I like minimalism. I like the idea of it. The theory of it. The philosophy of it.
But practicing it? I'm not sure I could handle it. Sure, I get overwhelmed with the amount of stuff I have, and I'm constantly rearranging things to make it look neat and tidy (and like I have fewer things), but it's really not something I could do myself, could I? And what about my husband? Would he go for this?
Who knows. All I know is, materialism drives me nuts, particularly my own materialism. I stress over my wasted time indoors, all the time wishing I was outside. I complain that I don't have enough time, or that I do, but I waste it doing meaningless tasks - cleaning, sorting, laundry, rearranging.
That's not what I want my life to be about. I want to do big things, important things, things that will last. I want to be remembered for the impact I had in other lives, not for the time I spent shopping or for my collections of things.
So, as an outward example of an inner (attempted) heart change, I want to put down in writing that I am going to begin with the de-clutterization of my home and heart. Good-bye to ill-fitting and unworn clothes, to books I never read, and to items that fill up my valuable time. From now on, my life is about moments and memories, and not about my possessions.
The beginning
9.17.2010
8.31.2010
.my brother has a blog.
About things that I care little about, such as theology and philosophy.
Huh. Guess I'm not gonna be starting any fashion blog any time soon, or I'll look like the family slacker!
I guess it's just as well, since we all know my fashion leaves something to be desired (as in...fashion!)
Huh. Guess I'm not gonna be starting any fashion blog any time soon, or I'll look like the family slacker!
I guess it's just as well, since we all know my fashion leaves something to be desired (as in...fashion!)
8.28.2010
Letter to a restaurant
Dear Restaurant around the corner from my house,
You have disappointed me this evening. I had been anticipating a lovely dinner with my husband all day, and you were selected, both for your proximity (gotta love "walking distance") and because of your outdoor patio seating. I had plans of delicious pizza and a tasty appetizer, but sadly, this did not happen as anticipated.
Bruschetta (pronounced with a K) was on the agenda for the appetizer, as selected by my husband, who loves the taste of mine. However, when it arrived... really, dear restaurant? You had to use under-ripe tomatoes, pesto sauce and balsamic vinegar? Now, each of things are well and good on their own, but combined in a dish with toasted bread...now we are getting a little out of hand. And soggy toasted bread to boot? This should not be!
And then, dear restaurant, you chose to also ruin my margherita pizza, one of my favorite types of gourmet pizza. Basil is listed as a topping. Basil comes standard on margherita pizzas. Basil should not be almost non-existent on the pizza, but should be one of the central ingredients. Instead, my pizza was bland, relying solely on the mozzarella cheese to give it flavor. You can be sure when I reheat this at home that I will be adding my own basil, so as to enjoy the flavors of my pizza.
No, dear restaurant, you have failed me this evening, causing me to eat, and spend money on, food that I could not rave over. It may be a long time before I grace you with my presence.
Love,
Janelle
PS. All was not lost! My husband just told me that he is "totally and unquestionably in love with you." You being me, of course. That makes for a wonderful end to the day!
You have disappointed me this evening. I had been anticipating a lovely dinner with my husband all day, and you were selected, both for your proximity (gotta love "walking distance") and because of your outdoor patio seating. I had plans of delicious pizza and a tasty appetizer, but sadly, this did not happen as anticipated.
Bruschetta (pronounced with a K) was on the agenda for the appetizer, as selected by my husband, who loves the taste of mine. However, when it arrived... really, dear restaurant? You had to use under-ripe tomatoes, pesto sauce and balsamic vinegar? Now, each of things are well and good on their own, but combined in a dish with toasted bread...now we are getting a little out of hand. And soggy toasted bread to boot? This should not be!
And then, dear restaurant, you chose to also ruin my margherita pizza, one of my favorite types of gourmet pizza. Basil is listed as a topping. Basil comes standard on margherita pizzas. Basil should not be almost non-existent on the pizza, but should be one of the central ingredients. Instead, my pizza was bland, relying solely on the mozzarella cheese to give it flavor. You can be sure when I reheat this at home that I will be adding my own basil, so as to enjoy the flavors of my pizza.
No, dear restaurant, you have failed me this evening, causing me to eat, and spend money on, food that I could not rave over. It may be a long time before I grace you with my presence.
Love,
Janelle
PS. All was not lost! My husband just told me that he is "totally and unquestionably in love with you." You being me, of course. That makes for a wonderful end to the day!
4.04.2010
Thoughts
So I have been meaning to begin a blog lately, but as occurs with many of my ideas, I simply haven't had the will to start. However, I'm laying in bed tonight, desperately trying to find things I can occupy my brain with until I can fall asleep of exhaustion.
What's the reason for this need to tire my brain? To put it bluntly - trauma. I have been traumatized. Not myself personally, but in a manner of speaking, I am suffering from secondary trauma. I am suffering because another person has suffered, and I have that suffering transfered to my person. Let me explain.
About a year and a half ago, while reading the book The Kite Runner, I came across a portion of the book where a young boy is sexually abused by some other young boys. I was so disgusted/horrified/appalled at the thought of it that I threw the book down and was unable to return to it for several days. The idea that a human being could do that to another person made me so sick and so angry. My mind was occupied with the images that it created from the book, and I couldn't return to the book until I was sufficiently detached from the character that I could move on.
Taking us back a few months ago, Brett rented a movie called "Crossing Over," a movie with Harrison Ford that I hadn't heard of. The movie follows a bunch of different characters who find themselves struggling with the issue of immigration to the United States: a border patrol officer, a little Mexican boy separated from his mother who was deported, an Iraqi girl targeted for her opinions in history class, an immigrations official, an actress from Australia, and several other characters. I knew going into it that it would be a tough one to watch, because I have dealt with immigration to a degree, and because so many of our clients have immigration issues as well. What I didn't expect was that I would run out of my living room crying, throw myself onto my bed, and be unable to get the images out of my mind. The reason for my outburst was a scene in which a woman about my age was being sexually manipulated by an immigrations official in return for an extension in her visa. The scene was so...graphic for me that I was unable to stand it. Brett was pretty confused, as I left the room in the middle of the scene. I was unable to handle being in the same room as such corruption, greed, and evil. It made me sick, angry and immensely discouraged.
Fast forward to today. We rented Slumdog Millionaire, and while I thought it would be somewhat difficult for me to watch, I had no idea the impact it would have on me. It was hard for me to see the poverty and the violence the young children experienced. My heart ached when I saw them just struggling to survive. But when some adults began victimizing the little ones, including blinding them for their own benefit, I couldn't go on. I covered my face in my hands, bit my lip, and I cried. I cried.
I used to say that I never cried in movies, but I've realized that's not quite true. I don't cry at "the sad parts" or when there is a relationship struggle. I cry when I get angry, I cry at the injustice, I cry at the evil in this world, particularly directed at children. I cry right now, thinking about the images that I have seen. I told Brett several times since that scene how much I hate people. I hate those that exploit other people for their own benefit. I hate the people who hurt children, who victimize women, who enslave the poor. I'm so angry at them, and so sad that these things happen all day, every day.
But mostly, I am angry and sad because I can do nothing about it. I spend my days working with teenagers who have suffered through many of these injustices...sexual abuse and violence, war, poverty, starvation, being orphaned, being used and exploited. I do what I can to help them, but there are so many more out there. And I'm doing nothing. NOTHING. No one is doing anything. And while I know that is not true, sometimes the knowledge of the sheer number of suffering people overwhelms me, to the point where I question the point in even doing anything. It seems so futile to me.
And so, here I sit. Trying to distract myself, so that my mind doesn't replay the images over and over and over again. So I can get some sleep, some rest, some peace. We'll see, I guess.
What's the reason for this need to tire my brain? To put it bluntly - trauma. I have been traumatized. Not myself personally, but in a manner of speaking, I am suffering from secondary trauma. I am suffering because another person has suffered, and I have that suffering transfered to my person. Let me explain.
About a year and a half ago, while reading the book The Kite Runner, I came across a portion of the book where a young boy is sexually abused by some other young boys. I was so disgusted/horrified/appalled at the thought of it that I threw the book down and was unable to return to it for several days. The idea that a human being could do that to another person made me so sick and so angry. My mind was occupied with the images that it created from the book, and I couldn't return to the book until I was sufficiently detached from the character that I could move on.
Taking us back a few months ago, Brett rented a movie called "Crossing Over," a movie with Harrison Ford that I hadn't heard of. The movie follows a bunch of different characters who find themselves struggling with the issue of immigration to the United States: a border patrol officer, a little Mexican boy separated from his mother who was deported, an Iraqi girl targeted for her opinions in history class, an immigrations official, an actress from Australia, and several other characters. I knew going into it that it would be a tough one to watch, because I have dealt with immigration to a degree, and because so many of our clients have immigration issues as well. What I didn't expect was that I would run out of my living room crying, throw myself onto my bed, and be unable to get the images out of my mind. The reason for my outburst was a scene in which a woman about my age was being sexually manipulated by an immigrations official in return for an extension in her visa. The scene was so...graphic for me that I was unable to stand it. Brett was pretty confused, as I left the room in the middle of the scene. I was unable to handle being in the same room as such corruption, greed, and evil. It made me sick, angry and immensely discouraged.
Fast forward to today. We rented Slumdog Millionaire, and while I thought it would be somewhat difficult for me to watch, I had no idea the impact it would have on me. It was hard for me to see the poverty and the violence the young children experienced. My heart ached when I saw them just struggling to survive. But when some adults began victimizing the little ones, including blinding them for their own benefit, I couldn't go on. I covered my face in my hands, bit my lip, and I cried. I cried.
I used to say that I never cried in movies, but I've realized that's not quite true. I don't cry at "the sad parts" or when there is a relationship struggle. I cry when I get angry, I cry at the injustice, I cry at the evil in this world, particularly directed at children. I cry right now, thinking about the images that I have seen. I told Brett several times since that scene how much I hate people. I hate those that exploit other people for their own benefit. I hate the people who hurt children, who victimize women, who enslave the poor. I'm so angry at them, and so sad that these things happen all day, every day.
But mostly, I am angry and sad because I can do nothing about it. I spend my days working with teenagers who have suffered through many of these injustices...sexual abuse and violence, war, poverty, starvation, being orphaned, being used and exploited. I do what I can to help them, but there are so many more out there. And I'm doing nothing. NOTHING. No one is doing anything. And while I know that is not true, sometimes the knowledge of the sheer number of suffering people overwhelms me, to the point where I question the point in even doing anything. It seems so futile to me.
And so, here I sit. Trying to distract myself, so that my mind doesn't replay the images over and over and over again. So I can get some sleep, some rest, some peace. We'll see, I guess.
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