On having a soft heart

I’m a carer.

By that I mean that I have said–in complete seriousness–that my goal in life is to make sure that everyone is well fed, tucked in at night and knows that they are fully and completely loved.

There was actually a phase in college senior year when I started forcing friends to go to sleep (They were doing senior projects, and it was necessary). And yes, I tucked them in and reminded them it was just work and it would be there in the morning.

But I’m a carer. I have a terribly soft heart for the world, and were I able to, I would Mother anyone who needed it. It’s just–how I’m wired.

Some people think that having a soft heart makes you weak.

All you need to see to disprove that is to hurt someone I love.

I will take.you.down.

Some people think that being a carer isn’t valuable.

Being a carer is literally how we keep this world running. Without carers, we wouldn’t have functional adults (and I think the lack of functional adults shows we need to start valuing this role more). Without carers, no one would hold your hand when your about to be wheeled into surgery. Without carers, there’d be no one to rock your babies to sleep with as much love as they do their own. Carers are the front line in how we make this world and the people in it a better place.

Some people think that you have to be a parent if you’re a carer.

Dude. There are all kinds of ways to love this world (I personally plan weddings and rock babies that aren’t mine to sleep on Sundays). You don’t need to be a parent to be a carer. And if you want to say otherwise, I will take you down because my Aunt Betty was the best carer ever and she had no children. Shut up and sit down.

It’s just…I’m a carer. It’s how I’m wired. I love being a carer. I love loving people.

Hug the people in life that take care of the world. It’s a tough, often thankless job.

And really–who couldn’t use more hugs?

Birthdays

About once a decade or so, my birthday falls on Easter. It’s kind of like being a leap year baby, but with far less frequency.

The first time this happened was my 9th(?) birthday. It was also the day that my Father baptized me, so it was really really special.

The second time this happened, it was my 20th birthday. Which was nice, because 20th birthday are kind of–anti-climatic (in the States at least where being able to order a pint legally is still a year away). I really don’t have any idea what I did that day, except that I took a super cute picture with Jessie (Which I can no longer find!!! WAH!) and that it led to the epic quote from Julia (?) that “Jesus is going to steal Sarah’s thunder!”

I also remember looking at when the next time this would happen would be, realizing I’d be 31, and thinking that I’d be so old. (Excuse me while I laugh hysterically)

So I’m (almost) 31. And you know–I don’t really feel that much different than I did at 20. I’m married, I have carved out a very weird job(s) for myself, but…I don’t think I have life any more figured out now than I did then.

So tomorrow, I’ll rock crying babies (nursery volunteer for life) and think about how many many moons ago, my Dad baptized me. How many moons ago, I celebrated with amazingly good friends who are much further away now, but still epically amazing friends.

And I’ll think about how very very loved I am. By my friend and family, of course. But mainly by a good and glorious God who loves me in my brokeness. Cherishes me despite my sinfulness. Who constantly says “You, my daughter are loved. Just as you are. Fully and completely loved.” And I’ll sigh a deep sigh and smile.

HIMYM

I have a theory about the How I Met your Mother series finale.

If you loved it, you don’t believe that there is only one soul mate for each person in the world.

If you hated it, you’re a love at first sight, one perfect soul mate for everyone kind of person. (Basically, you’re an early series Ted)

I loved the finale. Because it was so perfectly HIMYM. HIMYM was a sitcom, but it wasn’t a traditional one. And I think that they hid it so well, that people tuned in expecting a happily ever after sitcom kind of finale. And what they got was a HIMYM finale.

HIMYM wasn’t just a silly little sitcom about a dreamy romantic dude and the friends who tried to help him through his often ridiclous romantic issues.

HIMYM was a dramedy sitcom about a group of friends growing up together. But Carter and Craig hid that layer of the show so well that you could watch it as a tradational laugh track sitcom about love.

Think about it with me for a second.

During the course of this series (in no particular order):

1.  Everyone cheats or is cheated on (except Lily and Marshall)

2. The most romantic guy ever has his world rocked when his parents tell him they got divorced…like two years ago. Because despite the fact that they loved each other, they were too fundamentally different as people to make it work. (which is a recurring theme of the series)

3. Everyone but Barney quits or gets fired from a job because they weren’t happy, and then have to deal with the fall out.

4. Marshall’s father dies and he falls apart.

4a. Barney finds his father and really falls apart.

5. There are many many “Come to Jesus” talks (For those that don’t know a come to Jesus talk is where you sit someone you love down and say “I love you. You’re being an idiot. Here’s how you fix it.)

This is not Full House or Boy Meets World where there’s always a lesson at the end of the show and tragedy happens off stage. This was not a tradtional sitcom.

This was a show about life. And in life people die. Love isn’t always enough to make a relationship work (RIP Robin and Barney). You can have more than one great love. You can spend your life wondering if the one got away was the one. You make stupid mistakes and play games with people’s hearts on purpose and unintentionally. You realize that dreams are hard. Parenting is tough.

But the beautiful thing–what I loved about HIMYM–is that even when you’re drowning in a storm of sucky life issues, if you have friends–if you have people who love you–you can get through it.

So I guess HIMYM was a love story. But it was a love story of friends.

Loss

Recently, my grandmother–my last living grandparent–died.

And in the aftermath, I was telling someone “It’s different for me. I’ve spent my entire life losing people that I love.”

And that really got me thinking.

Because it’s true.

I have spent a lifetime losing people that I loved. Starting when I was 4, when I lost my Grandpa who was the light of my young life.

And maybe that rewired something in my brain. Maybe losing a pillar in my life that young–and continuing to lose people every couple years my entire childhood—fundamentally changed the way my brain works. Because it would explain a lot.

I never really thought about what my life would like past about 30. Because on some level, I never expected to be here. (Friends and family who know my penchant for getting myself into the most ridiculous life threatening situations will agree it is a miracle that I am)

I once had an entire conversation with my dear friends and college roommates because it genuinely blew my mind that they would want to keep in regular contact with me when I moved overseas for a year. We had several conversations that were them (very lovingly) telling me things like “Sarah, if you go to the ER you need to call us” or “Sarah when your family member develops cancer, you can’t tell us that and stop replying to calls because we will worry.”

Because for me–people will continually disappear from your life. It’s just—a thing. It happens.

I am well acquainted with my stages of grief and crisis mode because it’s happened so many times. I have had a plan for how to handle my parents deaths since I was a teenager. I don’t expect to always have people in life. Because it’s never been true.

I don’t say this to garner sympathy or because I want people to feel sorry for me. I have a blessed life. But I really think that maybe all of the ways that I approach life and relationships stem from this basic principle that I absorbed as a child. People will leave you. Nothing is permanent. And if that’s true–how do I unlearn that?

 

“I choose to love you”

In case we don’t know each other–to say I was a bookworm growing up is the understatement of the century. To paint a picture, I was the kid who got in trouble for reading my book under my desk during class. (Look, I was bored, and done with the class work. No regrets).

And in my childhood church growing up there was a library. It was nothing fancy–just a room off of the pastor’s office that basically operated on the honor system. There was a lot of theology books, but there was also a lot of Christian Fiction books that I regularly checked out and read (frequently even during service–sorry David)

One of them was a book by Karen Kingsbury. It was the first in what became a whole series about this family from the Midwest. I don’t remember a lot about the plot, but one particular line stayed with me–and honestly helped shape how I view marriage.

“I choose to love you.”

This character (one of the daughters) was going through this awful time in her marriage. If memory serves her husband had an affair and she was (naturally) wrecked. She was agonizing over what to do, and while I don’t remember how they got here, I do remember that at the end of the book she and her husband are talking and they basically say this:

“I choose to love you. Every day I will wake up and choose to love you. No matter how much you’ve hurt me or what you’ve said or if I feel like it. I will wake up and choose to love you”

(Also, while this sounds kind of terrible–he had an affair, and she just forgives him and says that she’ll choose to love him no mater what–I promise it made sense in the context and that it was a mutual thing borne out of love and respect–this wasn’t a woman being walked on)

That statement just blew me away.

And at 12, it helped shaped how I saw relationships. My love for you is not dependent on your action. I can hate what you did and how you’re acting and still choose to love you and show you love.

In fact, I requested that this be in our vows on my wedding day. That’s how they ended–I choose to love you. Because love to me, is a choice. I wake up every day and choose to love my husband. Even when he drives me crazy. Even when he says something hurtful. Even when I don’t feel like loving him. Love is a choice that we make. I choose love.

On being socially clueless

I am socially clueless.

The first time I became aware of this was in 8^th grade when a (girl) friend of mine had to explain to me-in great detail-why other girls were offended when you walk up to them and (as a greeting) say “Hey Buttface”*

Thus began my knowledge, that there were “rules” that I just didn’t get.

It’s hard for me to explain what being socially clueless is like, because I don’t know what it’s like to be socially clued in. But I can tell you what it feels like. **

It feels like you’re in a foreign country where everyone else knows what it’s like to do something (like go to prom), and you just stare at them, hoping someone will explain it.

Because you don’t understand.

That, to me, is the most frustrating—I’m not trying to be rude or cold: I literally have no idea why someone is upset about something I did or said, because I don’t pick up on the social cue/have no idea why what I said would be inappropriate. And people think that you’re being deliberately callous—I’m not.

I’m actually a warm, caring, generous big ball of sarcastic fluff. And once I get to know you, I can usually pick up when you’re upset—I just don’t get the “applies to everyone” cues.

Now, I generally don’t know WHY you’re upset, but I do know that you’re upset.

And being socially clueless doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings. I feel deeply. But I don’t always know the “right” way to show it, so I don’t. Or I don’t understand that someone is mocking me, and then, when I find out later that they were, I feel like an idiot.

And being socially clueless doesn’t mean I look, act, or resemble Sheldon from a Big Bang Theory. I’m about the farthest thing from a science nerd that you’ll find, I’m a REALLY big fan of sparkles and sappy movies are some of my favorites. (Seriously, I liked the Lake House).

Being socially clueless means I have to pick my friends very carefully, and have LOTS of discussions with my husband*** about agreed upon cues regarding feelings. It means that I end up with some awesome friends who appreciate my bluntness (one of my housemate’s favorite things about me she said is “I never have to wonder if you’re upset—you’ll tell me if you’re upset”—because the only way I understand emotion is clear, direct statements, so I try and give those statements to others). It means I spent years working on appropriate social interactions and I have a cache of them (stories, expressions) stored up to use. It means making friends is really really hard. It’s who I am.

I want people to believe that if someone says they don’t “get it”—they truly don’t. Explain it to them. Believe that they don’t understand why you’re upset or why what they said isn’t appropriate. They’ll probably say “Thank you”.

*Look, I don’t think it was THAT bad, but the point is that I would walk up to a girl, call her a name and totally not understand why all the girls hated me. That, and I didn’t understand why none of them roughhoused while playing basketball. There was actually a rule in my PE class that I wasn’t allowed to play basketball with girls. True story. (You draw blood one time…)

** (Oddly, I’m usually ok in work situations—likely because being professional comes with its own set of social cues, which are typically easier for me to understand.)

***True story—early in our marriage, he once left the room, and I shouted “What? What’d I say?”

 

The conversation about Emma Stone being too white bothers me. A lot.

There has been a veritable uproar-to the point where the director has apologized- about Emma Stone being cast in the movie Aloha has a quarter Chinese, quarter Hawaiian, half Scandinavian character. While everyone seems to think the movie is not that great in the  first place, people are pissed that an actress that is clearly white is playing a character of Asian descent.

And it pisses me off. Nay, it makes me livid.

Not the casting choice, but the commentary.

It is entirely within the realm of possibility that a woman with that ancestry could look (at least similar) to Emma Stone. How do I know this? Well, for starters, I’m married to a (gorgeous) man of mixed heritage himself. He has four siblings, and when you see a photo of them–they’re clearly related, but they’re not clearly siblings. Some of them look markedly more Filipino, while some of them lean much more towards their Spanish/Italian ancestry.

However, the reason it makes me livid is on behalf of my (non-existent) children.

My children will be (roughly):

1/4 Irish
1/4 Italian
1/4 Filipino
1/4 General English Mutt

and part Native American, Spanish, French etc.  And it makes my heart beat faster and my blood pressure rise that some day they will have to defend their Filipino heritage to someone because “they don’t look Filipino”. Or have to explain when someone comments on their excellent potatoes or pasta that their Mom was Irish and their dad was Italian only to have someone say “But you don’t look Irish, Italian” etc.

How dare you. How dare you force my children to defend their cultural heritage because they don’t look they way you think a Filipino, Irish, Italian person “ought” to look. My children should not be pigeonholed because of a narrow definition of what the world thinks they should look like.

Does Emma Stone have any Chinese or Hawaiian heritage? No idea, but I bet not. Could Allison Ng, the character she plays look like her? Absolutely.

I am a Whovian

Unabashed, Doctor Who loving, fan girl out about Chin Boy loving Whovian. It’s a show that makes me cry and laugh, and really hope that there is a tiny blue box whizzing around space.

And I truly loathe the 12th doctor.

I tried. I really did. I know, from past regenerations that I always hate the new doctor for at least a few episodes. Then, I fall madly fan girl in love with him again.

Not so with 12.

I could not explain it to the other Whovians I watch the show with (Shout out to Kathryn and Christine!). They loved him, and I was “meh” about him for whole season. He had a few moments of redemption, but for me I was just like “eh”.

And after thinking about it, I’ve finally figured out why I truly dislike him.

He’s at best snarky, and frequently flat out rude to many people (even Clara, his companion). He shows little overt compassion, and I would argue little compassion at all, for those around him. He is, in a word, selfish. Sure, he has occasional moments of kindness–but for the most part he’s a selfish jerk.

And if this is a truer representation of the Doctor (as many posts and articles, and hell, even the show) have argued: I want no part.

I don’t dislike him because he’d older or less handsome or less quirky than 10 or Chin boy.

I dislike him because he’s mean and bitter.

The universe has enough of that. There’s enough anger and bitterness to fill several galaxies. The Doctor *thought he* destroyed his race to save the universe. And it made it him kind.

From the Beast Below (5.2)

Amy: The Star Whale didn’t come like a miracle all those years ago – it volunteered! You didn’t have to trap it or torture it, that was all just you! It came because it couldn’t stand to watch your children cry. What if you were really old, and really kind and alone, your whole race dead, no future. What couldn’t you do then? If you were that old, and that kind… and the very last of your kind. You couldn’t just stand there and watch children cry

The Doctor: You couldn’t have known how it would react.

Amy Pond: I couldn’t, but I’ve seen it before. Very old, and very kind and the very, very last, sound a bit familiar?

The Doctor wins because he does what is right. The Doctor is the Doctor because he killed his race and it made him kind. 12 is going through something–which is fine, we’re all allowed our dark periods. But 12 is not my Doctor. And he is not the Doctor that the universe so badly needs. Kindness and love are the most powerful force in the universe. Not snark, not mean. The Doctor used to know that. I hope he finds it out again.

(And for the record, I know that 9, 10, and 11 all had their dark moments. But they were just that–moments. They were seeking not to be snarky, but to be good to the universe. And yes, I understand that from  a thematic stand point, the Doctor was clearly paying penance during his ninth, tenth and eleventh regeneration for destroying Gallifrey.  But that’s my point–if this is a truer representation of the Doctor–I resign my fan girlness. I want no part of him)

I love you Tay but we need to talk

Tay,

Long time fan, first time writer. I love your music, and I’m pleased as punch that you finally are standing up as a feminist.

But you have GOT to stop saying it’s “sexist” for people to critique or complain about you writing about you exes.

From the recent interview on “Jules, Merick and Sophie”

“I think frankly that’s a very sexist angle to take,” Swift said in a recent interview with regard to how she’s sometimes criticized for writing about past lovers. “No one says that about Ed Sheeran. No one says that about Bruno Mars. They’re all writing songs about their exes, their current girlfriends, their love life and no one raises a red flag there.”

You’re right that no one raises a red flag about Ed Sherran or Bruno Mars. And it’s not because people are sexist (I mean they are, but not because of this). It’s because neither Ed nor Bruno built their entire careers on writing songs about their exes.

You did.

Now, only you know how many songs are about your exes, and how many are songs about other people’s relationships. But you became a global star in no small part because you were writing about universal things that every on can relate to (love, heartbreak, friendship etc).  A quick glance of your discography not including 1989 which is clearly a departure) shows that you have written 43 songs that are either about your relationships or other peoples. That’s out of 54, or 80 percent of your catalog.

You’re also a social media GENIUS who was very very open about the fact that these songs were inspired by real people–you even leave clues in your liner notes to help you fans guess who the song’s about.

To now criticize people for criticizing your own marketing technique (and a damn successful one at that) is at best unaware.

It is sexist for people to only talk about your relationships. It is sexist for them to paint you as a realtionshipaholic boy crazy woman. But it’s a persona that you started and built an empire on.

Some food for thought.

A note to Philadelphia bikers. And Cars

In the past two weeks while riding my bike I have:

–Almost got smashed by a car that pulled out of space into the bike lane without looking. Luckily I yelped and extra luckily they heard me. No harm.

–Had a car cut me off by turning left FROM THE RIGHT HAND LANE on a Center City Street. This was such a severe cutting off that even though I slammed on my breaks (once I realized there was you know, a car turning very fast less than a foot from me) I rammed the back quarter panel of the car. 

I don’t feel guilty.

My point is this: Cars and bikers in Philly are…at odds. And I drive in this town, so I get it. A lot of bikers are just as big of jerks as the cars. So here, I humbly offer some general pointers:

 

Bikers:

1. If you’re going to ride your bike on the street* you must obey all the same laws that the other vehicles (cars, mopeds motorcycles etc) have to obey. Full stop, no room for discussion. Some examples:

1. You must come to a full stop at stop lights that are red and only start moving again when they are green
2. I don’t care if there is a bike lane, if it’s a one way street, you too must ride the correct way down it 
3. Stop signs are not decorative. You stop at them.
4. If you are riding at night, use your lights. If you don’t own lights procure them. They’re like…20 bucks. And you will be much more visible to the cars and other bikers.

2. Wear a helmet. While I’m not certain if it’s the law in PA, but speaking as someone who has had a nasty fall on a bike…you really want to be wearing one.They come in lots of fun colors these days.  It’s like a seat belt…even if you’re just going around the block, wear it.

Cars:

Look, I get where you’re coming from. The bikers aren’t following the law so you have no idea what they’re going to do, so why should you be nice to them?

Well for one, you are surrounded by and traveling in something that has been designed and tested hundreds of times to keep you safe. Bikers? We have…a helmet. And our reflexes. In a fight with a bike, you’re going to come out on top. So be a little extra nice.

1. If we are driving on the road, please don’t honk at us. It’s loud as all get out and scares the crap out of me. There’s almost ALWAYS two lanes. Just pull around us please.

2. Please do not crowd the bike lane (or pull out of (or into) a parking spot without looking to make sure a bike isn’t coming.)

1. I guarantee you, however much you hate having us in the road with you (see point 1) we hate it more. It is  scary, I’m frequently cursed at, and there are often large potholes. I really want to be in that bike lane. But you know what’s scarier than being on the road with cars? Being in the bike lane and having a car make a wide turn, or hug that side of the road, or park there. If you crowd the bike lane, I usually have nowhere to go but into a parked car, or switch lanes into car traffic This is not good. Please. Respect the bike lane.

3. I get it. I’m slow. That’s mainly because I’m operating a vehicle that’s powered by me, and your operating a vehicle that’s powered by an electrical or combustion engine** As I said earlier…there’s almost always two lanes. Pull around me. If you can’t, because you have to turn, or it’s a one way road–please be a little patient. I swear I am not trying to deliberately make you late. And if I see that you’re going two miles an hour behind me, I will do my level best to pull over or turn or something to let you by.

 

All of this can be boiled down to two simple rules

1. No matter what you’re driving follow the rules of the road

2. Be patient and a little kinder than you want to be. 

Let’s be a little more observant and a lot kinder Philly.

*Which, I’d like to point out to all the drivers who yell at me to get out of the street is the freaking LAW.

**I know nothing about cars.