Which Direction Now?

Today, someone asked me for directions while I was on my way to Bryant Park. It made my freaking day! Granted, I didn't know the answer, but still, it just goes to show you that attitude is everything.

Speaking of directions...I've been thinking a lot about directions and paths and trajectories lately. Today is the 28th of July and I don't start school until the 28th of August; which means that I have exactly a month to do absolutely nothing. My life hasn't been in this particular position since I was in middle school, and I am trying to remain excited, though if history has anything to say about it, I'm not really very good at doing nothing.

I am a Gemini through and through; meaning, I thrive in the dichotomy of an unquiet nature and a methodical/unrelenting drive. Sometimes I forget to STOP! and just be. I keep thinking that these days should be filled with perfecting my resume and looking for internships and actively working my way through the publishing world. And all of that is assuredly important; I'm not incredibly interested in starving my way through life, but I'm also not incredibly interested in plowing my way through life.

Today I sat in Bryant Park without a book or an IPod or a to-do list; I just sat. I listened to a man in a green costume tell children a story about field mice getting bopped on the head, it really made me smile. I am going to strive to have a month filled with these kinds of anecdotes; reading in central park, running along the waterfront, eating pizza and red-velvet cupcakes, and generally exploring this vast and exciting city. I will continue to look for opportunities into the publishing world and I will continue to challenge myself as a writer and a woman; but all of that doesn't have to come at the cost of enjoying this rare and relaxing moment in my life.

I have a feeling that this blog will really benefit from all this new found free time ;)

Rat Pack

Last night I saw my first subway rat. I thought that it was exciting...the people that I was with did not, but I mean, come on!, a New York Subway rat isn't just any kind of rat. I tried to take its picture, you know, to document the momentous occasion, but alas, the rat was too quick for my exhausted fingers.

I have decided that subway rats are going to be my NY good luck charm. You know how the crickets are good luck in Asia, I think that the subway rats should be good luck in NY. Though not good luck like the penny or the four-leaf clover, because I think that it would be ill-advised to carry them around in your pocket all day.

New York, New York

When I was little the only thing I ever dreamed about was working for the church and for most of my life I pursued that dream with great fervor. The technicalities of my dream transformed as I transformed, but the underlining ideal that my life would be committed to the ministry rarely wavered. When I realized that the path that I had so fervently drawn out for myself no longer held any integrity nor was it likely to bring me to any kind of place of righteousness, I decided that it was time for me to leave that dream behind...and I did so with very little guilt and with very little doubt. The ministry was all that I knew, it was my whole life, so when I withdrew from that inclusive environment, I had very little to turn to.

I have spent the last two years rebuilding my life. In many ways, it was like I had to start all over again. It wasn't just my career either; I had to reformat everything. I made myself answer questions like what values/morals could I take ownership of and which values/morals were just mindlessly mimicked? I took career aptitude tests. (They all said that I should be a lawyer; I didn't think that was a very good idea.) I explored new areas of the library. I embraced and acted on what I considered to be uncomfortable thoughts, i.e. I started fucking girls. And then I, unexpectedly, became a woman that I'm really proud of and a woman that I enjoy going home to every night. So...when it became time for me to change my life once again, I did it with the inner assurance that it would be different this time; this time it was about moving forward not starting all over.

I have been an official resident of New York City for three days now! Much of the last few days have been filled with things like standing in the DMV line and getting a new cell phone plan, but none the less, I now live in New York City. There are moments when I feel really sad, I left a lot behind and I don't know anyone here, and there are moments when I've been in total awe. I already feel tired and I'm sure that's not a feeling that's going away any time soon. But more than anything, I feel stoked to get this new chapter of my life going...and it certainly doesn't hurt that there are a ridiculous amount of hot ladies in this city.

P.S. In the spirit of change, I've decided to institute a few new alterations here @ LEZ give 'em something to talk about. You probably already noticed the new layout and I changed my location in the profile. I'm also going to try and post more than once a week; this is the city of innovation and if I want to embrace my new life in the city, I think that means embracing the sorted world of the interwebs.

Peace and Love,
Steph

Daddy's Little Gyrl

This past weekend my father got remarried.

My dad and I don't have a relationship, or at least we don't have a relationship that extends beyond the world of single syllables. Ever since I can remember, our relationship has been rooted in the conditional acceptance that he has chosen to offer me and because I refuse(d) to comply with his fairytale version of an ideal daughter, he chose not to be a part of my life. I'm proud of the woman that I have become and I'm excited for the places that my life journey will undoubtedly take me and if he doesn't want to share in that...that is his choice and it's his loss.

My father lives his life in a lot of fear. His life is the pragmatized equivalent of a house of cards; a shatterable existence that requires perfection and submissive solidarity to sustain and/or survive. In a house built of cards, not one card can be placed out of line, not one card can stray from the design plan. One misplaced or rebellious card can, and will, ruin the entire house. A house of cards cannot stand successful in the face of adversity, nor is it likely to stand if its creator is not constantly protecting and preserving the fragile piece of work. And when a house of cards begins to tumble, as they often do, the creator runs frantic, striving to maintain a foundation that will inevitably collapse. For my father, nothing, or no one, is more important than keeping his house of cards intact.

Because my father's world is so fragile, there is no room in his world for a girl like me. Last week I wrote about the strength that lies in the frangible and I stand by those words; I believe that there is beauty in the breakable...but, in my opinion, that only applies if you don't let your breakable nature dictate your behavior. The strength and beauty lies not the frangible nature itself, but in the ability to accept that you have vulnerable or breakable moments and yet still you choose to stand and proceed down life's path, no matter how fearful or stumble-driven that path might be. But my father allows fear to be his catalyst and I don't think there's any strength in that.

When I think about my dad and all of the missed opportunities that we had/will continue to have, it makes me feel sad and angry and lonely; but more than anything, when I think about my dad, I feel an overwhelming sense of compassion. I imagine that if your life's priority is to avoid anything that makes you feel uncomfortable and if you live in a constant struggle to maintain something that is essentially unmaintainable...well, I imagine that it can get pretty dark and lonely and paralyzing and I feel sorry that he lives his life in that kind of fear-driven mentality. But no amount of compassion, or love, will make me sacrifice the woman that I've become, the woman that I've become proud of, just because it will make him feel more comfortable. If the only way that I can have a relationship with my father is to adhere to his boundary-forced guidelines, I'm not sure that's the kind of relationship I want to fight for.

I'm not saying all of this to play the victim card, rather quite the opposite. It is true that I had a shitty childhood. I grew up not in a loving, supportive household, but in the equivalent of built-in child support. There was always food on the table, but there was never conversation. I always had the supplies for school work, but never any help for it. My father never took the time to get to know me and my mother was no peach either. (My mom once told me that it would be easier for her to love me if I was skinnier.) My parents openly preferred a daughter that adhered to obligation rather than independence; they never encouraged my spastic, nerdy nature, nor did they ever extend any kind of tangible love towards me...AND...I took responsibility for my life. I stood up and I decided to hold myself accountable. Every value that I have is because I decided to implement that value into my life and I put in the hard work and I strive, every day, to be the kind of woman that I truly want to be.

I hold out hope for my dad and I, I truly do, but not at the sacrifice of the things that I believe in and not at the sacrifice of the things I've chosen to stand for.

Frangible

As a young and semi-liberal lesbian, I've developed quite the luscious list of strong and empowering female role models. They vary from the women I've known intimately to the women I've read about in books to the women who have graced history and when I'm feeling down or lost about something, I usually turn to one of these women to help inspire me to find some kind of footing. Once, when I was having a bad day and I could feel the anxiety attack approaching, I took an hour between classes and read the end of "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland." I instantaneously felt better. Somehow the naive and spunky nature of this daydream-driven character helped me see that there is value in the crazy, yet extraordinary moments of life and that obsessive organization doesn't make life inherently better, (a lesson I've been forced to learn time and time again.) It's dorky, I know, but the list of fictional characters who have inspired me to be better is more than extensive.

But there is one woman, a real-life woman, who above all, never ceases to be my all-time inspiration. That woman is Maya Angelou. Maya is the woman that inspired me to become a writer; she is an incredibly strong woman and her writing perfectly exemplifies that strength, but it wasn't until I saw Maya in person that she became a true inspiration for me. Maya's writings do have an undeniable and unparalleled strength, but in person Maya is soft and gentle and quite the vulnerable female and I find that soo inspiring. Her soft, quiet nature doesn't muffle her strength, but rather accentuates it. Our society, so often, puts down women that appear vulnerable or frangible (sidenote: frangible is one of my favorite words, I use it all the time; it means "easily breakable," like as if someone was trying to say 'fragile' and 'breakable' at the same time and it came out as 'frangible' and then they just decided that it would be a word and now it is)...anyways...we put down women that appear frangible, because as a society we uphold strength, which is an admirable value to uphold, but not if it teaches women that being vulnerable and being strong are mutually exclusive, because I think that nothing could be further from the truth.

Lately, I've been putting a lot of effort into striving to be imperfect, which, I know, is an odd way to look at it, but in actuality I think that it's a productive way to look at it. Because perfection is so unattainable; when perfection becomes your ultimate goal, I think that you end up sacrificing a lot in order to get it. I have a very aggressive desire to be a strong woman, but sometimes in my quest to be a strong woman, I end up taking on the facade of strength, rather than actualizing strength; which I think makes me weaker, not stronger. Part of being a strong woman is having the strength to offer yourself compassion; the compassion to know that you don't have to be perfect to be great, that you don't have to hide from your history to move forward. And that part of being a strong woman is having the strength to accept yourself exactly as you are, even if that means embracing your frangible-ness.

One of the biggest lessons I've learned as a gay woman is that embracing exactly who are doesn't mean embracing the things that make you feel comfortable, it means offering yourself the compassion to feel whatever it is you're feeling and to go after whatever it is you want, no matter what (or who) it is you want. That's what makes a strong woman; not the facade of strength, but the actualization of strength. That's something I learned from Maya and I think that it's invaluable.