planetaryparagraphs

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On Lent and Fasting

I look forward to Lent. 

Lent, and Easter, are some of my favorite traditions in Catholicism, which I no longer formally practice but grew up with. Not because I believe that Jesus was the son of God or died for our sins, but because I think there is something valuable in a month and a half dedicated to fasting which comes right when winter is squeezing the last bits of hope out of the Earth and we are all feeling downtrodden and full of self pity (or at least I often am, in March.)

Lent is a season to be grateful of what we have, and conscious of what we consume. It is a time to reflect on what our actual needs are, and how fortunate we are, to have so many of them fulfilled. Many faiths include fasting, and when believers forgo a meal or give up chocolate or coffee or shopping, they are acknowledging that life and contentment are made up of more than these material things. 

But in the past couple of years, I have fought hard to teach myself that self-deprivation is not the same as self-control. That self-control does not equate to self-worth. Now, I am trying to figure out how I can reconcile my efforts to live with as little impact as possible with an acknowledgement that I am allowed to take up space. 

How can I participate in Lent, when so much harm has come from the lesson that indulgence is sinful? 

Some people honor Lent by adding something to their lives in those six weeks. They resolve to talk to their families more, or to exercise everyday. Last year I resolved to write everyday. This year, I plan to walk the labyrinth on campus every day. (If it stays cold like this, that will be a real sacrifice.) 

Still, part of me misses the satisfaction of going without. Of proving to myself that I don’t need as much as I have. That part of me says I should give up sweets, or baked goods, or dessert for Lent, because isn’t that where I so often turn for comfort in times of stress? I would feel so strong, to give that up. To make it through six weeks and have to find other ways to reward myself, to treat myself. It would be good for me. 

But the question is, would it end? I have no doubt that I could go without for six weeks. But would I be able, on Easter Sunday, to enjoy a chocolate bunny? Or would I continue to squeeze things out of my diet, joy by joy, until I could no longer stomach even the thought of sugar in my tea? 

I don’t know the answer to these questions. I just think it is important to ask them. And I don’t know what I will do tomorrow, (except that I will walk to the labyrinth.) I do know that I am probably not the only person with this question. In our society of insane overabundance, it is difficult to find rational footing in what we need, want, and deserve. Staying balanced takes a lot of work. 

I suppose the most important thing is to remember what Lent (to me) is about: gratitude, and patience, and respecting nature’s toughest months before spring. Finding joy and hope in music, and unopened blossoms, and the ever-lengthening days. 

#lent #catholic #faith #ed #ed recovery #intuitive eating #hope #spring #heart on my sleeve

[planetaryparagraphs]

New Year, Same Old Me

There will be no new Meghan in 2019. There has never been any new Meghan. Meghan stays the same. Sometimes I go by Meg, but I am still me. And although I will work, my whole life-

to be more mindful,

to be more grateful,

to have success in my goals and value in my relationships,

to take care of my body and my spirit

and to curate my talents and improve my weaknesses-

although I will expend effort towards these resolutions this year, they are goals for my whole life. And that is MY life. Not the life of a “new” Meghan who doesn’t exist yet. My value as a human being, my potential to grow and change and learn, is a constant. It is not contingent on a checklist, or a numbers game with checklists and labels, it is my intrinsic Worth.

I’m in life for the long haul. Day by day, hour by hour, I have spent years learning and changing and I don’t plan to stop. New year, same me. Just more time to pursue a million wonderful possibilities.

Same Meghan who loves to walk on streambeds in the rain, letting her hair get wet and her skin get cold, same Meghan who can’t stand to be inside for a whole day. Mud under the fingernails, hair like a wet dog.

I think part of the trouble with American happiness is that it is so contingent on progress. I don’t mean incremental steps from beginner to better and better. Rather, too many of us expect ourselves not only to be perfect, but to constantly reinvent perfection. Worse, we don’t feel that we have to improve ourselves for our own sake- our self improvement is imposed by others.

It might be imposed by another person: a spouse who is trying to lose weight, a coworker who has taken up a cool new hobby, a friend who is into mindfulness and yoga. We pursue these interests out of a fear of inferiority, rather than a genuine belief that we may better our lives. As a result, if we fail, we feel worthless. We have proven our own anxieties, that we are lesser. Around the holidays the cycle becomes clear: we see our enviable friends and relatives, and learn only the highlights of their lives. We eat our feelings. Come December 31st, we toast the future, with cries of “New Year, New Me!”

Sorry, bad news. It’s still you. No amount of dieting, or meditating, or reading more, or going for walks, or taking painting classes, or going to church more often will change who you are. But is it bad news? Are we not already good enough? In 2019, I hope we can all see ourselves as good enough. Imagine if we all did that. Imagine if we signed up for classes and plans because we really wanted to, and not because we thought we would be a failure if we didn’t. I want to be driven through life, not dragged along by a nasty little voice in my own head.

Happy New Year. Make it yours.

#new year #2019 #new year new me #resolution #dieting #thinspiro #motivate #meditate #yoga #self improvement #self impowerment #mindfulness #peace #hope

[planetaryparagraphs]

pro tip: take more walks. even December walks. ESPECIALLY December walks. 

#happy finals #note to self

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People have written a lot of touchy-feely pieces on this subject but I thought I’d get right to the heart of the matter

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remember when you used to go over to your friend’s house and you’d go down to the “computer room” to the dad’s old shitty desktop computer and sit on the giant black leather computer chair and your friend would show you charlie the unicorn and epic rap battles of history type of stuff on youtube while their younger siblings bugged you for a turn to use the computer

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Snídaně a studovam s vajíčka, ovoce, a mrkev chléb sýrem ☺

#výměna Studénka #české budějovice #snídaňé

[planetaryparagraphs]

veganism by proxy and dangers of assumption

this is unrelated to anything else on my blog and mostly likely no one will ever read it and that’s okay I think I just need to get it out of my head and into the living world

Three of my best friends, two of whom I live with, are vegan. Their friends are vegan and their friend’s friends are vegan, and they work at vegan restaurants and we cook vegan, I bake them vegan treats and we generally have a fantastic time. I’m not vegan, but I’ve always eaten vegan food and tried out alternatives whenever I can. I’ve never been the type to make fun of vegan stereotypes, because I think it requires a lot of dedication, passion, and effort to be vegan. I’m not a huge meat eater and I try to be aware of what I’m eating and where it came from and the process it took to get to my mouth, while still indulging in the foods I love and the tastes that make live worth living. dramatic? absolutely but I really fucking love food y'all

None of my friends have ever tried to convert me or (that I know of) judge me or my eating habits, but every so often I meat someone (heh) who isn’t satisfied with my usual answer of “I’m not vegan, but I cook and eat vegan often” and feel the need to go “well why don’t you just go vegan then?”

Does asking someone about their personal choices becomes less personal when it’s something you care a lot about? I don’t think so, but that might not be a shared opinion.

The girl who asked this (this time, because there’s definitely been others) didn’t just drop it once I said “Ah, just personal reasons. I think it’s an incredible movement though and I’m glad it’s gaining popularity.” because that would’ve been too polite. She pressed on.

“But if you think it’s so incredible why wouldn’t you just do it? You say you love animals, but you’re contributing to their murder. You’re just a hypocrite.” So I said what I initially didn’t want to, because I knew it would just make a semi-pleasant conversation into an awkward silence all because this girl doesn’t know how to respect other people’s choices without disparaging them.

“Well I had a severe eating disorder for seven years, so I stay away from restricting or cutting foods out of my diet. It puts me into a dangerous mindset, so I try to be conscious of that and take care of myself before anything.”

Even after saying this I felt I was still being judged. She had the decency to look a little embarrassed for prying, but I don’t necessarily believe she left thinking “maybe I should stop assuming I know the intricacies of strangers’ lives”. Which is what it all comes down to. Assumptions.

I love animals. Animals have been what showed me true love, what taught me understanding and helped me find happiness and purpose ever since I was young. My cat died years ago and I still break out in tears (regularly). What’s more is I have been vegan, and every time I do it I think I’ll be able to handle it, and every time I’ve ended up underweight, restricting, anemic, in the hospital, or with a severely disordered way of thinking. It happens eventually with any change in diet I try. I don’t like having to explain to someone why I think it’s important to put myself, my mental health, and my physical wellbeing first. We all have deeply personal decisions about our lives that we have to make. It’s up to us as individuals to decide how our (very short) experience on this world will be.

I try not to share my stances and opinions on tumblr and just stay for the fun things I love like anime, humor, video games, art. I feel as if I have a lot of grey area stances that aren’t emotion driven (and therefore come off as cold or unfeeling) and people online generally don’t like hearing morally ambiguous viewpoints, because there’s always going to be someone who disagrees, right? I hope this isn’t taken as an anti-vegan post, because it isn’t. Veganism is an amazing movement and lifestyle that’s saving lives, water, resources and more. This is an anti-judgement post, though. It’s anti-assumption. Assumption is a toxic part of our culture. It’s assuming you know how someone else thinks. It’s assuming you understand what they’ve been through to bring themselves to a certain stance or choice or belief.

If even one person read this, thanks man. If even one person remembers this and thinks of it while practicing patience with an opposing viewpoint (no matter how passionate you are on the subject) I’ll be stupid happy.

[planetaryparagraphs]

NANOWRIMO!

(gif=me for the next month.) I’m 2229 words in! Which is already under goal for National Novel Writing Month. I don’t have a lot of confidence that I’ll get to 50,000 words by December, but I figure, if I keep acting like I want to, and write every day, I can get further in a novel than I ever have before. 

I’ll try to remember to post excerpts as it comes along. Wish me luck!

#personal #writing #nanowrimo #whatamithinking

[planetaryparagraphs]

Talking to Strangers

               In middle school, I stood up my guitar teacher three times. Not because I was forgetful and didn’t remember the lesson- that still would have been rude, but not as bad as the truth. I left my teacher hanging because my mom had told me that it was my responsibility to call him and cancel, and I was too nervous to pick up the phone. This hadn’t always been a problem. When I was in elementary school, I was loud and bossy, I organized the games, I raised my hand. But somewhere around fifth, sixth grade, people started telling me to be quiet. To stop talking to strangers, to stop wasting people’s time with my words. “Don’t talk to strangers” is a simple enough lesson for parents to teach their kids, which is probably why it’s so popular. Why, from the age we can understand speech, we are told, ever so gently, that the world is against us, that the unknown is a threat, and that the only way to be safe is to avoid communication with new things. It is very convenient advice, because not only does this protect the children, it also prevents them from causing a disturbance, from making messy mistakes, from provoking change. In the summer before my sophomore year of high school, I threw that advice out the window, and it resulted in the greatest experiences of my life so far.

                Small talk is difficult for me. I never loved striking up conversations with new people, even in an environment where I knew they weren’t a threat. So when my dad dropped me off at Camp Mary Orton on the outskirts of Columbus, Ohio for the kickoff weekend of the 2015-16 Rotary Youth Exchange program, I was apprehensive. I knew no one there. My dad had only told me about the weekend the day before and my bag was hastily packed, missing a toothbrush. I set my stuff down and entered the field where everyone was standing, and was dismayed to see that it was my least favorite form of socialization: milling about. No structure, no conversation starters, just a hundred teenagers considering youth exchange and a handful of students newly arrived from other countries. I scanned the area desperately for an adult- a teacher? A counselor? Adults were easier to talk to than teenagers. Adults would just ask me about school, and even though it was August and I had only been in class for a week, I already had the whole script in my head.

               But the adults were talking to the parents, and Rotary, in a manner that I found to be typical in the upcoming months, had trapped me firmly outside of my comfort zone. There wasn’t even a food table set up yet to hide behind. I ended up sitting on some steps with Peri and Jen, who were both planning to travel for a whole year with Rotary. By the end of the night, Peri and I were in disagreement over the value of humanities- she didn’t like her class, I wished my school had a humanities class- but we laughed as we taught the inbound students (the ones who had come from abroad) how to roast a marshmallow and make a s’more. I also talked to some adults that weekend, particularly Walter Lundstrom, who convinced me to apply for an exchange. Walter is an intimidating man, not only because he has a loud voice but because he does not falter at his own accent. His thick Swedish voice sometimes makes him hard to understand, but Walter doesn’t slow down for anyone to catch up. He expects to be listened to.

               “You’re going to meet a lot of new people, and they’re going to change you,” he warned me at Camp Mary Orton. “Parents see their kids come back, after a year, even after a month, they hardly recognize them.”

               That was what I wanted.

               Over the course of the training weekends, I met dozens of strangers. I slept beside them on YMCA gym floors, shared breakfast with them before we had rubbed the sleep from our eyes. But the real stranger-danger wasn’t overcome until Rotary actually sent me to Brazil- where I stayed for seven weeks with a family that I had only spoken to, in a broken mish mash of English and Portuguese, over Skype. It occurred to me, as I was waiting in the Columbus airport for my flight to take off, that I had never seen my host family’s legs. They could be mermaids, for all I knew. It also occurred to me, as we descended over the São Paulo skyline, that this was the craziest thing I had ever done.

               Talking to my host family was like mingling at Camp Mary Orton- I really had no choice in the matter. But as I became more comfortable with the language and with my freedom within the family, I decided to try more of it on my own. I walked briskly- too briskly for a Brazilian- through downtown Jundiaí, stopping in the emptiest shops and asking whoever looked the least busy to tell me about their story, how long they had been in their business, where they hoped to go. I tried some great new foods, and met a cool guy at a chocolate shop who practiced his English with me and served some of the most incredible truffles I’ve ever tasted. I think my growth on exchange culminated in an incredible night at the feira, an open air market, where I asked strangers, ‘if they could go anywhere, where would they go?’ My favorite answer came from a woman selling sweet corn juice, who said she wanted to see more of Brazil. “I should know my own country,” she said.

               When I returned to mine, I was determined to keep talking to strangers. My most dramatic and most recent success I’ve had with this was a conversation I had with a woman in a small Brazilian-owned store called Estilo Brazil. We struck up a conversation over lunch, and I learned that she was an immigrant from Brasilia who had moved to Ohio with her husband just about a year ago. She told me about her conversion to Islam in college, why she prefers it over Catholicism, and what she likes and doesn’t like about her husband’s Turkish-Iraqi family. We ended up exchanging phone numbers, and a week later, I met her at the library in her mosque to help her with English grammar in exchange for some practice speaking Portuguese. I was nervous meeting her at her home and then at her mosque- I knew my parents would have preferred a public library or a coffee shop- but I trusted her. Not because we agreed on everything. For example, I listened for an hour as she expressed her dislike of Brazilian social programs and the Dilma administration, which I had recently defended in a long essay on hunger in Brazil, but she gave me a new perspective on the conflict between conservative and liberal groups in Brazil. I tried to be charitable to her as she warned me against dating foreigners- according to her, they are not to be trusted- but despite our disagreements, we had fascinating conversations. I learned a lot about Islam and Portuguese and Brazilian history, and I did my best to teach her the intricacies of the English language, why “have to have” makes sense but not  “need to need,” how to distinguish between a singular “you” and a plural “you” without always using “y’all”.

               Of course, talking to strangers doesn’t always end in cultural exchange, or language practice, or life-changing travel. But every interaction with a stranger does have potential. I am now a cashier at Target, and when I ask guests what their plans are for the evening, I try hard to get an honest answer. I’ve had mini-conversations with mothers studying overnight for their doctorate exams, couples buying plane snacks for their honeymoon, and a woman collecting materials to make thank you boxes for troops overseas. Guests have given me advice on everything from child rearing, to college, to hangover cures, and I can only hope that they find the short conversations at the register as engaging as I do.

               As someone who once scored a 2/30 on an extroversion test (another Rotary lesson), I am proud of how far I’ve come in my skills and enjoyment of human interaction, and extremely glad that I decided to ignore the advice of being wary of strangers. Maybe my openness makes me naïve, perhaps I will one day regret my willingness to trust. But for now, it was worked magnificently in my favor. I am regularly practicing Portuguese, my grammar is slowly improving. I am not afraid to ask teachers, adults, or strangers for help when I need it. I am volunteering at a refugee employment center, speaking to strangers daily about their lives and their interests and their job histories, in order to help them build a résumé. My vulnerability with strangers hasn’t just made them more useful to me, it has also made me more useful to them- because opening up communication always leads to more productivity. The Rotary Youth Exchange mission statement is “creating world peace, one exchange at a time.” In that context, they mean student exchange, time spent in another country. But the phrase could just as easily be used in a broader context, with ‘exchange’ as a synonym for ‘conversation.’

               I don’t see the value in guarding my words or saving my breath around strangers. I want to create world peace, one conversation at a time.

#college essays #someone make this 650 words for me pls #ty

[planetaryparagraphs]

Ponds (written for slam poetry)

Ponds

 I always say that I’m going to Starbucks because it’s weird to walk for no reason

dodging goose poop splatters on cracked asphalt

shimmering, spiderweb asphalt

oozing rich tar earth smell under a noon-July sky

I race past the apartment where I know the big dog is tied up

too loose

step over the shit with practiced agility

I’ve tiptoed around these ponds before

these kidney bean ponds

4 flat green dumpsters in a moldy apartment complex

all the location of suburbia without the big backyard

populated by geese who lay eggs in the spring

and envy in my stomach

every fall when they reject the call of migration in favor of these litter-rich, rarely frozen pools

 I can go so much farther than the ponds

waaay out into the world

like, across the street to Chipotle

or, the Dollar General,

or, maybe Target

  2 years later I have a car, a crusty Santa Fe

french fries from someone else’s road trips still ground into the seats

I don’t drive it to Starbucks.

my car takes me into the city

and on headlight-lit highways it whispers truth or dare in my ear

sometimes I close my eyes and take a deep breath

just to see how far I’ve travelled when I open them again

trouble is, the outerbelt is the same shape as the pond.

 These days when I walk I grip a tube of hot pink pepper spray between my fingers

tell my dad it’s to defend against aggressive dogs tied too loose but I know

that the older I get, the faster my heart trembles at the sight of approaching strangers-

 the ponds are puddles now

One step removed from vernal pools the geese seem

cramped, greasy feathers ruffled as they

fight for space next to the reeds

the sharp edged, honey wheat reeds

brought in from somewhere far away

somewhere I haven’t been yet

 now that I’m driving the buildings are shorter, the streets narrower

the crosswalk button rusted because no one seems to walk anymore

but the gas gauge on my dashboard will never outlast my

nervous legs

and at some point I realized that mileage

was never what stopped me from going places

so I still walk.

 I’ve been kneeling by this pond for so long my clothes

are taking its grass with them

I wonder what the shore-foam tastes like

would the earth smell cleaner if I were buried beneath it

there’s a beetle crawling on my wrist and I

like having it there

I wonder if we’re both listening closely to my heartbeat

if we both admire the way the willow branches

make the sky look like stained glass windows

I wonder if he’s just used to it          

if he’s ever even seen the other end of the pond.

#pond #writing #poetry #planetaryparagraphs #mine #nature #slam poetry #meghanedwards #unpublished

[planetaryparagraphs]

Warehouse Dreams

      Next to the train station, in the crumbling gray warehouse, the people of Jundiaí house all their strangest dreams. No visions of sugar plums live in the warehouse, but rather enormous renditions of popcorn boxes and telephone booths, a hair dryer as large as a room, a blender as tall as a small shed. Two samba goddesses, apparently struck by Medusa while dancing, pose with hips tilted to one side, arms up, palms facing each others’, faces turned towards the shadows so only one vibrantly painted eye is visible. An elephant crouches, dwarfed by a large pair of scissors.

           In the summer, the fantasies will be carted out of the warehouse into the boiling sun, plastic parts shimmering in February heat. They will wait in the street for a day, as Brazilians filter into tall metal stands, shaking in this still air from the force of a thousand sweating feet. Dark hair will be swept into hasty ponytails, away from the grabbing hands of idle children as everyone waits for sundown. Only then, when the moon is high enough to be almost covered by clouds, does the Carnival begin. One by one, the floats will appear, no trace of dust in their seams, sequins winking under the street lights and graced with beautiful, glittering dancers who are at once raw and earthy and ethereal. Even next to the giant sculptures the dancers never seem small, for there are simply too many of them to be forgotten- armies of artists fill the street with their music as the onlookers scream and laugh and clap and stomp their feet enough to shake the earth in their revelry.

           But it is summer, and the sun rises too soon. Its unsympathetic rays sizzle on the colored plastic and cardboard and Styrofoam until it reveals the sculptures for the mirage they were. Soon the street is empty, the last bits of litter cleaned up and carted away on a hot breeze. The creations are brought back into the warehouse, where the only daylight they will see are the slivers that peek through gaps in the roof, and the only visitors government employees who dare to park their cars under the unstable shelter. In a few months, a stray dog will wander into the warehouse and make it his home when he discovers the bounty of rats which nestle under the fallen popcorn box and behind the hair dryer cord. In a few months, two girls will wander into it on a windy day, adrenaline rushing through their veins as the gusts make the whole structure shake and the dog barks from the shadow of one of the dancers. They gawk, and move closer, and almost dare to touch the fallen phone booth, but they don’t. They don’t even take a picture.

           It seems that even camera flash could blow away the magic of this place.

#planetaryparagraphs #brazil #jundiaí #sãopaulo #writing #travel writing #carnaval #first post #freelance #mine #meghanedwards #explore #unpublished