They say it takes all kinds to make the world go around. I don’t know who they are but they always know what they’re talking about, don’t they?
I have two major points, both relating to the same idea and I’ll try to be quick since it’s already late and I need to sleep real soon if my back is to ever heal.
People always told me that a good marriage is based on shared likes and dislikes. I have never been married but I’ve had several long-term relationships and I couldn’t disagree more. I’ve always been fascinated by men who are my total opposites. Never much of a drinker, I’ve petty much completely given up drinking in the last nine years and all my boyfriends have been drinkers. (Actually two of them were alcoholics but that’s another story for another time) I’m both shy and outgoing, both at inconvenient times, but my favorite thing to do would be to curl up with a book. I tend to go out with men who are socially liked and active. I don’t mean to imply that I get attracted to my opposites, cause I don’t. There are many attributes my boyfriends and I share. (This entire theory goes for friendships, too. Actually, even more so.) The thing is I like to meet people who are different than I am. I like to hang out with people who have different perspectives on a certain issue than I might. I like to be around people whose passions differ widely from mine. If I only hung out with people who thought and acted just like I did, how much fun would life be? It’s only through conversations with people who avidly disagree with me that I learn to stretch my mind. I like people who challenge me. Not to imply that I like someone who has opposite beliefs to mine but has nothing to back his or her beliefs up. But if the person has a point and he or she is intelligent and coherent enough about it, I’m fascinated and thrilled to converse. I love the fact that my boyfriends and friends have opened me up to new thoughts, new hobbies and sometimes even new worlds.
Just like I disagree with the hang-out-only-with-people-like-you people, I also agree with those who say that the web is full of crap. Who are you to judge what’s crap and what’s not? Even if you are qualified in recognizing good design or correct grammar, just because a page is not designed or written up to your standards doesn’t mean it doesn’t deserve to exist. If you don’t like a page, don’t visit it. If you like it, recommend it to others whom you think might also like it. I think people only judge others to feel good. If you and someone else agree that a page is crap, you two must be cool, right? I just think that the neat thing about the web (and New York and America in my opinion) is that there are a million different kinds of people who use it and they each express themselves in their own way. I think each of those pages has a valid existence and I’m glad each person has a place to share his or her thoughts/feelings/opinions publicly if they so choose. Even if I might totally disagree with that person or find their expression distasteful, that’s my opinion and I have a right to have one. I’m not saying don’t have opinions, I’m just saying use your energy to concentrate on improving/building/living your life and leave others alone and let them do whatever they want to without bashing them publicly and making them feel not-good-enough and scaring them away from ever expressing themselves again.
So it wasn’t short. But I promise both points are related in that all sorts of people exist in the world with their own likes and dislikes and that’s what makes this world a great place.
I might be influenced by my own childhood experiences, but I think that the world and the web is big enough for all of us and next time you see someone with a differing opinion to yours, maybe you should listen before you judge.
You might learn something.
Previously? Secrets.
I’m really bad at keeping secrets.
No, not the kind a friend whispers in your ear and asks you not to repeat. Actually, I’m pretty good at keeping those.
I’ve kept a diary since I was eleven years old and until college the little book with its tiny lock was the only one who knew my crushes, my thoughts and my insecurities. My friends would complain that they told me their entire life story and I never shared a word. They were right and I felt bad, especially for my really close friends. But the words refused to come out. During those times, when a friend informed me of her most recent crush she didn’t even need to ask me not to repeat it.
I’ve always believed that people are bad at keeping secrets. Most people inherently feel the need to share. So when they have new information, they bubble with the excitement and will burst unless they do something about it. I used to write it in my diary and poof! It was out of my system.
As I grew older and stopped carrying ten-pound notebooks with a broken lock, I started to open up more and more. I still felt morally uncomfortable sharing other people’s secrets, but mine became less important. (As for my needs-to-be-out-of-your-system theory, I, at some point, decided that whatever my friend chose to tell me was between us and deserved utmost respect. If she or he chose to share it with others, it was her or his choice but I refused to repeat it, even if it bubbled up. Hmm, that says so much about the validity of my theory, eh?)
Anyhow going to back to my secrets and my point, I decided opening up wasn’t such a bad idea. Most importantly if I ever did something that was relevant to another person; I became totally unable to hold on to that information. This often applies to my boyfriends (meaning the category in general, not that I currently have more than one), but is not limited to them.
My mother used to tell me that everything doesn’t need to be public. Some things are better not spoken. I disagree. I must, cause I can never follow that advice. I can never hide anything from my boyfriend. Even if I have a crush on some other guy or I’m about to have dinner with an ex. I keep telling myself that it’s no big deal and if I tell him, he’ll think it is and that I shouldn’t tell him and then the moment he walks into the room, I blurt it all out.
The truth is that I think it’s a big deal when I choose not to tell him (assuming I’d do such a thing). If I feel the need to keep it from him, I must have a reason. Do I secretly hope something will happen between this guy and me? Am I still hung over the ex? The only reason I’d choose not to share the event with my boyfriend is if I believe I’m doing something wrong. I just think that there is no point in playing games. If either one of us is going to cheat then what’s the point of continuing our relationship? Obviously it’s lost whatever it had.
This habit has been enhanced by a remarkably understanding man who is my current boyfriend. Honesty has made our relationship solid and lasting.
Now when I feel the urge to lie, I ask myself what that says about my relationship with the other person.
In my case, that there isn’t much of a relationship to begin with.
Previously? Nitpicking.
I used to think that the little things mattered most. A card during anniversaries, a phone call on my birthday, flowers on Valentine’s day, stuff like that. I figured that shows how strongly the person really feels about you. I mean if someone takes the time to remember special memories, that person must love you, right?
Well, my ex boyfriend was all that and more when it came to little gestures. On one of the Valentine’s Days during the time we dated in college, he got three of the kids on his dorm to wear suits and sing to me, on their knees, “You Lost That Loving Feeling.” He gave me roses on our anniversary each month, as many roses as the months we’d been dating. When he graduated and got accepted to a graduate school far away, he made a small audio chip in a heart-shaped candy box. Each time I pressed the button, I could hear his voice, telling me how much he loved me and how badly he missed me. It might be corny, but it was also sweet. He was romantic and he remembered every special date.
Sounds lovely, doesn’t it?
Until you look at the other side of the coin.
The same guy had an alcohol problem and used to abuse me verbally and physically when he drank. We went to a few Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, but it never worked. He had too much anger. He wasn’t willing to give up the drinking. It’s hard enough to give up when you feel ready. It’s impossible when you do it for someone else. For a long time, I made excuses and said that it was my fault for pushing him and making him mad. But we won’t talk about that. Not now.
Anyhow, my point is that since I had that experience, I’ve reconsidered my priorities. Sure it’s nice to get flowers on my birthday or for no reason at all, but it’s crucial to stay on top of the big things first. Now, when I hear my friends talking about how the guy might not open the door for her or how he didn’t get the most romantic present for their anniversary, I hope that they will never have to worry about having real problems.
I know that if you’re mostly a reasonable person, while reading this you’ll be telling yourself, “Dork, of course I know that it’s most important to be with a guy who doesn’t abuse you.” But how often do you keep that in perspective?
We only get picky when we have the luxury to do so.
Previously? Chicken.
My aunt called me today and we were talking about her husband’s son, David. He’s a kid from her husband’s previous marriage. An actor and a real nice kid. This guy works for a few months and once he’s got some money saved, he and his girlfriend go traveling around the world. They travel till their money runs out and then they do it all over again.
My aunt’s son, not a step but her own son, just quit a secure job where he held a solid title. He quit so that he and two friends could start their own company.
I said, “Good for them, this is the best time for them to take risks. They have no dependants, no obligations to anyone but their own selves.”
The thing is, I totally believe what I said. Assuming all goes well, I’ll most likely be trying to start a family in a few years. Few being two or three at this point, not five or ten. If I had any say, I would like to have my first kid by the time I’m thirty. This means I have about three years or so to play. This thought process is one of the reasons I decided to go part-time, but sometimes even that’s not enough.
Tonight Jake and I were talking about how nice it would be for us to spend two months in Burgaz. In the summer, my family lives on that tiny island which sits on the Marmara Sea. If you look at the pictures on the link you can easily see that this place is like a small piece of heaven. The island is so small that you can tour the entire circumference in about three hours, on foot. No cars are allowed on it, we only have horse carriages. The neat thing is, we already have a home on this island. It would be so nice if we could just escape to Burgaz for two months and read our books, swim, lie under the sun, and sleep.
Sounds wonderful, doesn’t it? Except, we won’t be able to go. Cause we’re not the type to just drop everything and leave. We both have quite secure jobs. My job is truly awesome in many ways and I don’t think I want to take the risk of losing it. We have a nice home, a little bird, and weekly obligations.
I can sit here and keep making excuses, but I think it all comes down to the same thing. We’re too chicken.
Previously? Nice!
My friend Natalia and I had some coffee Thursday night after work to figure out which classes we wanted to take. She just came back from a ski vacation at the Alps. She mentioned the people she met and how interesting they were. That’s when I noticed her pattern. Each time she described someone she liked she consistently used the adjective ‘interesting’.
I do the same thing. When Jake tells me about someone new he met at work, the first thing I ask is, “Is he nice?” I don’t care if the guy is a billionaire, drop dead gorgeous or triple Ph.D. candidate. I just want him to be nice. We’re talking real nice, not the fake kind I mentioned a few days ago, the kind that smiles to your face while stabbing you on the back.
As I told Natalia my preferences, she said, “Yes, I like nice people, too, but imagine a real sweet person that’s not interesting at all. Even if she’s the sweetest, that won’t be enough for me.” Word.
The thing is if I had to pick between a totally boring but kind person and a really interesting cocky prick, I must say I’d easily choose the sweet person. I don’t think I could move past the fact that the guy is a jerk to even notice that he’s fascinating.
A look at my past would easily justify my obsession with kindness. Let’s just say I’ve had my share of mean and uncaring people. Enough of them to conclude that all that matters to me is a genuine kind soul.
At the same time, I can totally see Natalia’s point of view. Everyone has different priorities. If I had had another past, I might even feel similarly.
I have a wide variety of friends. At a glance they seem to have nothing in common. But if you looked closer, you’d notice the pattern.
Previously? Sick, Sick, Sick.
So I’m still sick. Too many days to count at this point. If you’ve been here before you might already be sick of my whining, but to be totally honest it’s hard for me to think of much else.
When I’m at work, since sitting is the worst thing for a back with a slipped disc, I’m supposed to get up every twenty minutes or so. The thing is, thanks to my acute pain, it takes around fifteen minutes for me to concentrate hard enough to get stuff done. If I were to get up every twenty minutes, I would get absolutely nothing done. So work is a total mess. I am pissed that I’m not accomplishing work and I am pissed that I’m in pain. The more pissed I get, the more pain I have; it’s a fun cycle.
Each night, I come home and lie in bed. Work to subway, subway to bed. I haven’t gotten a word of reading done. I’m still not signed up for all my classes. I don’t care what I eat, whether I eat. Maybe this is what they call depression. Maybe I’m losing my mind. Maybe I’m just whining. Who the fuck knows.
What I do know is that I need to get work done. I need to go to my volunteer assignments. My sign language class starts Tuesday and I’ll fail if I miss classes. I need to sign up for my courses or I won’t be able to get in.
I know that people who know me and love me will say that none of those things matter and my health is the only important thing. I agree. I would give so much to have this pain stop. To be able to stand up again without cringing. To get a full night of sleep.
But I’m tired. I don’t want to be sick anymore. I want to be able to go on with my life. I want to learn to play the saxophone. I want to go kickboxing. I want to ski. I want to learn how to Waltz. I want to sit without crying. I want this crap to be over.
I am so goddamn tired of it.
Previously?
When I was in college my friend Mike used to say that I never knew how to keep my opinions to myself.
The thing is I spent most of my childhood surrounded by people who made an art form of talking behind people’s back. Actually, they brought it to new levels. Imagine three girls in a ski slope. Let’s name them Jill, Mary and Anne. Together, they’re a bunch of giggles and hugs. But, as Jill and Mary share a ride up the hill, they talk about Anne’s new boyfriend and how he’s sleeping around and how they think Anne is such a moron for not noticing what everyone knows. The next round, Mary and Anne take the ride up the hill as they talk about Jill’s new haircut and how she looks like a rat with her nose job. Finally, Anne and Jill, as they sit together, talk about how Mary will never have the fashion sense they do. I kid you not; these are the kids I had the fortune of growing up with.
Me? I was the lowest of the low. Nicknames? I got them all. Trust me.
Why didn’t I stop hanging around these people? Cuz I’m a wimp.
I have this amazing need to make sure everyone likes me. The thing is I know that it’s impossible to have everyone like you. I don’t like everyone.
After all these years and many better friends later, I still hate it when I hear someone talking behind my back. I hate being someone’s inside joke.
If you have a problem with me, just tell me. This is good for both of us. I get to find out what about me might be annoying you and I can choose to fix it or I can choose not to associate with you any longer. It all depends on what the thing is. You have benefits, too. If I fix it, all is good and if I don’t, well you don’t have to worry since I won’t be around.
I just don’t understand what good it does to tell someone else about issues you might have about me. If I snort when I laugh or blow my nose in a way that gets on your nerves, what’s your friend Lily gonna do to fix it?
What good does it do to bitch and moan behind my back and smile to my face?
That’s what I hate most. The fake people. It must be a present from my childhood friends. I’d so much rather know what I’m dealing with than have a million false smiley faces.
I may be crass, but when you’re my friend, you always get pure honesty.
Previously? Remorse.
I haven’t made many mistakes in my life.
With my record of letting go, that’s a real good thing.
The few mistakes I have made, I have never been able to forget and let go. The choices I made; the choices I didn’t make. Each and every mistake haunts me. Imagine what life would have been if I’d made more of them.
Regrets.
Lance’s new creation, The Dead Letter Office is all about that. I spent some time reading a few of the letters and it seems most people talk about what they didn’t do, what they wish they’d had the guts to do.
It’s amazing to me that so many people thought of mostly what they didn’t get to do in their death instead of all their accomplishments and happiness and loved ones.
Many people mentioned not getting to be with their loved one. I’ll leave that one for another day.
Tonight we watched The Family Man which is about a similar subject matter. It’s about the questions we ask ourselves. The “What If?”s
What if I’d never left Turkey?
What if I’d agreed to go out with him?
What if my parents never divorced?
What if I never met Jake?
There are two different kinds of what ifs. The ones you can control and the ones you cannot. Leaving Turkey was a choice. So was saying No. But the divorce and meeting Jake were beyond my control. It’s only the ones where I decided that I can regret. The reason I don’t most often is cause I remind myself of the choices I made and the rationale behind them.
No matter how much I think I’m bound to make some mistakes. I am only human, but everything is undoable. It’s never too late.
If it helps you to write the dead letter so you can figure out what your regrets are, that’s wonderful. But the real key is to fix them while you’re alive and live the rest of your life regret-free. What’s the way? Maybe a cheesy Nike logo: Just Do It.
You’ll be amazed how easy it is once you start.
I don’t need to write my dead letter, I already know what it would say. I do need to learn to get over my regrets.
They wear me down.
Previously? No Fights.
So we made it.
Jake and I spent most of yesterday watching football. Well, he watched football and I lay in bed, reading my book. Around 9pm, we started playing Ms. PacMan and we only stopped several minutes before midnight to walk over to the living room and watch Dick Clark as the ball dropped. After watching twenty more minutes of TV, we walked back into the bedroom and played video games for several more hours.
This was the first year since I moved to New York that I had no plans for New Year’s eve. Well, at least none that I was able to follow up on.
This was the first year most of my friends didn’t even know I was in town.
This was the first year Jake and I gave each other’s presents well before New Year’s in anticipation of not being in town for the actual night and not wanting to carry the presents through three states and back.
This was the first year in three years that we went to bed well after midnight.
We had sparkling cider and toasted with a kiss.
And we didn’t fight.
This is going to be a good year; I can feel it.
Previously?
Despite the recent unfortunate circumstances, 2000 has been an amazing year for me.
I got my green card. The one thing that ensures I won’t get kicked out of the country, unless I do something illegal of course. Ever since I got a job, I’d been working endlessly to get this small, and not green but white card. Thanks to my amazing and patient lawyer and loads of luck, I am now the proud owner of a plastic that says I am a permanent resident of the United States thanks to my Extraordinary Ability in the field of Information Technology. A huge ordeal that took me over three years of blood and sweat is finally over.
I changed my job and my hours. If I had to describe my last job in one word I would most definitely choose “pain”. There are many others that leap to mind but that is the most prominent one. Thankfully and luckily, after I returned from my business trip and got my green card, I found the balls to finally get myself out of this emotionally abusive relationship between me and my job. Now, I work three days a week at a job I adore and I didn’t even have to change firms.
I lived and worked in Japan for six months and learned Japanese. I don’t like being alone. I didn’t know a word of Japanese and the Japanese, for the most part, don’t speak much English. All my friends recommended against this trip. But I went anyway. I’m still not sure why. But I am so glad I did. If nothing else, I learned that I can be on my own. Important life lesson.
I started volunteering weekly. I’ve wanted to be more active with my volunteer efforts for years. I’ve also wanted to practice and master sign language. I put these together and started volunteering at the New York Society for the Deaf. I learn something new each week and I love meeting different people.
I got Laser Eye Surgery. This was unplanned and not an active wish but it changed my life drastically. It was one of the most painless, speedy and amazing operations of my life. it had no after effects, no pain and outstanding results. Last time I could see without my glasses, I was ten years old. This is beyond incredible.
I did so much more. I quit Diet Coke. I started exercising five times a week. My relationship with Jake improved tenfold. I started my second novel. I started writing this website. I kept up my reading and classes. I learned more about art. I made new friends. I celebrated my nephews’ first birthday and my mother’s fiftieth. I felt happy.
It wasn’t all good, of course. It had its bad moments. I lost a friend. I didn’t lose weight. I’m still unsure of my career path. I should be eating healthier. I slipped two discs on my back. And I’m sure there were many other painful moments that I cannot now recall.
But to be fair, I’d have to admit 2000 was good to me.
As for 2001, all I want next year is to be a better person, inside and out.
Happy New Year Everyone!
Previously?
My house is a total mess.
Over a month ago, my computer had a virus which caused me to reinstall the registries on my machine. Thanks to an illness that renders sitting a very painful activity for me, I haven’t used my desktop since that night. I do know however that the soundcard is still not working and I have absolutely no idea how to fix it. I can only imagine the more subtle errors that are still sitting on my machine, which I won’t be able to catch until my discs stop digging into my back.
My clothes are all over the living room couch and the chair in my bedroom. Until we packed for Christmas, our luggage sat on the floor, unpacked since Thanksgiving. This morning, Jake kindly unpacked our bags from our shortened vacation so now my clothes decorate the chair, the treadmill and the bed.
I am supposed to put pillows under my knees when I lie on my back and under my tummy when I lie on my stomach and somewhere under my legs when I lie on my side. On my bed, we currently have six pillows, just in case I am in a certain position and a pillow is not at hand. These pillows start in their correct location (under my knees, for example) but end up on the floor after several hours of battle during the night. A few hours later, they’ll end up back in bed, possibly even under my head this time. The dust in my house and I have become close friends.
Jake has been doing all the house errands, cooking me three meals a day and doing anything in his power to make me put as little effort on my body as possible. He’s kind, loving and generous.
I love him.
I don’t know what I would do without him.
Previously?
I celebrate New Year’s. I mean really celebrate it. I make resolutions, I stress about what to wear, where to go, what presents to get. I want everything to be perfect.
As you might have already guessed, everything goes wrong. Two years in a row, Jake and I spent the stroke of midnight in a fight. No bubblies, no laugher, no pretty dresses, just screaming and tears.
After the disaster of last year, I decided that from now on, Jake and I were to spend New Year’s out of town. I figured, and he agreed, that if we leave town, I won’t be stressed worrying about everything being perfect and will be delighted just to be out of town.
So we made plans. First it was the Galapagos, then Cuba, and then the Bahamas. After they all fell through, we finally settled on a trip to Savannah with Jake’s family. The location didn’t matter to me, I just wanted it not to be New York.
When I got real sick at the beginning of December, I panicked about the planned vacation. The doctor told me to relax and that I’d make it to my vacation no problem. So I skipped everything to ensure I’d get to go on this vacation. I didn’t go to my volunteer job three weeks in a row, I missed Jake’s family’s annual Christmas party, I spent endless hours on my couch, getting bedsores just so I could make it to Savannah. This New Year’s would be fun, even if it meant ruining December.
Two days before our trip, I felt 1000% better. I could sit, walk and stand without much pain. I was ready for Savannah and I knew it was ready for me. We took the train from New York to Boston (where Jake’s parents live) and celebrated Christmas with them. On the morning of the 26th, all of us went to the airport. My back had started aching slightly but I figured I’d keep up my exercises and rest a lot and things would be fine.
Well it didn’t turn out that way.
The morning after we got to Savannah, I woke up with acute pain. Jake and I walked around for an hour and pain shot up and down my legs. In the last month, the one thing doctors had asked me was whether the pain went down to my legs and it never had. They kept saying that as long as the pain didn’t go down, I was fine. And now it was going down. All the way to my toes.
We went back to the hotel and after several hours of sleep, the pain wouldn’t stop. Finally, I called my doctor and he says my MRI results are back and I have two herniated discs on my back. He said if the pain is back I should come back home and have bed rest for a few days. He goes, “You can get up to go to the bathroom, but no moving otherwise.” Gee. Thanks.
Lumbar 3/4 and 4/5. Two discs for the price of one.
Jake and I take the 6:30am plane back to New York. I spend all Thursday in bed. Today I went to my physical therapist and pain is attacking my back, my legs, my knees.
Here we are, two days before the year is over and I am to lie in bed for twenty minutes and walk around the house for twenty minutes as I alternate between having heat and cold applied to my back.
Happy New Year.
Previously?
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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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