Tag Archives: words

Maybe she’s born with words… maybe it’s insanity.

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According to Salon.com, the old “definition of insanity” adage is “the most overused cliche of all time,” which makes me laugh, because I’m about to do it again.

I started by googling “crazy is doing the same thing” to find out who actually said it and quickly learned that it wasn’t crazy that I meant, but rather insanity. So I started over again… “insanity is doing the same thing” and found that in that respect, the Internet went wild re: attribution. As the Internet is wont to do. Maybe it was Einstein who said it. Maybe not. But as Salon suggests, lots and lots and lots of people have repeated it, myself included.

So.

They say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

They who? I don’t know. The all powerful, ever present “they,” I suppose.

But are they right? And should I discuss it with you? These are the questions on my mind at present.

 

I’ve told you my infertility story. Dramatically recounted it in excruciating (to you, I’m sure) detail. So as I sit here, at the cusp of doing it all again (where “it all” = IVF)… I’m left wondering what to do about the words.

 

A while ago, there was a Twitter campaign associated with the hashtag #WhyIWrite. My response:

whyiwrite

To let the words out. Some people really liked my response. Liked it enough to reach out to me personally, and that was really cool.

Honestly, it didn’t seem that profound when I put it out there. It was just my truth, but I can see why it resonated with other writers. They must, like me, at times get so over-stuffed with words that the release of writing is the only way forward. I’m not sure that this was ever truer than when I went through IVF the last time. The wild swings and crazy ups and downs filled me to the brim and blogging through it was incredibly cathartic for me. The release was exactly what I needed, the words on the page helped me to shape the thoughts in my head and explore the feelings wrapped around my heart, and the support I had through all of it from you, my dear readers, was phenomenal. It was so important to me, so valuable, and I feel so fortunate that writing, sharing, connecting in this way is a part of my life.

BUT. The definition of insanity…

We have decided to do IVF again. Just one more time. As I mentioned previously, for reasons beyond the blog-o-sphere, our chances of success are… what’s the right word?… low doesn’t quite do it justice… unlikely seems too bouncy… dismal seems a bit over dramatic… I’m not sure what the perfect turn of phrase is here, so I’ll borrow from our mutual frenemy Effie Trinket — the odds are not in our favor. Not now and definitely not in the future, so if we’re to have any chance at all of doing the baby making thing in this way, this is our shot. And we’re taking it. One more time, and only one more time. Given the poor odds and our previous experience, however, I have to wonder whether this is truly me bordering on the brink of proverbial insanity. And as such, what right do I have to run wild and free through Internet land talking and whining and ruminating again on something that may be just as insane (stupid/silly/dumb/wasteful/pathetic) as my inner mean girl (and the maybe-Einstein quote) would have me believe?

 

So… by way of long and twisty explanation (always)… I’ve been really back and forth about whether or not I should write about any of this again. Lots of self-deprecating cons (e.g., this is insanity, right? do people really want to read more about any of this? how much more could I possibly have to say? won’t it get repetitive?), but then the single, most important pro came to mind and it changed my mean, mean, mean mind: infertility is a big part of my life and IVF is where my head and heart, and by extension my words, are going to be for the next couple of months. That’s where I will be, where I am, and where I am is the only place from which I can truly connect with people, with you. So that’s where my words need to come from.

Ultimately, the point of my writing, and therefore Under the Tapestry, is to connect. And connections is, as I recently identified, one of my three core values. One of the things that really drives me, gives me purpose.  Connection, grace, and humor. So, here we go again — pull the lever, Kronk!

{Source}
{Source}

 

But seriously — maybe you would hate to read even one more single infertility related word? If so, tell me now! Uterus? Did I lose you? Granted, I have a feeling that I’m going to be gushing about a certain marathon in the very near future too… so there’ll be other thingzzz. I just think I’m probably going to say some things about my uterus too. Cool?

A note about the word fat.

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I called myself fat yesterday and lots of people were super concerned. Self-deprecating, yes, kind of… but let me assure you, Fat Girl Walking was merely a genius play on Dead Man Walking and, finally, at 31 years old, I’m done being upset about the word fat. Done-zo.

It’s true. I’m bigger than your average bear. Now.

I wasn’t always. In fact, when I look back on photos from when I first started thinking I was fat, I can only groan/shake my head/be pissed off at all those stupid wasted years of fat-shaming, fat concern, fat obsession when I was not, in fact, fat at all.

Except what if I had been? What about the times when I was? Because, let’s be honest, my weight has gone up and down and up and down a lot of times over the course of my life. And I think that’s normal, isn’t it. Puberty’s not exactly fun for anyone and most of us get at least a bit chubby for a minute there.

Even if I had been fat then, and even now that I am, my body is still kind of rocking it. I can run for-evs (like I said yesterday) and mow my lawn and vacuum my floors and cook and bake and dance and relax and blog and read and write and talk and and and… my body does all those things. It provides my soul with pretty cush digs, to be honest, and right now, especially, it deserves my dang RESPECT.

Because dang, it’s holding up. IVF meds are no joke. NO JOKE. And my body is going through some stuff, but remarkably, my body is handling it like a champ and despite a level of discomfort the likes of which I have never experienced, exactly, I’m doing ok.

Fat or not, I can appreciate that, the champ-i-ness of my bod. So I have to be ok with the word fat — I have to turn it into just another characteristic. I’m blonde-haired and green eyed. I have size 11 feet and curly hair. And I’m fat. It’s just another thing — a size XL, 14/16, bigger than your average bear. It’s not a bad word unless I let it be a bad word. I choose not to let it. (Anymore.)

 

So, pretty please, don’t worry about the word fat. Also, don’t worry about me because my mommy came to Wisconsin today and she’s taking real good care of me. We’re taking a road trip to Madison at 4 am tomorrow — eggs, eggs, baby!!

me and my mumsy

 

 

And PS: If I was worried about being fat, now would be extra, extra rough because ah dang… my abdomen is getting blooooooated. There’s not sucking this beast in. It is what it is and the only level of comfort comes from just letting it be. Oh ovaries, you better be growing me lots and lots of eggs.

Words, but I’m tired.

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I got the dreaded “you like tired! are you ok?!” this afternoon.

Doh! I was even wearing mascara and having a good hair day!  Stupid eye bags, ruining it all!

Regardless… it was a productive day and Seth and I had a lovely little lunch date. So, overall, it was a win.

What about Joan?

“In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God.” –John 1:1

Words. Words. Words.

My life is words. All day, every day.

Joan’s life seems similar.

“This week I will start a new book. I live in hope of the living Word in it. I also listen for the word of my own life that is true. Is it simply to go on, to finish what I began simply because I began it? Or is it to become what’s missing, whatever the upheaval it will cost me. That is the major question of my life right now. I long to put down the institution, the definition, the responsibilities, the expectations, the connections. I long to begin over… to become silence… to disappear.” –Joan Chittister

Oooo. Putting the living Word into our words. I bet it makes them all that much better.

I’m certain that my words are better when I’m really feeling it. When they really mean something to me.

But seriously, nothing means anything to me at the moment but my bed. I’m beat! Night, y’all!!

Pamela and Bernadette — the flour and the fiction

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Dang, guys… you and your friends and your mom and your dog are all basically freaking awesome. I write some of the craziest, silliest, saddest, weirdest, yet super honest, stuff and you’re awesome about it. Every time. The more whatever-est it is, the more supportive you (and your friends and mom and dog) are and I’m so super grateful. Huge props from me… and my therapist, who agrees that the catharsis of Under the Tapestry is probably the number one factor keeping me out of the loony bin. I mean, I assume he’d agree based on his positive comments regarding the post and the response to it. However, “loony bin” isn’t a phrase he tends to use all that often (i.e. ever– professionalism or whatever). So thanks for that. I’ll let you know either way in a couple of weeks and we can all cry happy or sad tears, eat happy or sad ice cream (with lactaid), and think happy or sad thoughts together.

When I say cathartic, I mean it, and it’s amazing how fessing up to that one dark moment seems to have released so many additional words that have been queuing up for a while. (Queuing because it’s my goal in life to become British. Obviously.)

So with the exception of on-the-internet I am, in all other respects, an introvert, which means, for the most part, I don’t love social situations on account of I’m incredibly awkward. Seriously.

Except it’s a little more nuanced than that because I don’t find being overly familiar with someone whose willing to be overly familiar right back a problem. For example, I’ll probably make a lame joke if we try to talk about the weather for 10 minute at a party, but if I run into you in the bathroom and you confess that you’re suffering from diarrhea, we’re basically going to hit it off right away. Probably I’ll tell you about all the GI distress I’ve struggled with and we’ll laugh and say, “ha ha ho ho hee hee– clearly we were meant to meet like this!”

(Quick fun fact– I just got a text from a brand new, way too quickly overly familiar friend that said “Well let’s just say maybe our meeting was meant to be.” With the exception of the “ha ha ho ho hee hee” I’m basically just writing from real life, yo.)

Books are what makes my introvert heart particularly happy because when you have read the same book as someone, you automatically have an intimate connection that you don’t have with just any random person on the street– no GI involvement necessary. And I think, after much consideration, that is why I like book clubs so very, very, very much.

It’s a social situation, that’s awkward, but it’s a bunch of other people who read the same book as you which means their mind has been in that same storied place and let every one of the same words and characters and thoughts and ideas tumble around in their brain just like you did. Maybe even some different thoughts or ideas about the very same words and characters. That’s intimacy right there. It’s also something non-small to talk about. An introvert-who-paradoxically-also-craves-social-connection’s dream.

So I basically love book clubs. I love everything about them. Everything except the social anxiety inducing process of identifying potential members, inviting identified potential members, and hosting a get together with all accepting invited identified potential members.

I guess you could say that it’s getting to the point of comfort with people that we can begin to relate over books that’s the hard part.

Despite the my awkwardness and the necessity to participate in uncomfortable activities (like talking to other humans who didn’t already know about my secret nerdiness) to get to the good part, I managed to start a third book club and we met for the first time a couple weeks ago to discuss The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Joy Fowler.

Success!

Everything about a book club is truly a celebration of the nerd-tastic to me and I spared no expense on Saturday. While reading the book on my Kindle, I highlighted any mention of the snacks and drinks served by each host. At game time, I noted the highlights, looked up recipes, and managed (with the tremendous help of my dear friend Amy) to whip up a feast fit for even the picky perfectionist Jocelyn. Granted, we’re not classy enough for the wine selections mentioned in the book… but everything else! Moscato and sweet white and sparkling pink to be served over ice (am I making your teeth hurt?) for my crew!

We had creme de menthe squares and lemon bars and molasses cookies and almond crescent cookies and cheese and crackers and venison sausage (Wisconsin, yo… and Matt got a deer!) and bottle after bottle after bottle of delicious wine.

It was a delicious menu, to be sure, but I was a bit concerned going into the event because I didn’t just want to make and serve it all… I also wanted to eat it all! So I endeavored to make as much as I could gluten-free and dairy-free. That’s where Pamela comes in…

Pamela the miracle worker.

Pamela the business-woman.

Pamela the magician and creator of the most amazing gluten-free flour I’ve ever tried:

Pamela’s All Purpose Flour – Artisan Blend

It says it can be substituted cup for cup for regular flour. Hard to believe, but in this case, finally true. The lemon bars, molasses cookies, and almond crescent cookies were all amazing… I don’t even think you’d know the difference if I didn’t tell you (although Seth swears that he can). Huge victory for me and by little buddy Noah this Christmas season– can’t wait to share all the recipes with his mom!

So Pamela was the first champ of the evening. I cannot recommend that amazing four highly enough if you struggle to bake gluten free!

And then came Bernadette. Not a flour. She’s the fiction.

At book club, people came and went… some stayed the whole time, others popped in for a bit and left early, but once everyone was all gathered around in my living room (doh! not enough comfy chairs!) we popped the movie version of the Jane Austen Book Club in and watched for our friends who hadn’t had a chance to read the whole book.

It’s the same general story, of course, by the characters in the movie were basically mutilated… especially Prudie’s poor husband Dean who really got the short end of the movie stick, I must say. But besides that, at the end of the night, as five girls remained (some of us tipsy, myself included), four of whom were introverts (Amy, let’s face it, you’re as extroverted as they come), we all decided that the best character in the movie, the one we all endeavor to be like, was Bernadette.

Granted, book Bernadette was probably a good twenty years older than movie Bernadette, but that didn’t change the fact that she was a woman who was 100% comfortable in her own skin… no matter what. And we all loved that. Who wouldn’t?

Maybe someday it will be the norm for us, that level of self-comfort. I hope so! But more importantly… it is my sincere hope that we, at the very least, become that way around one another in relatively short order. Wine will help at first, of course. Wine and gluten-free cookies. But a bunch of introverts out of their shell on account of books? Seems like a recipe for comfort to me.

Perhaps someday I’ll even write all of us into a book. A couple of teachers, an environmental policy specialist, a science writer, some doctors, a nurse, a healthcare administrator… and the recurring and fascinatingly flighty Sister Doctor. You’ll read it, right? Somebody’s going to need to start breeding dogs and dating a sci-fi enthusiast… then we’ll have it down.

Q is for a “word” I hate: qua.

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Sometimes late at night when I’m having trouble falling asleep, I pull out my iPhone (terrible for sleep, I know!) and play the game Bookworm until I finally find myself drifting off. It started off as more of an obsession, of course, as all iPhone games do, but I eventually got millions of points and got bored of it and now it’s like counting sheep. Except when there’s a dang Q.

The basic premise of the game is to make words and get points without letting one of the flaming tiles get to the bottom of the board. If it does– BOOM! The whole thing explodes and it’s game over.

Bookworm
Welcome to Bookworm! (That’s what the worm says if you’ve got the volume turned on when you open it up. It’s also what my sister says if you ever mention the game. Apparently, it provides endless hours of entertainment while breast feeding or pumping or the like.)

Q is, just as in Scrabble, kind of a toughy, but Bookworm actually gives you the u to go with it and counts that Q-U combo as two letters of the three letter minimum. After that, it becomes relatively easy to add an A, make the word “qua” and move on.

Except freaking QUA. What… the… heck???

I can’t stand words I just don’t get. It stresses me out.

CAN’T STAND IT.

It’s why I quit Words With Friends real quick.

You see, it’s not that I don’t believe that words I don’t understand are real words. I’m perfectly capable of looking them up, reading the definition, and moving on with my life. I’m also perfectly cool with made up, Dr. Suess-style words because generally I get them, even though they are for fake and have no true Websterian definition. (See, Webserian, I can even make up my own words. And you, intelligent reader, no doubt get what I mean.)

But qua? I just can’t handle it.

Here’s why:

Google search for "qua"
Google search for “qua”

Obnoxious. Perhaps a few other sample sentences would help:

The work of art qua art can be judged by aesthetic criteria only. (Thanks, Dictionary.com)

<discussing the story qua story> (Very helpful, Mirriam-Webster.com)

he’s hard to pin down if you get him on entertainment qua entertainment (Right, oxforddictionaries.com, very good)

It’s all clear now, eh?

Except it’s not to me. Granted, according to Google (what a sweet graph!), it’s an old word and usage has waned considerably over time.

Definitions by Google... even better than dictionary sites. Super impressed.
Definitions by Google… even better than dictionary sites. Super impressed.

But even in that case, I can usually appreciate a word anyway.

For example, I’m currently reading the book The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco as part of our 1001 book challenge. The book was first published in Italian in 1980 and translated into English in 1983 (love me some Wiki!), but takes place in the 14th century and is written accordingly. I’m super glad that I’m reading it on my Kindle because it allows me to quickly look up words I don’t already know or can’t figure out from the context… or those that I can figure out, but make me curious anyway. Like pudenda, another word for the external genital organs. It’s like the 14th century monk’s way of saying cock, in my mind anyway. And I get that.

I don’t get qua.

Perhaps I never will.

And it bugs me.

Worst of all: I continue to use it to avoid letting my little game blow up in my face. Honestly, I try to make queen or quiet or quote instead, but those are tough, and more often than not, I resort to qua. And for that, I am ashamed.

Such a tiny little word to cause such a large amount of stress in my life. Clearly, I have a problem. And that problem is words.

Words are also the solution though, and here I share qua with you. Now it’s your problem, too. Can you give me a better sentence? Something more useful? A better reason for this QUA?! I’d appreciate it very much.

Generosity following imperfection.

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HUGE apologies to my email subscribers– my itchy trigger finger got the best of me and I published rather than saving and you all got a not-even-half-written idea of a post that I had just started working on.  I am sincerely sorry for that.  So here’s the full post for Thursday just a bit early to try to make up for the spamming of your inbox.  (I won’t let it happen again!)

…..

Generosity.  Big word.

There are so many different ways to be generous.  And this week, I have been the recipient of generosity in so many ways.

The friends we vacation with are just like that– generous in ALL the ways.  They take us to amazing places that provide to the outside observer very visible and tangible evidence of their generosity.  And I completely agree, it’s incredible.  My husband and I have done SO many things we would never have had the opportunity to do and have had so many incredible experiences thanks to our unbelievable friends.  They are kind and generous in the extreme.  As they tell their children, they work hard to be able to bless others.  At this moment, I certainly feel blessed.  No doubt about that.  The pools, the palm trees, the views, the pina coladas, it’s all unbelievable.

But they are generous in even more spectacular ways that the outside observer probably has no idea about.  So I will tell you.

They are generous with their time.  This trip to Mexico is without a doubt a family vacation for our friends and their two little ones, and yet they invite my husband and me along.  We are included in ev-er-y-thing… from fancy excursions to bedtime hugs and everything in between.  The Lemas let us feel like part of this family, they share all of that precious time with us.

They are generous with their words.  Chris is the Chris of chrislema.com and as I worked on my biggest post of the week, he was dispensing free advice on how best to woo the reader with my blog formatting.  Do you have any idea how much something like that costs?!  A lot, I’m sure…. and Melissa is 100% mom-spirational.  She teaches me more than she could ever know about how to be a good mom someday.  That kind of advice is not only invaluable, but it literally cannot be bought.

They are generous with their hearts.  Chris, Melissa, and their kids, Emily and Christian, are unbelievable when it comes to generosity of the heart.  At dinner, both kids prayed for my husband and I during a 100% unprompted grace.  They also thanked God for this wonderful day.  Pure hearts, good parenting, a beautiful thing.

I don’t think that I could ever possibly begin to repay the generosity afforded me by this beautiful family, but I also don’t really think that that’s the point.  The generosity is poured out with no expectation of anything in return… except maybe to pay it forward when given the opportunity.

I like the idea of that.

…

By the way, I’m sitting next to my dear friend Melissa as I type this and when I cringed over the mistaken early publication of this post she said to me, “It’s ok.  Everybody makes mistakes.”

I cheekily replied, “Not me.  I was perfect until that happened.”

And brilliant and beautiful Melissa replied, “From the topside.”

Oh man, does she ever GET this tapestry thing.  Probably she should be writing this stuff, not me, but as long as it’s me doing the writing, I am crazy glad she is my friend.

Paralyzed by Indecision

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Have you ever felt like you had so many things to do that you all you could do was nothing?

Of course you have.  Who hasn’t?

I kind of feel like that right now, except not about things to do (well, kind of about that too, but that’s not the point ), but about things to say…

I am BURSTING right now with things to tell you! Bursting to the point that none of the words want to wait their turn! And those impatient words are trying so desperately to get all over my screen that it’s turning into the crab in the bucket phenomenon and I am paralyzed.

Since nothing else is working, I’m going to let the words come and see where we go. (Out of the bucket, you crabs!!)

First, not posting yesterday nearly destroyed me. I worked late (unnecessarily so, more on that another day), did lots of stuffs around the house and yard, made some phone calls and emailed some friends, canned 5 quarts of homemade enchilada sauce (you should seriously invite yourself over to my very homely home for enchiladas sometime– it’s good stuff!), and then finally sat down with my computer (at something ridiculous like 11:30 pm– I am nearing 30, this is WAY past my bedtime) with the intent to pound out a crappy post and put it out there just so that I didn’t break my own arbitrary rules about posting Monday through Thursday.

Let me say that again: I planned to pound out a crappy post just to say that I posted, because it was Wednesday.  And I told you I would post on Wednesdays.  Lame.

Are you offended? You should be, dear reader! You deserve much better from me! My (almost) apologies for the crappy thing that (almost) happened.

Anyway, some of the many, many things I am dying to discuss with you…

After posting about the 23 Things, I keep seeing examples of these ideas at play in my life– over and over and over again– and I’m pretty excited to tell you about them.  Nothing more satisfying than supporting evidence!  (Except chocolate.  I would gladly accept chocolate in lieu of evidence.)  I’m also excited to tell you a story about stories and to share with you some of the information from my “Personal Interest” folder…

TOP SECRET
That’s pages and pages of notes on things I find absolutely fascinating. So excited to delve into it!

Finally, I am super excited to announce a little series I am going to call “Profiles in Awesome.” I know a lot of really, really awesome people (not to be sexist, but women especially) that have eaten too much humble pie and I think I need to tell you about them. But most importantly, I want them to tell you (and the whole world!!) about themselves, so I’m going to do interviews! I can’t wait!!  (Of course, I am making a lot of assumptions here… and really just hoping that people will answer my interview questions.  I think they will.  I can be persuasive.  And I will guilt trip you (MS) if you try to tell me no.  Guilt always works.  Guilt and jalapeno poppers.  And maybe a promise of relative-anonymity.  Anyway, I’m determined to make this work!)

 

And while you’re here– please throw a Happy Birthday shout out into the universe for my SASsy friend!!

Dr. Money Machine hurts my feelings.

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This is a post I’ve been working on for quite… a… while…  I had this idea about what I wanted to say, but every time I finished, the whole thing sounded so angry, even though angry wasn’t really my intent.

Not my intent, but through the writing and re-writing process, I realized that I actually was still pretty angry.  And I had to find not only the right words, but also a new frame of reference.  I think I finally found both– you can let me know if you agree.

Once upon a time, in a land much like Hogwarts (when Dolores Umbridge was in charge), I defended my dissertation (that’s like getting your N.E.W.T.s).  (Which do you prefer– references to Harry Potter or Jurassic Park?  I can do either quite well…)  After 6 long years, I was finally given the green light to write… and I wrote my heart out.  Two weeks before my defense, I turned in my dissertation and I was proud of what I wrote.  I poured my heart and soul into that treatise on gonorrhea and chlamydia in mouse vaginas (sounds like it might be a joke, but it’s not) and I was actually kind of excited to hand it in.

Two weeks later, my mom, dad, grandma, sister, and brother-in-law flew into town and my fiance, now husband, brought them onto the base for my big day.  (The Uniformed Services University is on a naval base in Maryland.)  First was my public defense.  The room was packed, my family and friends were all there, I was wearing an awesome dress and killer heels, and I rocked it.  (I love making PowerPoints, because there is something seriously wrong with me, and I think it was the best I’ve ever, ever made.  It even had jokes!!  JOKES!)  It was awesome and I felt great.

Thirty minutes later, my family was safely tucked away with my labmates and friends and I was headed to my private defense.  I was nervous, of course, but not nearly as nervous as I had been for my public.  Everyone who had already been through this process had told me what it was like– “This is the point where they finally respect you and treat you like a peer…”  “It’s really just like a conversation, they won’t grill you like they did in quals…”  “You know more about your project than anyone else, it’ll be a piece of cake…”

Except that for me, it really wasn’t like that.  This is the point where I usually get super angry, so I’ll spare you the details, but one of my committee members went totally off the rails and got mean.  It was not constructive and I am undoubtedly biased, but I really don’t think it was warranted.

And it hurt.  Many, many tears were shed.  Even more angry words were hurled in his general direction.  And I have spent much of the last two years feeling like the whole dang thing was unforgivably unfair.

Oy.  The power of words to hurt!

But, then again, they were just words.  And as much as words can hurt, I can choose how much power I give them to hurt me.  So, let’s evaluate…

Was my thesis well-written?  YES.

Am I proud of what I wrote?  YES.

Am I proud of what I accomplished during those 6 years?  YES.

Am I now employed as a professional scientific research writer with a successful track record of publications and funded grant applications?  YES again.

I know these things about myself.  And I know that those ugly words came from a hateful man going through a rough time in his unpleasant life.  And I am sorry for him.

I am sorry that he is incapable of engaging the students that he agrees to teach and mentor in a productive way.  I am sorry that he doesn’t know the pleasure of a positive approach to discourse.  I am sorry that he is so angry.

It was unfortunate that he chose to take his anger out on me on my big day.  But I forgive him, because ultimately, it has absolutely no bearing on the presentation I gave, the dissertation I wrote, or my ability to function as a scientist in the real world… and maybe he needed that outlet.  I don’t know.  My hope for him is that he can find a better way.

My hope for those who are, like me, unlucky enough to have to deal with this man at pivotal points in their scientific career is that they don’t internalize his words.  And that if they accidentally do, they get over it quickly.  (More quickly than I did anyway.)

 

 

…My hope for those who have already had the distinct displeasure of dealing with this man is that you will recognize the insanely clever title of this post and it will make you laugh.  And if that still doesn’t make it better, just remember that he never had the chance to catch your tears in a Dixie cup to sip on later.  (Thanks to DW for that visual– love it still!)

Words With Friends

Recurring Themes, , , , , ,

If you went to a typical American high school, you’re probably familiar with Homecoming.  (If not, please see the movie Grease for a pretty accurate description– you know, the Rydell High pep rally.)  At my high school we also had something called Coming Home and it wasn’t until I moved on and sounded like a confused weirdo talking about Coming Home that I realized that wasn’t exactly normal.  Coming Home is essentially the basketball equivalent of Homecoming… except instead of a parade with floats for each class, we decorated halls in the school (on account of I grew up in Michigan and it was cold and snowy during basketball season).  Every year there was a different themes for hall decorating and each class chose a theme within the theme to decorate their hall.  Tons of fun, in my opinion, way to go LHS!  (Although, despite the hours I remember spending drawing, cutting, painting, taping, etc, etc, etc, I literally cannot remember a single one of the themes… all I remember is a large, cut out Spiderman.  I wonder if that memory is real…)

Anyway, I don’t really want to talk about high school, homecoming, coming home, or pretty much anything I’ve mentioned so far.  What I do want to talk about is recurring themes.  And the fact that sometimes I feel like my life in general becomes suddenly inundated with one.  I come here to share words with you, friends (see what I did there?).  Therefore, the theme du jour: WORDS.

Words are obviously a big part of my life.  I’m a science writer by day and I spend the majority of my time at work reading or writing… putting words together to make other people understand science.  And more recently, with the beginning of this blog, words became even more important to me.  Writing, sharing these words with you, has become so incredibly cathartic.  A powerful dream come true.  A release every night as I put my thoughts down on the page.

Of course, two things don’t make a theme.  A theme is something so much more.  And I’m getting to that.

We talked before about how I like to follow a lot of blogs.  Most blogs consist of words, so again, I take in a lot of words.  But just this week, I read two great posts about the power of words.  My friend Dawn at Cups Running Over was discussing the negativity she was encountering on social media and she said,

“…all these negative words are bad for us!” Then she committed to “using the power of words for good.”

Love, love, LOVE!  Dawn is so right, I highly recommend reading her post.  She says some really thought-provoking things about the way we use social media.  And I love the idea of using our words to spread good.

Next up in this theme of words was a blog post by Bridget at Stumbling Towards Perfect where she describes her knee-jerk reaction to some extremely negative words and the beautiful way in which her daughter responded.  Again, it was a negative post on social media and her daughter chose to respond calmly, to explain to the person who tried to use words to hurt the power of those words, and in the process, taught a lot of people an important lesson.

And still, two more things to go to complete my theme…

I just finished (tonight, actually) reading The Book Thief by Markus Zusak.  It was a beautiful book.  And so much of it is about the power of words, for both good and evil.  There were several passages throughout the book that described the power of words that I thought were just so interesting.

“‘Don’t punish yourself,’ she heard her say again, but there would be punishment and pain, and there would be happiness, too.  That was writing.”

Wow.  Yes.

In my experience, writing is cathartic.  Sometimes it is hard, it can be painful.  But it is so rewarding, and sometimes I even make myself laugh out loud.  (Because, as you already know, I am so funny.  And humble, too.  Hmmm… humility.  I have a LOT to say about that.  But one thing at a time.)

And then the last line of the Book Thief’s book.  She writes:

“I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.”

Dang.  Yes again.

Words can be so personal.  They can be so personified.  Seriously, I find myself falling in love with the words I put on the page.  And when I find that magical turn of phrase, I simply can’t imagine it any other way.  But then sometimes the words don’t come out right and they don’t sound like I want them to sound and I hate them for not being just so.  Writing.  It’s complex.

And in the midst of all this, because of all these words, I reconnected with an old friend who is now an English teacher.  (Oh, I am going to say some things about what I consider the vocation of teaching someday.  So important.)  She told me she like reading along (so nice!  she made me feel so good!) and we talked for a while about the power of words and she told me that people don’t think of English as a powerful subject and write it off as “touchy-feely.”

Ugh.  No.

Words are crazy important.  And the people that teach us to use those words are the people who give us power… yes, they give us the power to express our feelings to one another, but they also give us the power to inspire, to persuade, to share, to reason, to communicate.  There is immense power in all of that.  Think of just a few extreme examples: of Hitler persuading his countrymen to kill millions with words, of Andrew Wakefield and Jenny McCarthy persuading thousands and thousands of parents not to vaccinate their children against deadly and debilitating diseases with words… but on the other hand, Martin Luther King, Jr. used words to inspire thousands to take to the streets and march for equality and John Stewart uses funny words to make serious points about systems that are very broken.  Do you see how powerful words can be?  (Do you also see how italics and heavy use of parenthetical statements and elipses (that’s the dot-dot-dot) make you read my words in the same way I would speak them to you?  Cool, huh?)

So that, friends, is my thing with words.  (See, I did it again… yes! title for the win!)  It’s a recurrent theme, these words, and I hope you like the way I’m using them.  I also hope that someday my teacher friend will take me up on my offer to share her words, too.  Because I know she’s got some good ones inside of her dying for an audience!

Update 9/9/13:  SoMeOne, who shall reMain nameless (seriously, how clever am I?), pointed out that there are several typos in the post above– ironic considering it’s all about words.  Dang!  I was going to read it again, find them, and correct it, but… when I actually got here that all seemed like an awful lot of work.  So, the typos remain.  Please accept my apologies!