so worked up about since I was only there for my M-R-S. (B-S, P-H-D in your face! Then the Mrs… thanks, MTU.)

In graduate school, I was told that I was doing female scientists a disservice by leaving the traditional academic structure.  (Still female… still engaged in biomedical research… still working toward the improvement of human health on a daily basis… but whatevs.)

And now, with over two years of professional experience and a track record of success under my belt, there are still certain members of the “old boy’s club” that take it upon themselves to remind me that I am somehow less.

Disagree.

With the exception of awkward conversations in the bathroom (because I’m the most awkward small-talk-maker ever), I think before I speak and rarely raise concerns unless I find them legitimately worthy of consideration.  I can understand why people might have been wary of me (fresh out of school and all that) at first, but I am good at my job and I have demonstrated that.  So I deserve to be treated as such.

(But then again, even if someone is new and fresh out of school with no proven track record, they are still a human being (even if it’s a lady!) and therefore deserve to be treated with a basic level of respect.)

I’m always going to have to work with some jerks, that’s a given.  And some of them are going to be men, also a given.

And so, I will continue to react like Jeffrey Tambor as Ed Singer in Muppets from Space:

DON’T… LAUGH… AT… MEEEE! (Start watching at about 0:46, or just recall the hilarity from your own mind.)

Perhaps you think I’m being overly sensitive, or that I’m some sort of “psycho” feminist, espousing the, as the bumper sticker says, radical notion that women are people too.  And that’s ok.  Might as well embrace it.

As my husband heard on Modern Family, and is now fond of saying to me, “harness that crazy into something positive.”

So my positive? Cathartic blog rant! Funny Muppet clip!  And another AFGO in my arsenal!

 

PS: Yes, “another AFGO” is, in fact, redundant.  Don’t care.

Tom… Hanks-style. Brotherly love.

Awesome Things, , , , ,

So, I’m sure you guys remember my desperate pleas for help regarding this illegible inscription from Adam Bucko:

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I got a lot of really great responses about what people thought it said and the general consensus seemed to be in favor of “May you be the change,” but I was still having some trouble making that out.  It just didn’t seem quite right.

Fortunately, my brother Tom was on the case.  In a somewhat obsessive way…. but I think he solved it!!

This is what he sent me:

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And what he said was, “I think this is correct.  I traced it out until I could roughly free-hand the last two words then exaggerated the markings to separate out the individual letters.  Pretty damn fitting, if you ask me.”  And he went on to explain other hand writing analysis techniques he explored…

The conclusion?

MAY YOU BE IN GRACE.

YES!!

I was so pumped!  But my favorite part is when Tom said this:

“I have a huge adrenaline rush right now 🙂  I just read the grace post and then that one and then felt like Tom Hanks in the Da Vinci Code piecing it all together.”

So I’ve got his address (you’d think I would have already had it, but alas, I did not… terrible sister) and his book is on its way.  Such a good brother!!  Thanks, Tom!

 

PS: My brother is a bonafide genius, but he is brilliant in a way very different from my sister and me.  Abby and I tend toward the sciences with a focus on the concrete.  Tom has a degree in philosophy and manages to wrap his big brain around some really crazy concepts.  In addition to being brilliant in that way, Tom is an AMAZING writer… and has been since he was like, I don’t know, eight?  As such, knowing he’s following along with my blog makes me feel CRAZY good!  Also, Tom’s hilarious… like if Will Ferrell and Andy Samberg had a tall, skinny man-child… and yet, sometimes I can make him laugh!  Nothing better than that!!

A jerk! Because I love…

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I have an amazing little sister and I love her so very, very much.

And because of that… this:

Abby's UndiesUNDERWEAR!

This is a guided tour of my little sister’s underwear that moves from conservative granny panties on the left up to butt floss-style thongs on the right.  She came home one day to this.

I’m not sure if my favorite part was the anticipation of Abby walking up the stairs and finding the underwear or the moment I heard her scream… knowing what it was about.

Either way…

MWUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

And this was how it always was and probably always will be.  I tease.  A lot.  But for me to tease, I’ve got to be comfortable.  And for me to be comfortable, I’ve got to love.  So in a round about way, I’m a jerk… because I love.

It’s funny, really, how crazy much I love my sister these days.  Because it’s a far cry from when she first came in to this world.  I still remember the day she was born.  I was so mad that the stupid baby was making my mom stay in the hospital when she should have been home with me.  I was angry with her before I even saw her, despite the big sister classes with baby dolls and all of that.  My 3-year-old self could barely stand it.

And then she came home, and things went steadily downhill from there.  Not because there was anything wrong with my baby sister (except for the biting… there was a lot of biting…), but because I was no longer the center of the universe and I didn’t like that feeling.

So, in my desperation, I developed a series of mysterious medical maladies that our rather astute pediatrician eventually diagnosed as Abby-itis.  (Blast!  Foiled again!)

And so it went, for many years.  I must have been some sort of torturer in a past life, because I delighted in tormenting my little sister… and eventually my brother when he came along.  Evil was my middle name and I wasn’t even allowed to laugh in the car since it usually indicated I’d done something awful.  (Rachel Ann!  Stop it, whatever you’re doing!)

But, despite all of that, my sister and I grew into inseparable friends and it is my mission in life to make sure that if I ever have a baby girl, I’ll never stop having babies until she has a sister.  Because truly, there’s nothing better.

Nothing better for me, anyway.  Ask Abby, owner of all that underwear taped to the wall, and you may get a different story 😉

 

I suppose as long as I’ve got that picture I should really tell you about what you don’t see…

In addition to being a grade A jerk face as a child, I also tormented my younger sister by being exceptionally territorial.  And our room was always split in half one way or the other.

Did you notice the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling?  Right.  Those were only on my half.  And I refused to share.  Refused!

However, I did throw Ab a little bit of a bone.  My rule was this: if a star fell from the ceiling and she got to it first, she could have it.  We had bunk beds in our room and Abby was on the top.  So on that rare occasion that a star fell, she’d come scurrying down the ladder and head for the star– Smeagol-style.  (My preeeeeccccious…..)

And the evidence is still there on the ceiling in my parents’ house to this day.  It always makes me laugh… an evil, evil laugh.  Because I still love very, very much!

Mind, Body, Prison

Long-Winded Metaphors, Seriously, , , ,

First order of business– THANKS a million for all of your help on deciphering the 100% illegible inscription from Adam Bucko!  I’m pretty sure it’s “may you be the change,” but “may you be in charge” could also be right… and that little word after be seems to look a little more like in than the.  So, after pondering, I’m going to read the book, see if “in charge” makes sense, and then decide if that’s it or if he was quoting Mother Teresa.  Either way– thanks so much, friends!!  You’re awesome and someone’s about to get a book!!

Anyway, on to our regularly scheduled program.  Prison time!

———–

I read a really interesting article from CommonHealth the other day entitled “I’m Finally Thin – But Is Living In a Crazymaking Food Prison Really Worth It?” by Rachel Zimmerman.  It was a really good read and I loved her prison analogy.  Loved it!  So much so that I wanted to extend it to the other side, too.  Because it’s not just thin women that end up in that crazymaking prison… I think all women can.  And it’s not difficult to get locked up.  At least not in my experience.

So, let me tell you about life… on the inside.  (Do I sound hard?  Like prison hard?  That’s what I’m going for.)

Mind, Body, Prison.

When I’m trying to lose weight or maintain a lower-than-usual weight, those are times when I’m working toward parole and I’m so busy kissing the warden’s behind that I can’t do anything else.  My stomach growls and I spend hours in the gym, but it’s never good enough.  So much time is spent obsessing about food, and not eating it.

When I’ve gained weight and feel too fat, those are the times when I feel hopeless and certain that I’m in for life.  I’ll make a shank out of just about anything (cookies! candy! cake!) and I’m quick to use it at even the slightest provocation.  (Nom nom nom…)  Again, I’m obsessing about food, but the feelings are of finding more and then feeling guilty for consuming it.

My body is covered in prison scars and homespun tattoos– stretch marks from rapid weight gain and loss and persistent injuries as a result of over-exercise.

They say that people can become permanently institutionalized… unable to function appropriately in the real world.  And I fear that I share that fate.  I hope for rehabilitation, a chance to live happily on healthily on the outside.  But what does that take and how do I get there?

My institutionalized mind has two alternative answers for me.

The goody two-shoes hopeful parolee says that loss of a few pounds (or many…) will impress the parole board– a smaller pants size, careful control of caloric intake and demonstration that I am willing to eat nothing but leafy greens and crunchy carrots.

The prison yard gangsta says to forget about it because I’ll just end up back here anyway, searching the yard for another sugary, salty treat to turn into a weapon… and let’s get another tattoo while we’re at it.

So then what’s the real answer?  How do we reform the mind-body prison system?

I don’t know.  And at the moment, I’m the tough guy looking for a fight, about to start a dang riot.  And that’s a problem because people who just want to fight (read: eat) are rarely capable of looking for diplomatic solutions in the heat of the moment.  And, to be perfectly honest, the piece of me that hopes for an answer is really just looking for a way back in front of the parole board– in smaller pants.

I have pretty intense physiological and emotional cravings for, as the book says, Salt! Sugar! Fat!  (Really, good read, I highly recommend it.)  But I’m simultaneously dealing with a neurological and sociological obsession with thinness and unrealistic, mainstream beauty ideals.  But above all, the thing that my heart desires is comfort and to be out of prison, once and for all.

Orange really isn’t my color.  Even metaphorically.

 

 

Oh man, nerd alert.  I was re-reading this post and was concerned that I had used the word shank wrong because suddenly shiv was popping into my head instead.  So I googled it.  Don’t worry.  They’re both names for sharp, handmade prison weapons.  Whew.  I wouldn’t want to incorrectly label a handmade prison weapon.  Oh TV, thank you for giving me so much prison knowledge!

Pi, Nuns, and Dreadlocks — a recipe for spirituality

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I recently read the book Life of Pi by Yann Martel.  It was a beautiful book and the boy’s adventure was absolutely magical.  But honestly, my favorite part of the book was the beginning.

In the beginning, Pi, a born, raised, and practicing Hindu, begins exploring other religions.  He becomes, simultaneously, a Hindu, Christian, and Muslim.  He is devout in his practice of all three.  Until the Hindu pandit (new vocabulary word! yessss!), the Christian priest, and the Muslim imam realize that he is practicing more than one religion… at which point, everyone gets upset.

While the three religious men are busy making arguments in favor of their own religion and against the others (because religious discourse tends to go south very fast, doesn’t it?), Pi and his father make some really beautiful points of their own.

First, Pi quotes Gandhi: “Bapu Gandhi said, ‘All religions are true.’ I just want to love God.”

Then his father backs him up saying, “I suppose that’s what we’re all trying to do–love God.”

Finally, Pi explains: “Hindus, in their capacity for love, are indeed hairless Christians, just as Muslims, in the way they see God in everything, are bearded Hindus, and Christians, in their devotion to God, are hat-wearing Muslims.”

At the same time I was reading Life of Pi, I was also working my way (again) through Joan Chittister’s book Welcome to the Wisdom of the World.  (I always read more than one book at a time…)  Joan Chittister is a ridiculously wise and eloquent nun from Pennsylvania.  While she is indeed a Catholic sister, she is also a brilliant theologian who understands, and in this book explains, how all of the worlds major religions are ultimately devoted to helping people understand the answers to the big questions in life.  She draws beautiful parallels between Buddhism, Hinduism, Christianity, Islam, and Judaism and uses their parables to answer some of the tough questions that we all ponder at one point or another.

I think the essence of Joan Chittister’s book is summed up when she says, “Every major spiritual tradition – Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam – brings a special gift to the art of living the spiritual life.  Each of them refracts the light of its own spiritual wisdom text in particularly sharp and distinct ways.  Each of them strikes a different tone in giving the great truths of life that form a chord, a symphony of truth.”

One of my favorites so far (yes, I’m still working my way through it– I think it’s because I’m scared to get to the chapter entitled “What’s Wrong with Me: Why Can’t I Change?” because I’m afraid it’s going to strike too close to home…) was her chapter that discusses what it means to be a spiritual person using the wisdom of the Hindus.  She says:

“Religion and spirituality are not the same thing… The truth is that we can go through the motions about something all our lives and never really become what the thing itself is meant to be… religious practice without the spiritual development that is meant to proceed from it is the more deceptive of the two.  It leaves us in danger of being keepers of the law rather than seekers of the truth.”

Bingo!

This weekend I am in Milwaukee for a spirituality-based conference with my dad.  The conference is the national meeting for Call To Action, a group for progressive-minded Catholics interested in creating a more inclusive, loving, and justice-seeking faith community.  I don’t expect anyone else to agree with my meanderings through the world of faith, religion, and spirituality, but after this weekend I have learned one thing and I’ve learned it really well:

For me, meandering is the way to go!!

I can’t be spoon fed and I can’t be told what to say, do, think, or feel, but the more information I take in and the more I let myself discern with my heart what feels right and what doesn’t, the more clear my path becomes.  And right now, learning is my path.

Spiritually, I’ve always felt a bit like that creepy Voldemort character, writhing on the ground in that in-between place where Harry goes to meet Dumbledore at the end of the series.  (That thing is creepy!)  (Omg… I was just going to link you to a picture, but got to creeped out even looking at them!  Just awful!  I take it back!  My spirituality is better than that!  Maybe like a mandrake root— creepy, but not that bad.)  But I’ve learned so much this weekend and heard so many new ideas that I’ve become incredibly anxious to learn more and I know I’ll grow up out of that creepy place soon.

For me, the best way to learn is to read (I’m not the doer or the listener learning type– reading is definitely my thing) and my list has grown by leaps and bounds this weekend.  I even bought a book while I was here and had it inscribed by the author (color me star-struck!!).  Unfortunately, I haven’t the slightest idea what the inscription says!!  So sad– I’m sure it’s something really clever and meaningful!!  The book is Occupy Spirituality by Adam Bucko and Matthew Fox.  We heard Adam Bucko speak about his work with homeless youths in New York City on Friday night and his talk was incredible.  Amazing.  Inspired and inspiring.  And I’m dying to know what he said to me!  (He’s Polish and was impressed with my Polish last name– could it be something about that?  He also has like 6 feet long dreadlocks (no kidding), but I don’t think it’s about that…  To Rachel- May you be… WHAT?!  Please, help me!!)

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Be the first to tell me what the inscription says and I will literally send you a copy of the book.  (And I actually know what the word literally means, I’m using it correctly.  I will purchase the book on Amazon and have it sent straight to your home.  Literally.)

So, yep, I went to the spiritual place.  I understand that it’s uncomfortable for a lot of people, but I also think that as human beings, we are all gifted with what Adam Bucko called “spiritual intuition for justice” and I think that idea transcends any particular religion or faith practice, and is rather something like the intention of every religion or faith practice.  So I think we can talk about that here, right?