We Wear Who We Are

We do. It's true. I've seen it and I'm seeing it more and more these days. Our thoughts turn us to act. We act. We become what those collective actions make of us. And then we think about that some more. Those thoughts evolve and prompt more action. Over time we realize we are spinning a life; we are creating ourselves; what is our legacy?
I've seen people's backs bend under the mistakes they've made. There is literally a corrupt bend in the spine where they forgot to be decent. I've seen other people shine because of their goodness. They emit a radiance that comes out of the eyes and spins around the mouth and can be felt from hand to hand. They are gorgeous in ways mere prettiness could never hope to understand. Their stature takes your breath away. You're somehow left feeling safer, like perhaps the world is not so awful and frightening and wrong. Maybe there are more than just cads and seekers of sensation. Maybe they are rare but you've met a few and that means they exist.
I've been tracing patterns in my life. I've noticed I tend to like a certain kind if man I ought to give up on. I always like the cleverest man. I like him because he is interesting. I like the most entertaining one. I like the most dynamic. But this same sort of man is the kind of man who has honed his measured methods well, usually in order to capture things. This same sort of man may find that in all his successes he accidentally gets captured himself. I would like to start realizing that perhaps the reason none of these clever, interesting, entertaining, dynamic relationships has lasted is because these guys don't want to end up with someone just as clever, interesting, entertaining, or dynamic. No, no. They like an audience and they don't want competition for it. But it seems easy for a man to love someone who is not his equal. I don't think I could manage it myself. I want someone who amazes me. I want someone who understands what it's like to stay up all night because an inspiring idea refuses to let you sleep. Not that you didn't want to sleep but you didn't seem to have a choice that night. But you still go to work and you sleep it off the next afternoon and evening. I guess often, men are okay with having things compartmentalized in certain ways. What I mean is, they seem to be able to turn to their friends and colleagues for things like discussing ideas and sharing dreams and ambitions and they turn to their significant others for mere comfort and quiet companionship; meals and love and quiet little smiles and gazes. That's great, I guess, but I don't think I could manage it. I want to talk about theories and possibilities and have the guy actually get it all, at least conceptually. I would never be content with a pretty person who smiles a lot and helps me with chores. What a bore! I like a dynamic man but those guys like background girls. They want to shine alone. The girl is just ornamental. Of course, there are a number of exceptions to this norm. I am thankful for that. I've met plenty of amazing couples, both intelligent counterparts to a magnificent whole.
Sometimes I wish I were more vanilla. I tell myself life would be so much easier. But then I realize, I'm already wearing the truth on my face! I'm not a simple girl. Anyone can see that. My thoughts come buzzing out of my eyes even before they cross my lips. And even if they don't see it, all they'd have to do is listen for a minute or two and then the conviction is sure. She's no stroll in the park. That's a venture for skilled climbers only. Alas, all I can do is try my best to be the best version of myself I can render in a lifetime.

Who Am I?

That's so hard to answer. I had my kiddos pretend to be Halloween characters like ghosts or bats or vampires and then construct poems, formulaically, giving clues about who they were using all the right adjectives, verbs, and nouns and then we had to infer the character. It was really fun. They made beautiful haunted houses to illustrate their poems. I taught them how to cut out doors and windows so that they hinge and a creature can pop out. These works adorn the wall outside our classroom right now.

But more importantly, who am I? Hard to say. Have you ever asked it? Of yourself? I'm asking and answering now, here. I am female. I am 32. I have spent the last 12 years being a teacher, in one capacity or another. I grew up in El Paso, a border town, where I learned how to sing like a banshee and dance like a gypsy. I learned how to be strong and sensitive at the same time. I learned all about matters of the heart in the only ways I have ever understood them; in Latin. I am also 25% Lebanese but it feels more like at least 75-80%. I grew up on kibbe, taboulee, dolmeh, tzatziki, and lubia. I had a Sitie who wore cunning little heals, gold bangles that sang at her wrists, flowing, flowered silken dresses, and a lovely smile. I am Mormon, a Latter Day Saint. That means everything to me. It means I know the worth of souls, yours and mine. It means I know my divine destiny. It means the sacrifices are worth it, again and again, always. It means I can endure anything. It means this life is only the beginning. I am also rather tall, blond, and curvy. This means I'm trouble. Well, at least it means I often attract it. Oh well. I wish it meant something else. I am bookish and often reclusive except when I am gregarious and loud-mouthed. I am artistic, creative, and day dreamy, except when I am logical, pensive, deliberate, and hard-lined. I am the daughter of a lawyer and an artist. I am the sister of a psychologist, a lawyer, an artist, and a physics student. I am the best friend of a prima ballerina. I am the teacher of twenty two miraculous beings who are the most gorgeous children in the world. I am the smitten poet. I am the meloncholy caroler. I am the science loving nerd. I have an affinity for hackers...I mean programmers. And I am miserable at chess. Oh, and tennis. Miserable. At both. And at many other things. And I want to be a writer more than anything else...except for being a mommy and a wife who is adored by her very smitten husband. But if I never get the chance to be a family person, I hope I at least get to be a writer. I mean, the kind of writer who gets to eat on what she writes. Right now I am eating on blue china my Sitie left me and that's great but I want to eat on my author's dime someday. Someday will be a fine day. That's it! That's the answer. That's me. Like Art always says, "I love being me." (Art is an actual person in this case. No, seriously. He went to law school with Betsy. I'm not just employing personification here. Hi, Art!!!)

Sometimes...

Sometimes it's hard for me to tell what needs to be done. I live a life so fraught with complexity, so many people and things need my attention, I often feel like I don't know what I must neglect, because something will fall through the cracks, it's inevitable.

My typical day:

• Wake up at 6am
• Pray
• Shower, get ready for school
• Listen to the Book of Mormon, a conference talk, or NPR while you get ready and eat breakfast
• Pack lunch
• Out the door, listen to NPR on car radio
• Greet the kiddos
• Get them started on creating math problems that equal the number of the day.
• Read homework journals, check homework
• Teach reading/writing
• Recess
• Teach math
• Lunch
• Read aloud
• Make copies/prep lessons
• Teach science and/or social studies
• Teach spelling/grammar/phonics
• Get kids packed up
• After school duties/meetings
• Exercise
• Eat
• Talk on the phone
• Write, if I'm lucky
• Go to church meetings, visits, or plan lessons for church related events/activities
• Make calls for church stuff
• Listen to music, catch up on emails
• Read
• Pray
• Bed

Looks simple, right? Wrong. What I didn't make clear in the list is that while I do all of these wonderful and important things, I get interrupted about six times a minute by little voices, or phones ringing, or people at the door, or people on the intercom, or kids from another class, or a specialist, or an administrator, or another teacher, a volunteer, or my own thoughts. All day I feel like someone who wants to swim but there I am standing on the edge of the diving board and someone keeps whistling, telling me something, keeping me from diving in. I never even get wet. Some days I wear the bathing suit for nothing. I walk home, with the towel around my shoulders, just thinking what it might have been like to dive in deep, swim long, burn out in that satisfying way. I feel burned out all right. Just not the way I wanted to burn out, feeling accomplished.

I feel a little emotionally constipated lately. I feel like nothing, I mean nothing is really working. Everything I want seems to elude me. I can't seem to find what I wanted to find in the form of a life. What did I expect? I expected to have time to be myself I guess. But there isn't much time for that these days. Let me stress, I didn't say time to be BY myself. No, no. I said time to BE myself. Who is that? I'm talking about the funny girl. I'm talking about the girl who draws and paints. I'm talking about the one who discusses things with people who care and think. What happened to her? I think she's standing on the diving board again. That blasted whistle is relentless.

I Just Found This on Ivy's Blog

Ivy put this entry on her blog like a year ago...I made this list in an email to her:

"Here's how Kristin Marie Ferrell suggests to conquer loneliness if you ever encounter it:

HOW TO CONQUER LONELINESS:

1.) Avoid being alone
2.) Practice being alone
3.) Fail at it
4.) Try again
5.) Cry a little
6.) Cry a lot
7.) Blame it on your period
8.) Throw something really hard at a can that you put on top of your alter {insert - my house... yes... has an altar left by the previous owners...}
9.) Yoga
10.) Toga?
11.) Read your scriptures
12.) Watch a movie with your friend, Kristin
13.) Make out in your dreams with whomever you wish!!
14.) Invite your ex-boyfriend and his wife to spend the night and keep you company (maybe in years to come) {insert - Kristin recently did this}
15.) Quilt on Saturday morning
16.) Talk to Dad
17.) Talk to Mom
18.) Visit teach
19.) Go see old ladies
20.) Camp
21.) Get over yourself (lose yourself)
22.) Fall in love with yourself (find yourself)
23.) Read a classic (Tale of Two Cities?)
24.) Listen to edifying books on CD
25.) Look in the skinny mirror
26.) Paint a wall, a canvas, a card, a face
27.) Cook
30.) Pray
31.) Tell yourself something true, "You're the only one who gets to be Ivy. You lucky, lucky girl, you!"
32.) Call Christy {insert - our best and most comforting friend}"

Thank You for the Music

From a tender age I was exposed to great music. Having two older siblings, Dave, eleven years my senior, and Wendy, four and a half, I was schooled in all things New Wave and Post Modern. (Here is a picture of them last Thanksgiving. Wendy is tuning her electric violin.) I was an eight year old who loved The Cure, Morrissey, De Pech Mode, and David Bowie. Somehow certain pop stars made their way into my life as well. Michael Jackson was my first serious crush. I had more than one Madonna costume. Cindy Lauper was revered. The Bangles were really important as well. Music was always so important in our house. Most of us played an instrument or two. My sister played at least five, genius girl. And I loved to sing and dance all the time. My mom always joked that her kids put on full blown circus acts for any visitors. We really did feel, for whatever reason, that it was our obligation to thoroughly entertain anyone who graced our couch. Sometimes it was music. Sometimes it was a stand up act, off the cuff as only Ferrell children can. Sometimes I'm sure it was embarrassing for my parents. They'd often have to pull us off the stage (fireplace) with the proverbial cane. It was hard for us to stop our acts once we were on a roll.

Anyhow, I am just so in love with music. It puts me in touch with so many things I can't seem to access in any other way. In high school I fell in deeper love with Morrissey and The Smiths. I felt like he knew my soul. Tori Amos was a huge influence. I went to a lot of shows showcasing locals and famous bands. At the Drive In was a really great band at the time, El Paso locals who made the BIG TIME and then broke up to form two bands, Mars Volta and Sparta. I saw Mars on a Lalapalooza DVD. They really went far. My boyfriend, in high school, was the drummer in the band Anabella 55, which was a melodic blend of gentle ballads and gushy tragedies. I loved it.

In college my tastes morphed toward the more popular ska scene of the day. My college boyfriend was in a band called BOOT. He wrote most of the songs and lyrics. Very gifted young man. He played guitar, trumpet, bangos, and sang. It was a huge band with like nine musicians and he would switch what he was doing in just about every other song. It was very interesting. They were such heart throbs. Those were fun times.

Living in Chicago I got to see a few great shows. I saw an up and coming band, MGMT, open for Of Montreal. That was phenomenal. Now MGMT is huge. I also saw the Chicago Symphony twice and I learned how to play hand bells in church.

Once I got back to Austin I stayed away from the music scene for a little while. I was quite sequestered altogether really. Didn't do much of anything for a fair few months. Just incubate and recover from my divorce.

Ivy rescued me and I started to live again. She took me to VIP ACL and my soul was stirred. She took me to see the Decemberists and Ghostland Observatory. Changed my life. We started doing our own music. It was really fun. My senses were roused again. I could breathe. I knew who I was again.

Then I met a boy who would change me forever. I can't remember ever feeling so loved. He sang me John Denver songs. We sang in the car, by the campfire, on Sunday afternoons. It was glorious. I loved it. All of it. Every note. He played guitar. I sang. He sang sometimes, too. We danced. He really knew how. It was beautiful, even though I was shy about it because he was such a better dancer than me. He played piano. We performed for a wedding and got paid handsomely. We ate seafood to celebrate. We performed at church. We sang for family and friends. It was like a dream, the most beautiful, wonderful, perfect dream. Being with him always felt a little like cheating reality, like I was eating dessert first and giving the brussel sprouts to the dog. But like all good dreams, it didn't last. Silence fell on everything. I was left with a lot of silence after that. Overdose, actually. I sequestered myself. I wrote scores of poems, stories, and songs about that loss. I couldn't believe the pain. It wasn't just the intensity. It was the way it lasted and didn't seem to fade but rather, intensified over time. Somehow I got normal....ish.

In the midst of my heartache, Bobby came to the rescue for the third time in my life after a major break up. Bobby was there when me and my college boyfriend split and I moved to Austin. Strangely, the girl he was dating then and that ex-boyfriend of mine ended up getting married and having a family. Then, Bobby was there after my divorce. Bobby was with me again. I thank God for my Bobby. He is someone to count on, always. He invited me to his shows. Bobby plays bass and sings. Lovely. Suddenly I was at every Politics show. They're great. Then guitar player, Mikey, made an overture to collaborate with me. It went beautifully. We wrote two great songs together and recorded them. I love, love, love them.

Bobby introduced me to the Drums. I LOVE the DRUMS!!! They are an indie surfer band. They make the cutest sounds since kitten yawns. Seriously, cheerful stuff. Listening to them makes me feel young and spry and silly and crazy and fun. They played in Austin a few weeks ago. I was so sad to miss it. I went dancing instead.

Right now I am really into The Decemberists, The Shins, The French Kicks, Sinatra, THE DRUMS, Kristin Ferrell, Ivy Portwood, Mikey Rodriguez, Politics, Motel Aviv, and Wagner.

Music is the way my soul rests, grows, dances, and communicates. Sometimes I feel like it's the only thing I really understand....or the only thing that understands me. Sometimes it's the only thing I long for in a day. Sometimes it's the only thing I long for that I actually get to enjoy.

I'll end in the best way any musician knows how to end, with an ABBA quote:


Thank You For The Music Lyrics

Send "Thank You For The Music" RinI'm nothing special, in fact I'm a bit of a bore

If I tell a joke, you've probably heard it before
But I have a talent, a wonderful thing
'Cause everyone listens when I start to sing
I'm so grateful and proud
All I want is to sing it out loud

So I say
Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing
Thanks for all the joy they're bringing
Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty
What would life be?
Without a song or a dance what are we?
So I say thank you for the music
For giving it to me

Mother says I was a dancer before I could walk
She says I began to sing long before I could talk
And I've often wondered, how did it all start
Who found out that nothing can capture a heart
Like a melody can
Well, whoever it was, I'm a fan

So I say
Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing
Thanks for all the joy they're bringing
Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty
What would life be?
Without a song or a dance what are we?
So I say thank you for the music
For giving it to me

I've been so lucky, I am the girl with golden hair
I wanna sing it out to everybody
What a joy, what a life, what a chance!

Thank you for the music, for giving it to me.

You're Never as Covert as You Think You Are

There is a phenomenon I have dealt with my whole life that has troubled and puzzled me to this very day. I first noticed it when I was in preschool when a little girl eyed what I was drawing, a lady standing next to a tree, and crumbled it up the moment I wasn't looking. First she laughed. Then I became rather scrappy. Then she cried. I noticed it again in myself when I was hanging about my mother's knee in a department store. I became thirsty after all the running around and hiding in the clothes racks. I got my mom to buy me a slushy drink. I saw another little girl with her mother. The little girl pulled on her mother's pant leg and pointed at me and my delicious drink with longing and wanting. I sipped my drink with expressions of euphoria. I mean, the drink was good, but not that good. I enjoyed having something someone else didn't have and I wanted to rub it in. C'mon. But that's the nature of the beast, isn't it!? That's the monster I want to talk about, the green one with wanting eyes. And this particular monster I speak of is undoubtedly and singularly female. Men compete but their measures are usually fairly overt, more obvious, and sporting. It's all in good fun, fair, part of life's game. It may be occasionally aggressive but at least it's not passive aggressive. Females can be clandestine to a frightening degree but I think it wise to remember that when these games roll out they are always directed at other females. And as my friend Bobby always says, "Women perceive things that men just don't see. They are crazy! The intuition is downright scary. They know it all and you don't even say a word." I think Bobby is right. How many times, girls, have you had a hunch about something only to find you were right on the money? How many times was a friend or acquaintance lying through her teeth with the sweetest smile you'd ever seen, not a flinch, and you knew, just knew, it was bunk? How many times has a guy professed his love and something just told you it was made of sweet nothingness? How about the times you felt like betrayal was waiting in the wings. There weren't any signs of it. Not really. Just a feeling, unprompted by words, sights, or experiences. And then there it is; the truth spills violently onto the page of your life. But oddly, you knew it was coming already. So, girls, the topic is jealousy. We don't like to talk about it. Many would rather continue pretending it doesn't exist. But the thing is, it does. And here's what I'm really getting at: IT SUCKS. I, for one, am tired of dealing with it, on either end. It has its uses though. I must confess. It can act as a proof, a test of true friendship. Here's how I know you're really my friend: when you say you want me to be happy, it becomes evident when something great happens and you are actually happy for me. My happiness enhances your own. You support me. You love my music or maybe you don't and you may have suggestions. But you're not upset by my successes. When you say, "The right guy will come along, " you stand by that when a candidate does come along, instead of suddenly becoming critical "on my behalf". If you're only there for me when things really suck then you really aren't my friend. If you find you like me more when my chips are down then that means you'd like me to lose. Losers are loveable? Yeah, that's not okay. I can tell who my real friends are because they want to talk about successes and they want to encourage, inspire, prolong, celebrate, and revel in them with me in those moments. They are there in times of loss as well but they do not enjoy it for the sake of it. They want to help. They want to mend. They may understand. They may not. But they care. Here's the thing; I've had it with false friends. It's obvious when someone wants you to fail just so they don't feel like a loser. It doesn't matter how sweetly they smile, how nice their words sound, or how much compassion meant to make its way all the way up to their eyebrows. No. Jealousy hangs in the wanting eyes, is curls around the hungry mouth, it rattles in the measured voice, it just does. And then you are left with a choice; pretend this person loves you or face the fact that they believe that your successes spell their failures, that when you have something great, anything--it could be a job, a talent, a story, anything!---they are wishing it would disappear, that they believe in scarcity and that there are only so many pieces to the pie and you having one means there may not be enough for them. And that's where the problem lies! These are LIES! There is enough love, money, opportunity, for all of us! I promise! We need to be patient, perhaps. Or maybe we need to work harder sometimes. Maybe we need new perspective, get creative. Whatever. All I'm saying is no one's blessings should upset you. It's bad enough when we feel jealous of people we hardly know or those we don't really know at all. When it bleeds into friendships that's where I think it gets ugly. There's no place for that sort of thing in real friendships. If I don’t WANT you to be successful, guess what? I am not your friend, am I? And I certainly don't love you. Here's what I want: friends who want me to end up with the best guy in the world, no matter what their romantic status is at the time when my guy shows up. I want friends who tell me the truth, have no agenda, and just want to be heard, loved, and respected. I want friends who aren't competing with me because they are already aware of how great they are and they are already the stars of their own life story. They want you to be the star of your life and they play an amazing supporting role to make sure your happy ending happens without a hitch. That's what a friend is to me. I have been blessed with some of these. I am profoundly grateful. There are so, so ever so many more of the other kind, the lesser kind. But that's what makes things precious I suppose, the rarity. People are never as covert as they think they are. Jealousy has a way of being an elephant dressed as a ballerina. It wants to be dainty. It just isn't.