If you’ve been here before, you’ll probably notice that I’ve made some changes. I think it’s all pretty self-explanatory so go explore. And, of course, all comments are welcome.
Many thanks go to Heather for taking the time to help me figure out how to download the images from my watch to my PC. Since I’d already had several conversations with Casio support and with the company where I bought my watch, my next step was going to be sending the units back. So Heather did me a huge, huge favor.
Jake’s out of town in Lakeland, Florida, celebrating his grandmother’s ninetieth birthday. Normally, I’d be there, too, but I’m not allowed to fly. So he’s there loving the beautiful weather and I’m stuck in bed, watching TiVo.
I don’t do well when Jake’s gone. It’s not that I can’t be alone, it’s just that I really like having him around. Even when he sits in the living room and I spend the day in bed, knowing he’s next door makes me happy. I guess I’m like a little girl who always wants her friend around. Jake’s my best friend and I like him near me. I also like waking up next to him. Oh well, one more day and he’ll be back.
My back is doing better. Wohoo! Not healed, yet, but any improvement is enough to make me ecstatic.
Today was my third pottery class and I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. My fingerprints don’t leave imprints on the clay any longer and I’ve even managed to make a bowl, a single-rose vase and a cup. They’re all lopsided but I’m just glad I’m learning to enjoy it and to relax. The most fun part is seeing the clay mold under your fingers as the wheel turns. A tiny bit of pressure exerted in one area affects the entire shape of the pot. When I watch the teacher and see the clay shift shapes, it almost seems magical.
Previously? The Right Way
Jake came home last night and said he wanted to take me out to dinner. Since my back got real bad, I’ve been spending almost all my free moments in bed, so this was a refreshing change. We walked over to this little Italian restaurant in our neighborhood and sat for a cozy meal.
I started talking about my struggles at work. I seem to be one of those people who takes everything to heart. Everything is extremely important and everything is personal. As I explained the situation I’m having at work, he told me that I can’t do everything. He talked about redefining my ideas of what makes me successful at my job. He explained that even if my project becomes a major failure in my eyes, it might be seen as a huge success by my users and managers. He’s right, of course. Sometimes even if I’m aware that I didn’t do a detail in the perfect way, it doesn’t affect the system in a visible way and no users are disappointed.
Working for a corporation, especially one whose main line of business is not technology is as much about politics as it is about building systems. You need to make sure that you lose some fights so the user feels like he’s getting his way even if what he wants is wrong and you know it. Even if I build the most amazing system that functions in the most efficient way possible, if no users use it, the system is a failure. The trick is to make everyone feel like the system was especially built for them while not giving up the idea of building it the right way. One of the reasons I am building this system is cause the two other systems that are supposed to function in the same way were both built with a narrow-minded focus and they are inflexible.
As I explained to Jake last night, one of the reasons I went part-time a few months ago was to use my time more efficiently. In the last four years, I had to put way too much face-time and it drove me crazy. I’m happy to stay at work until the wee hours of the morning if I have work to do, but during the quiet times, I like to leave early and do the million other things I’d rather be doing. I figured that if I only worked three days a week, I’d have more to do on those days and I’d stop feeling like I was giving up my life to make money. I am delighted to say that I was right and my new schedule is fantastic. I get tons of work done and I can take eight classes a week and spend a day volunteering. I get to use my minutes more wisely and feel much more fulfilled.
As a side effect to this new belief system, my ideas of success seem to have morphed as well. Since I have sort of taken myself off the road to quick stardom and upward mobility, I am less concerned about whether others think that I did a good job. I want to do things the right way. At least, I want to know what the right way is and then make it an active choice not to go that way (if there is a decent reason) . I don’t want to work just to make money, I want my work to push me to learn and to challenge myself. Otherwise, I’m back to wasting time. I’m not saying I don’t care what the users think or whether my team members agree with me, I’m just saying that I don’t want to do things the sloppy way. I want to feel good about my job. I want to feel like I learn, like I make a difference, and I want to be proud of the quality of work I deliver.
It seems that’s too much to ask.
Previously? Help Me!
If you read six’s page, you may have noticed his recent note on self acceptance and telling other people your opinions.
As in most things, I have quite a few things to say about that.
I’ve always been opinionated. I used to think that certain choices just feel right to me, but when questioned, I seem to have no problem coming up with well thought out reasons to back up my beliefs. So it seems I do think about things.
I am not exactly sure of the ways in which I come up with my opinions and beliefs. Some of them are intuition, others are from having read on issues and some are from having talked to friends who have opinions. I find the final way the most effective.
There is nothing more challenging and more rewarding than talking to an intelligent friend whose opinions differ from yours. When I was in college, I had a friend who disagreed with me on just about everything. He was really bright and had sound reasons for his beliefs. We spent hours talking about abortion and marriage and many other controversial issues.
His reasons made me think, in some cases they made me reconsider. In others, they made me hang on to my beliefs even more. But the best part is that our conversations challenged me. They made me see these issues from a different perspective.
When I was in high school we used to have to debate in class on topics where we didn’t agree with the opinion we were arguing for. The teacher thought it was important to realize that there are two sides to every story and nothing is ever black or white. She was a good teacher.
So if you have opinions, I say speak up. Learning starts with sharing. Wise people will never flame you for having a different view, especially when you have your reasons. And narrow-minded people will always judge you and tell you you’re a moron for thinking that way no matter how well constructed your reasoning. Such people are not worth worrying about.
I’m always up for others challenging my beliefs and choices. Anything that pushes me to explain myself helps me get to know myself better.
And you know what they always say: Know thyself.
Prevously? Trust.
Some updates on my earlier posts. After her post having prompted mine, Heather wrote about her thoughts on personal space. They are definitely worth reading and they made me think for a long time.
Six wrote me a real nice and interesting email on my post about the blame game. You can read most of it on his post and he has some insightful things to say. One of his greatest points is that blaming others is about not wanting to face yourself. And, of course, he’s right.
At one point in our relationship, Jake and I fought a lot. What started as a quibble over where the dishes should go would quickly evolve into a twelve-hour shouting match. Since we’d already been together for quite some time, we knew exactly what to say to get the other party upset. We would sit there, blaming each other for the obvious shaky status of our relationship.
We both figured it was the other person’s fault. If only he fixed this and did more of that and less of this other thing, we’d have the best relationship. We knew each other’s faults. We knew each other’s deepest fears. The weaknesses. We were really good at fighting and even better at making it the other person’s fault.
At one point I realized that this game was bound to end ugly. It’s funny that we choose partners cause we think they’re so amazing and then we spend the rest of our relationship trying to change them. Especially funny considering we have the power to change no one but ourselves. So I told Jake that all he should concentrate on is trying to be the best that he can for our relationship. And that if he only worried about whether he was being his personal best and I worried about being my personal best, our relationship would be much smoother and happier.
I’m not sure whether we grew up, we changed, or whether we just stopped for no reason, but Jake and I have stopped fighting, almost completely. We seem to have fallen in love all over again. We work together now and love each other and support each other. Mostly, we face who we are, accept responsibility for our flaws and try to improve constantly.
I think this is working much better for us.
Previously? I love you.
I love you.
Three little words that carry tremendous weight. Uttered by some too quickly and by others not quickly enough.
When my ex boyfriend and I had started seeing each other for quite some time, he said, “I’ve never told any girl that I loved her.” He looked proud. I, on the other hand, pitied him and almost said, “I’m so sorry for you.” At that point I’d been lucky enough to love two men.
I haven’t had that many boyfriends. Jake’s my fourth and we’ve been together for the last six years. My shortest relationship has lasted around two years. So I don’t take my relationships lightly. But I have loved each man I’ve dated. To be honest, in some ways I still do.
I don’t believe love ever goes away completely. Loving someone is kind of like giving a piece of your soul or being to someone else. Even if things don’t work out between the two of you, the person always carries a special spot in your heart. Their place in my heart is nowhere near what Jake occupies but it’s still there. After having shared years of memories with someone, I don’t think you can ever have no feelings whatsoever for that person.
I’ve never worried about saying, “I love you.” I didn’t care whether I was the first or the other party had already uttered the words. With the exception of my first boyfriend, which was an exceptional circumstance, I can’t even remember which one of us said it out loud first in any of my relationships. I think the hard part is having all the associated feelings, not saying the words.
Loving someone means giving that person a part of who you are. It means trusting them with a piece of your heart. It means taking a risk. And it hurts. But big rewards don’t often happen without big risks.
So, if you love someone, I say, “Tell him. Tell her.” Don’t worry about what she or he thinks. This is not about the other person; it’s about you and about how you feel. Love is an incredible feeling and you’re lucky to be experiencing it. There is no reason to hide it. I tell Jake that I love him all the time. It doesn’t take away from the importance of it. I don’t just say it, I mean it.
Each and every single time.
Previously? Letting Go.
I’ve always been really bad at letting go.
I’m not sure which specific childhood experience has spawned this personality trait, but I’ve had it pretty much for as long as I can remember. When I was little, I used to be one of those girls who hung on to her mother’s skirt and cried a lot. As I grew up, I yearned for a close friend, one who understood my way of thinking. Having starved for any friend at all, each time anyone became remotely interested in being my friend, I would stifle the life out of them. Guilt trips, paranoia, “why didn’t s/he call me?”, “how come they didn’t invite me along? Don’t they like me anymore?” All of these were a constant part of my daily life.
The behavior wasn’t aimed at only humans. Even our dog, Pepsi, knew I needed more hugs than a normal kid. And if you’re suffocating a dog (in the figurative sense) you seriously need help. (then again, you’d need even more help if you’re actually physically hurting the dog, if you ask me)
For the longest time, while I was acutely aware of this flaw, I didn’t think I’d ever learn to get over it. Each boyfriend had to suffer through my jealousy and my need to be called at all times. I’ve always believed that jealousy stems from lack of self-confidence. If you feel good about who you are, you tend to bug other people less. Even though I knew the actual reasons, I kept telling myself that all this suffocating was cause I cared so much.
Knowing I was so bad at letting go always made me worry about having children. I was sure that my kids would grow up to despise me and run away the minute they legally could. The same insecurities also caused me to hang around when I shouldn’t have in many cases. Holding on to a relationship which was physically and emotionally abusive or a friendship that reduced my already low self-image.
I don’t know if my self-confidence has improved (not substantially) or if I care less (not really, in most cases) but, for some reason, I’ve stopped holding on so tight. I don’t feel the need to have my friends call me every day. I don’t hold people to their words when they casually say “I’ll call you later.” I don’t need constant attention anymore.
I don’t mean to say that I am 100 percent cured. I still care, in some cases, way more than I should. I still have long-lasting moments of self doubt which cause me to snap at my boyfriend. But I’ve recently realized that I’ve loosened up a little, which means there is a chance I can totally get rid of this trait, eventually.
Maybe I can have kids, after all.
Previously? Blame Game.
Let’s play the blame game!
Two of the most important people in my life seem to have the same problem; they desperately need to blame someone when something doesn’t go the way they wanted it to.
If they have an argument with their loved one, we need to spent the next few hours discussing whose fault it was. If they lose a game, it was because they were tired or had so much on their mind. If they fail a course, it was the bad organization of the class instruction or the teacher’s lack of ability in making the class interesting.
Not only is it never their own fault but it’s also crucial to know who’s fault it really is.
While I can easily admit to saying “Well, if you hadn’t done this that way, we would have never been here to begin with,” in the heat of an argument, in most other cases, I try hard to concentrate hard on fixing the situation instead of struggling to figure out where the blame falls.
The issue that seems to fascinate me is how blaming others makes the person feel good. If I stopped talking to a friend because of something that’s her fault, doesn’t that still mean I lost my friend? If I fail a class, don’t I still have to retake it? I guess I must be more into the result than the process itself, since the result is the same no matter who’s to blame.
How does putting the blame on something or someone else make the person feel better? I think people just use it as an excuse, so they can have a defense when asked why the situation went badly. “I was all ready to finish the work but so and so didn’t give me the numbers I needed to plug into the formula!” Just saved your ass from the boss’s yelling. Even if I still don’t think it’s a good idea, I can at least understand why people blame others to save their own necks in a work related (or similar school related) situation.
But in a case where it’s about failing a class or fighting with a girlfriend or missing a personal goal, I really don’t see any benefit or reason to worry about placing blame. I just feel like saying, “Fine, it’s my fault, let’s just worry about fixing it now, ok?”
Anyone know what motivates people to blame someone or something else?
Previously? Gimme Space!
Heather’s link to what she wants made me think about my first few months in the United States.
For some reason, I didn’t have many culture shocks. Even though Turkey is over 99percent white and over 99percent Muslim, I didn’t seem to have a severe issue with the differences. I did, on the other hand, have some embarrassing moments.
On my first day in Pittsburgh, my parents and I went to open a bank account. While my mother waited, Dad and I sat with the lady from Mellon Bank, talking about my different account options. In the middle of our exchange, some random guy, who was opening his own account, walks up to me and says, “I hear you’re new in town, so am I. Here’s my number. Call me and we can hang out.” Right in front of my father and the Mellon Bank woman. The lady from the bank looks at me and smiles. “I see you’re making some friends already.”
Cause I am a total weirdo, I did call the guy the next night. During the phone call, he must have used the word cool at least a zillion times. Up until that moment, the word cool meant something between warm and cold to me. It took me several months to acquire the colloquialisms they never teach you when you learn English. Most of my friends can tell quite entertaining (or embarrassing, as the case may be for me) stories from those days.
Back to my point. One of the only culture shock moments I had was in relation to the words on that T-shirt. Personal space. I come from a country where guys and girls all kiss each other hello. I mean guys kiss guys and girls kiss girls and girls kiss guys and vice versa. Not on the lips, mind you, but on the cheek. On both cheeks. I walk hand in hard with many of my friends. I hug them, I tell my close friends how much I love them. It’s not a sexual thing, it’s cultural, I guess. When I came here for college, I was totally shocked by what people consider a personal question. And by how much people resent your being ‘in their space’. For the longest time I couldn’t figure out what that space even is. It seemed to be an invisible barrier I was unable to see.
In the past few years, I’ve worked hard at recognizing the barrier, but I still have no idea why people need to have it so badly.
Previously? Mind Your Manners!
“She came to our house for dinner and didn’t even send a thank-you card. How rude!”
That’s an actual quote from a friend.
I was raised with proper manners. My parents taught me to never go to someone’s house empty-handed and to always send a thank-you note afterwards. Even when I visit my sister’s home, I bring presents for my nephews each time, though mom doesn’t have to twist my arm about that one.
While I try my best to be well behaved, I get totally peeved when I hear words like the ones above. When did nice gestures become expected requirements? I thought sending a card made you thoughtful but not sending one shouldn’t automatically make you rude. Cause if it does, then the cards are no longer a token of appreciation, they’re a formality or worse, a requirement.
I hate doing things just cause ‘it’s the way things are done’. When my sister got married, as I spent shaking the hands of many practical strangers who couldn’t care less about actually celebrating my sister’s happiness, I told my mom that she should expect a call from me the day after I get married. If I were ever to get married in Turkey, there is a long list of people we’d have to invite ‘just cause it wouldn’t be right otherwise’. As the British like to say, ‘that’s bollocks.’
I am not fond of people with expectations. They’re just setting themselves up to be disappointed. I’m not fond of people who judge others by what they forgot to do. I’m not fond of people who keep track. “I called last so now it’s her turn to call.” Huh? What grade are we in? I’m not fond of fake smiles and doing things cause I have to.
I shouldn’t have to do anything. I should be able to smile, care, do my best and people should appreciate that. I believe that to be true of everyone. If you’re trying too hard to fit in, maybe you shouldn’t.
I decided long ago that I only live once and I want to make sure that I live the way I want to, not how others want me to. I want only the people who are my closest friends on my wedding day. I want to do (at least attempt to do) anything and everything I’ve dreamed of.
I always try hard not to hurt anyone around me. I screw up sometimes, but never on purpose. I always try to give and be the best that I can. I think that’s all anyone can ever ask of me.
Previously? birdie’s eyelids, big ears, and pottery.
They say it’s hard to find a bad-day friend. One you go to when you’re miserable day after day. One who holds your hand throughout the difficult times and one who offers the shoulder on which you can lean. As we’ve established before, they are considered to often be right. As we’ve also established, I often tend to disagree with them.
While I agree that hard day friends are more difficult to find than friends who ask you how you’re doing but don’t even bother to listen to your response, they aren’t the most precious kind of friends.
So who is?
I think that the best friends are the ones with whom you can share your good days. I mean your really good days.
“Misery loves company.” So the saying goes. I believe this one to be mostly true. When you’re really sad, having another sad friend gives you the opportunity to commiserate and bitch and moan till the wee hours of the morning.
Even if your friend were not miserable, most close friends would easily take a large chuck of time out of their day and calm you down, give you advice, or just listen to you. They will tell you that all will be okay, they will sit there for many hours and hold your hand. They will do anything they can. Cause everyone’s has bad days, most people know what to do when someone else is having one. Some of them might be scared to do the right thing and ignore you mainly from sheer discomfort of being unable to utter the magic words.
Now let’s take a day when you have amazing news. It could be something social like your boyfriend just proposed to you. You’re bubbling up with excitement and you want to share. You pick up the phone to call your best friend Terry. Just as you’re on the last digit, you stop. Terry just broke up with her boyfriend (or not to be that extreme let’s say Sheryl has been trying to find a boyfriend, or she just had a fight with her boyfriend.) Can you still call her? Will she be able to share your joy?
What if an agent just accepted your novel? Or you got promoted? Or you won the lottery?
When I have friends who I know will celebrate the great news with me, I know I’ve got a good friend.
Previously? La-la Land.
What’s wrong with me?
You mean more than the usual?
Ha ha. Seriously, I think I’m losing my mind.
I’m sure you’re exaggerating. You seem to be of sound mind to me.
Yeah? I came to work on Wednesday and within ten minutes I couldn’t remember whether I took my medication or not. I sat there, staring at the bottle, hoping it would tell me if I’d already swallowed one.
That’s perfectly normal. People forget things all the time.
The same thing happened on Thursday morning.
Hmm.
Also, I seem to be crying a lot.
You always cry a lot. You cry at Goldie Hawn movies, for goodness sake!
Yes, but I don’t usually cry at work. Yesterday, I broke down and wept three times at work.
It’s just the medication, I’m sure it’s making you edgy.
I spend most of the night staring at the darkness and watching the clock. During the few hours that I pass out, I have vivid nightmares that haunt me even after I wake up.
You just need to calm down and have some fun.
You’re joking right? I can’t sit for longer than fifteen minutes before my leg feels like millions of needles are pricking it. As soon as my back touches anything, it’s like someone is rubbing sandpaper against my skin.
You can still lie in bed and read. You claim you love reading so much, here’s your chance to do tons of it.
I can’t concentrate at all. My mind is all but mush. I can’t do my work, I can’t read more than a page of anything.
Watch TV then. Play video games.
I’m considering going back home.
Good idea, maybe you can lie down a bit and put some heat on your back.
No, I mean home home.
You mean Turkey home?
Yep.
Okay, I didn’t realize things were this severe. I think it’s time to go see someone. Preferably a professional.
That’s what I’ve been telling you all along.
Previously? Weird
Last night, as I lay in bed after having pushed the “post and publish” button in blogger, I wondered why my post was so preachy. I don’t know if they all are but last night’s certainly sounded real close to it. The fact is, I am real touchy when it comes to issues like making fun of people.
When I was little, I had the misfortune of having a set of so-called friends who were all equally boring and beautiful. They all believed that the brand of your dress or shirt was much more important than the book you’re reading. Actually I don’t think they read at all. The thing is since they were all alike and I was the only one different, I ended up being made fun of. A lot.
Even though I was six then and I am twenty-six now, many of my self-doubts (and I have more than the usual amount) can be traced back to those days. While my mind can easily differentiate between their priorities and mine, deep down where most childhood memories are stored, I have a lot of anger for people who make fun of others. Even after all these years and many good friends later, when I see those people from my childhood, I cringe and go back to being the book reading, coke-bottle-bottom glass wearing, ugly girl.
Those people were one of the biggest reasons I decided to move to the United States. Even when I was twelve, I knew that I would always be judged as weird and eccentric in my home surroundings. Even though they love me and are terribly proud of me, I think my own parents think I am a little weird.
The thing is, America did what I thought it would do for me. I made it okay for me to be weird and it showed me that everyone is weird, in their own way. Well, at least in New York they are. (Please don’t be offended if you live in New York, I’ve come to realize that weird is not such a bad thing after all. It might even be awesome.) So now I am more secure (most days), I have friends who accept and even like me the way I am.
But the little girl who was teased mercilessly still lives somewhere in me and each time I hear someone bash someone else for liking a popular teen pop singer, or for having a web page that doesn’t measure up, or watching TV or anything else, I feel like kicking and yelling. I feel like standing up to those people like I should have so many years ago. Children especially, but people in general, have no idea how strongly their words might affect someone else. I just don’t understand the kind of pleasure one gets from putting someone else down.
I hope this explains things a bit better.
Previously? Variety is the name of the game.
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projects for twenty twenty-five
projects for twenty twenty-four
projects for twenty twenty-three
projects for twenty twenty-two
projects for twenty twenty-one
projects for twenty nineteen
projects for twenty eighteen
projects from twenty seventeen
monthly projects from previous years
some of my previous projects
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