It's been awhile. I checked my archives: With the exception of last month, I wrote at least one post a month for the past three years. Which means this two-month gap of not blogging was the longest I've gone without writing. Not even a draft, not even a written-but-unposted piece.
There is a lot I could write about in absence: the continuing journey of voice, ethnicity, and ministry; D at long last entering his last month of school; his job offer and the short-lived hope of not being long-distance; the slump of post-Mark Camp-is-the-school-year-over-yet? and finding energy to keep going amid that; etc. etc. etc.
But today, I will write about home, Sacramento-home, specifically. This blog has had its share of displacement angst and even its own "transition" tag, chronicling my move from Stockton to here. And while I've been here for two years come August, and as much as I love Sacramento as a city, it wasn't till two weeks ago that I really found a home. Long story short, I moved in with two friends from church and everything changed. The rest it's given for my heart, my subconscious, my emotions is amazing. I didn't realize how much I had wound up in a year and a half of non-ideal housing. I never really relaxed in that first condo I lived in, as differing values, life stages, and resentment built up into angst. The room I rented for six months was in a house that was never really mine, and I always felt like talking to my housemates then was making small talk with women who would never understand my lifestyle.
I think our lives of following Jesus involves some level of displacement. But these days, I am so grateful for God's grace that says, "Not right now." That says for this next season, let your heart rest and feel at home. Settle and unwind and find comfort in your physical dwelling. Another day, you will be on the move again. Another day, you will be placed in a place you don't fit. Every day, remember that this world is not your home. Yet for now, right now, grace comes in the form of a home-space, a physical belonging. And I don't know how to explain it to anyone enough, because I think it takes feeling never-quite-at-home for a long period of time to really, really appreciate home.
Home is a lot of things. It is having a place where the chopsticks and spoons belong, instead of having your Chinese soup spoons be awkwardly put on the counter because your roommate doesn't know where to put it. It is having a shelf for board games again, instead of stacking then in a box that has to move to different corners of the your room as you shuffle it around. It is actually unpacking every box, finding a place for each thing and finally throwing out the items without one instead of letting it all sit in a box you shuffle through as needed. It is finding the compromise in chores, groceries, and sharing instead of inwardly rolling your eyes when someone else's preference trumps yours. Home is no shoes inside the house. Lots of rice in the pantry but also pasta and canned vegetables. A sauce cabinet with Lee Kum Kee, soy sauce, dark soy sauce, chili oil and sesame oil but a spice cabinet with cumin, cinnamon, and Lawry's. Walking with your roommate to your friend's house two streets down. Carpooling to church and offering your home-cooked leftovers. Home is eating at the dining table and wanting your roommates to join, it's leaving your door open all the time and not trying to avoid your roommates.
Sometimes, you best know something by what it's juxtaposed against (can you even use that word like that?). These days I'm realizing how little everywhere else felt like home now that I have this to compare it to. And I'm so, so grateful for the grace in this season and moment.
Showing posts with label transition. Show all posts
Showing posts with label transition. Show all posts
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Jook
I felt it again today. An ache, a missing.
I guess I've been feeling it for awhile. This is Year Three of ministry, and the past two have been marked by long discussions of race, multi-ethnicity, humility, power-dynamics, and more. As some events in the evangelical world have eventually led to this letter (which surely deserves another post), I've been mulling thoughts about this Racial Journey in this racialized world. After two years, I know that this conversation is not easy. And yet still I walk into Year Three asking, how do I do this when I'm tired? How will I see your faithfulness when I am faithless? How do I continue to lay down my life but also find my voice again, and again, and again.
I am tired. I am the Chinese Girl living with two white housemates. Kind and fun, but definitely white women. Explaining mooncakes and rice porridge and feeling like every other day there's something new to share. Being asked if the snacks I got home are for sharing (I didn't offer, so, no). In the past, there was a joy to this, but there was also a long relationship what was being built with my then-roommate and good friend. These roommates do not quite feel like friends yet, so I just feel like the interesting girl who has things to talk about all the time. Sometimes it's fun but I'm feeling a little tired.
Sidenote - I am so grateful to be at my Chinese church, so unspeakably glad to have friends to go to dim sum with after church. Dear CAT friends, you have no idea how good and restful it is for my soul. To talk about stir fry and how little shrimp is in the chang fun (long noodles). To have my tea cup refilled, just like my soul is. To have two of you in six short months initiate wanting to support my ministry. And then to take a deep breath, and return to the day to day of loving and serving students who don't look like you.
I drove out to Wing Wah Supermarket today. I am getting over a cough and was making good ol' jook, but didn't have ginger, green onions, or cilantro. What the heck--I'm feeling good and I need to get out of the house, so I drove the 10 minutes to get to the closet Chinese supermarket (I'm glad it's not further). It's a small supermarket, significantly smaller than Ranch 99 or SF Market another 5-10 minutes away, and a little more expensive. But again I found myself wanting to walk up and down the aisles, listening to the familiar sounds of Mandarin and Cantonese filling my ears. This is as close to home as I'll get, I think cynically. This is what I do when I'm homesick: spend too long at Chinese supermarkets so the smells, tastes, sounds, and sights remind me that I belong somewhere.
At night I eat two bowls of jook. I smile to myself that my chicken jook is made with rotisserie chicken from Food Source, but hey, the best flavor is from the bones either way, right? I think that the ginger is totally worth it. I'm glad I know that plain jook may be rice and water, but add some ginger, green onions, and cilantro and it's soothing effect and delicious taste is exponentially increased. The sweetness of the ginger mixed in with the soft, watery rice porridge is comforting both to my throat and my heart.
I thought Sacramento was starting to feel like home, but I guess I'll have to give it even more time.
I guess I've been feeling it for awhile. This is Year Three of ministry, and the past two have been marked by long discussions of race, multi-ethnicity, humility, power-dynamics, and more. As some events in the evangelical world have eventually led to this letter (which surely deserves another post), I've been mulling thoughts about this Racial Journey in this racialized world. After two years, I know that this conversation is not easy. And yet still I walk into Year Three asking, how do I do this when I'm tired? How will I see your faithfulness when I am faithless? How do I continue to lay down my life but also find my voice again, and again, and again.
I am tired. I am the Chinese Girl living with two white housemates. Kind and fun, but definitely white women. Explaining mooncakes and rice porridge and feeling like every other day there's something new to share. Being asked if the snacks I got home are for sharing (I didn't offer, so, no). In the past, there was a joy to this, but there was also a long relationship what was being built with my then-roommate and good friend. These roommates do not quite feel like friends yet, so I just feel like the interesting girl who has things to talk about all the time. Sometimes it's fun but I'm feeling a little tired.
Sidenote - I am so grateful to be at my Chinese church, so unspeakably glad to have friends to go to dim sum with after church. Dear CAT friends, you have no idea how good and restful it is for my soul. To talk about stir fry and how little shrimp is in the chang fun (long noodles). To have my tea cup refilled, just like my soul is. To have two of you in six short months initiate wanting to support my ministry. And then to take a deep breath, and return to the day to day of loving and serving students who don't look like you.
I drove out to Wing Wah Supermarket today. I am getting over a cough and was making good ol' jook, but didn't have ginger, green onions, or cilantro. What the heck--I'm feeling good and I need to get out of the house, so I drove the 10 minutes to get to the closet Chinese supermarket (I'm glad it's not further). It's a small supermarket, significantly smaller than Ranch 99 or SF Market another 5-10 minutes away, and a little more expensive. But again I found myself wanting to walk up and down the aisles, listening to the familiar sounds of Mandarin and Cantonese filling my ears. This is as close to home as I'll get, I think cynically. This is what I do when I'm homesick: spend too long at Chinese supermarkets so the smells, tastes, sounds, and sights remind me that I belong somewhere.
At night I eat two bowls of jook. I smile to myself that my chicken jook is made with rotisserie chicken from Food Source, but hey, the best flavor is from the bones either way, right? I think that the ginger is totally worth it. I'm glad I know that plain jook may be rice and water, but add some ginger, green onions, and cilantro and it's soothing effect and delicious taste is exponentially increased. The sweetness of the ginger mixed in with the soft, watery rice porridge is comforting both to my throat and my heart.
I thought Sacramento was starting to feel like home, but I guess I'll have to give it even more time.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Promise
Last Sunday I went to lunch after church with a group of people I had just met. It's awkward because they think I'm new, but I've really been around the church for five months and just haven't met too many people yet. They're nice, they're similarly settled in their life phase, and a lot of them ask me questions and I feel like I can (kind of) participate in their conversations.
Just a few days prior, I had ended my day of rest by looking through photos and reading old notes from friends. It hit me then that moving away was a conscious choice to not be in someone's life as much anymore. Leaving Stockton meant I was choosing to leave how close I was involved in my friends' lives there. The pictures of my goodbye parties seemed so much heavier in light of that realization: after eight months, it's even more obvious what I was saying goodbye to. You still keep in touch with the closest friends, but you can't do much about all the others. You're simply not there as much, you can't just pass them by. I left their lives, I left a lot of those friendships behind. Left them to be picked up on a fortunate day when we cross paths again, but until then, they currently exist in pictures and the occasional brief facebook comment.
I thought about this when I drove away from lunch, excited at the potential for new friendships. But these people at church will never replace my old community, nor am I searching for people to take the place of my old friends. Instead, I remember that God promises good gifts and provision. That he fills where I lack. I am delighted to discover a confidence in my soul that trusts that The Lord has promised good to me: rich, deep, satisfying. Providing for all my needs, relationships and friendships included.
_________________________
Spring blossoms are everywhere right now; white, pink, and purple petals swirling about in the March wind. I walk under a tree in full bloom on the way to campus. I was contemplating sin, guilt, and reluctance towards change. But I see the white petals swirling around me and I think, promise. What is Jesus' promise in the face of dark sin? His grace is sufficient for my weakness. When will I choose to cling to this above all else? Even with best intentions I fall short. But perhaps that is why we come back over and over again to his promise of forgiveness and redemption. Lord knows I need it.
_________________________
Each week that passes by marks a longer time that Sacramento has been my home. It's getting more awkward and less appropriate to say, "I just moved here." But I'm also finding more reasons to love it even as I'm unsure of where new friendships will happen. In some senses, it feels like yes, I made a decision to leave a city that was home to me...but God invited me instead into a fun, new city, filled with things that I love. Things like restaurants with patios perfect for summer dinners, ultimate leagues and a beautiful river trail (I know, I keep repeating these things), and even a random running club that I did speed workouts with today because I was too bored of training on my own.
They are kind of little things. But they are things that I love, things that make me happy, and things that hint of a promise that I am watched over. Taken care of. Loved and provided for as a daughter.
Just a few days prior, I had ended my day of rest by looking through photos and reading old notes from friends. It hit me then that moving away was a conscious choice to not be in someone's life as much anymore. Leaving Stockton meant I was choosing to leave how close I was involved in my friends' lives there. The pictures of my goodbye parties seemed so much heavier in light of that realization: after eight months, it's even more obvious what I was saying goodbye to. You still keep in touch with the closest friends, but you can't do much about all the others. You're simply not there as much, you can't just pass them by. I left their lives, I left a lot of those friendships behind. Left them to be picked up on a fortunate day when we cross paths again, but until then, they currently exist in pictures and the occasional brief facebook comment.
I thought about this when I drove away from lunch, excited at the potential for new friendships. But these people at church will never replace my old community, nor am I searching for people to take the place of my old friends. Instead, I remember that God promises good gifts and provision. That he fills where I lack. I am delighted to discover a confidence in my soul that trusts that The Lord has promised good to me: rich, deep, satisfying. Providing for all my needs, relationships and friendships included.
_________________________
Spring blossoms are everywhere right now; white, pink, and purple petals swirling about in the March wind. I walk under a tree in full bloom on the way to campus. I was contemplating sin, guilt, and reluctance towards change. But I see the white petals swirling around me and I think, promise. What is Jesus' promise in the face of dark sin? His grace is sufficient for my weakness. When will I choose to cling to this above all else? Even with best intentions I fall short. But perhaps that is why we come back over and over again to his promise of forgiveness and redemption. Lord knows I need it.
_________________________
Each week that passes by marks a longer time that Sacramento has been my home. It's getting more awkward and less appropriate to say, "I just moved here." But I'm also finding more reasons to love it even as I'm unsure of where new friendships will happen. In some senses, it feels like yes, I made a decision to leave a city that was home to me...but God invited me instead into a fun, new city, filled with things that I love. Things like restaurants with patios perfect for summer dinners, ultimate leagues and a beautiful river trail (I know, I keep repeating these things), and even a random running club that I did speed workouts with today because I was too bored of training on my own.
They are kind of little things. But they are things that I love, things that make me happy, and things that hint of a promise that I am watched over. Taken care of. Loved and provided for as a daughter.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
26. Parallel streets
Sacramento. Your streets confuse me. I am forced to turn left because a U-turn is not an option. Only today did I realize that the ramps on W street don't give me any options I want. I-5 North, I-5 South, 80 West--none of those actually take me to 50 East. Here I've been trying to choose between option a and b, when it turns out I need c, which is several blocks in the other direction.
Sacramento, I take so long to find parking in your downtown. I find myself driving in circles and circles along the same streets, exhaling a deep breath of relief when I finally find a spot several blocks from my actual destination.
______________
Lately I've been acting based on reactions and not as a choice. If I could I would do otherwise, but in some ways I feel like my options are limited, sometimes by mere situation. Yet on other topics, I have yet to recognize that the options I have are not helpful. Neither defaulting to my natural nor compensating for brokenness are the options I want to choose. Aching for option c (but father God, what is that option?)
I move from place to place without really resting. At home, I finish up to-do's and keep to myself. In ministry, I make things up as I go and feel neither grounded nor confident. In my mind, I turn over the same thoughts over and over again, mulling. More mulling. In the small places of rest I exhale and try to let my muscles relax, yet even in those places I feel far from home.
Sacramento, I take so long to find parking in your downtown. I find myself driving in circles and circles along the same streets, exhaling a deep breath of relief when I finally find a spot several blocks from my actual destination.
______________
Lately I've been acting based on reactions and not as a choice. If I could I would do otherwise, but in some ways I feel like my options are limited, sometimes by mere situation. Yet on other topics, I have yet to recognize that the options I have are not helpful. Neither defaulting to my natural nor compensating for brokenness are the options I want to choose. Aching for option c (but father God, what is that option?)
I move from place to place without really resting. At home, I finish up to-do's and keep to myself. In ministry, I make things up as I go and feel neither grounded nor confident. In my mind, I turn over the same thoughts over and over again, mulling. More mulling. In the small places of rest I exhale and try to let my muscles relax, yet even in those places I feel far from home.
Friday, December 14, 2012
24. On a simple Christmas party
Lots and lots of laughter, a few catch-ups, way too much food. New friends. A wonderful Christmas party where I thought I would only know two people, it turns out to be five, plus connections to a few others. One girl who I think, I think she could be my friend. It feels good to have friends again, and sometimes it takes nights like this to remind me how starved I am company among [non-staff] friends. A beautifully simple worship songs with only one song I knew and five that I wish I did. Is this quiet, all-voices-blend-including-the-leader's, simple worship one of characteristics of Asian American worship? I think of when James Chuong used "invitational" to describe our style.
I realized that if the church wasn't Chinese and I didn't know Gavin and Annie, I would have probably stopped attending CGBC by now. But those two factors are a tipping point. Being able to look at a Chinese American church in the new lens of my ethnic journey is both puzzling and enjoyable at the same time, and gives me a breath of air amidst my growth as a bridge-builder. And knowing Gavin and Annie opens the door to things like last night, and the potential for friends and community is so crucial.
I realized that if the church wasn't Chinese and I didn't know Gavin and Annie, I would have probably stopped attending CGBC by now. But those two factors are a tipping point. Being able to look at a Chinese American church in the new lens of my ethnic journey is both puzzling and enjoyable at the same time, and gives me a breath of air amidst my growth as a bridge-builder. And knowing Gavin and Annie opens the door to things like last night, and the potential for friends and community is so crucial.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
23. In stress and grace
He thinks and tells me that right now I'm just instinctively putting up walls. That every move is a reaction, unintentional. Putting out flames but not getting to the root of it.
I know he's right. I know as he asks if I have a space to just be that the answer is no. I can make reasons and explanations, like, "I can be ___ with this person" or "I am open about ___ here." But for a general resting, to be fully known, the answer is no, I don't have that. And it's taking a toll. And I'm keeping more to myself than I realize (this is a pattern in my life).
Our walk is probably 40 minutes long, if not an hour. At some point I realize I can't rest my shoulders, and my muscles won't relax. Whether my hands are in my jeans or my jacket pocket, they're stiff. Something in my body wants to carry a certain posture and expression. I try to fix this while continuing the conversation, so I find myself walking with my hands out of my pockets so my arms can swing freely, though at the expense of cold fingers. I roll my shoulders a few times to loosen them, to let off a little of the pressure I'm carrying around. I stretch my arms. Relax, relax.
I need to just be. Amidst the pressure of everything...everything. As we talked today I realized there's so much transition in my life it almost feels comical. It feels impossible that there can be that much change and newness and unknown in one life at one time, yet there is. In a weird way, if I lay it all in front of me, it's so overwhelming maybe I can't do anything but laugh. So with every transition and every turn is another valve trying to stay just below exploding.
And the notion that's telling me to relax my shoulders, to stand at ease, to be okay not knowing what to say...is also telling me there's more to be known. The Father is calling his daughter to be known. To uncover all the brokenness, stress, sadness, disappointment, loneliness, and expectations and let him in. Do you want to know grace? Maybe I am afraid of how much I need it.
I know he's right. I know as he asks if I have a space to just be that the answer is no. I can make reasons and explanations, like, "I can be ___ with this person" or "I am open about ___ here." But for a general resting, to be fully known, the answer is no, I don't have that. And it's taking a toll. And I'm keeping more to myself than I realize (this is a pattern in my life).
Our walk is probably 40 minutes long, if not an hour. At some point I realize I can't rest my shoulders, and my muscles won't relax. Whether my hands are in my jeans or my jacket pocket, they're stiff. Something in my body wants to carry a certain posture and expression. I try to fix this while continuing the conversation, so I find myself walking with my hands out of my pockets so my arms can swing freely, though at the expense of cold fingers. I roll my shoulders a few times to loosen them, to let off a little of the pressure I'm carrying around. I stretch my arms. Relax, relax.
I need to just be. Amidst the pressure of everything...everything. As we talked today I realized there's so much transition in my life it almost feels comical. It feels impossible that there can be that much change and newness and unknown in one life at one time, yet there is. In a weird way, if I lay it all in front of me, it's so overwhelming maybe I can't do anything but laugh. So with every transition and every turn is another valve trying to stay just below exploding.
And the notion that's telling me to relax my shoulders, to stand at ease, to be okay not knowing what to say...is also telling me there's more to be known. The Father is calling his daughter to be known. To uncover all the brokenness, stress, sadness, disappointment, loneliness, and expectations and let him in. Do you want to know grace? Maybe I am afraid of how much I need it.
Monday, November 26, 2012
7. Present
In some ways it feels like a reset. I knew I hadn't spent a Sunday in Sacramento for a long time, thus haven't attended church for that duration as well. But it took a weekend in Stockton and talking with some old friends to remind myself of what I'm missing by not having a home church. I forgot that this takes intention and going out of the way to be back in town, that I have to say no to some things elsewhere to say yes to what's going on here.
I'm here, Sacramento. I'll run a half marathon here next spring, not only because it's cheaper and flatter than in San Francisco, but because the American River is part of this new home. I want to love your downtown and midtown and the various neighborhoods. Present--I want to be present here. I'll always love the Bay and Stockton has a piece of my heart, but I believe in fully living where I am. Right now you are home because of my address and where all my stuff is. You are home because I have my own room and I can rest. But one day I hope you'll be home because I'll have things to share about you, things I love about you. I hope I can choose from places I love and not just the few places I love.
You already have bonus points for the American River, the marina, and the gorgeous colored leaves in my favorite season of the year. You have plenty of ultimate frisbee, an active running club, and swing dancing. You have cute bistros and restaurants downtown and lots of parks. Sure, you have your rough parts and sketchy neighborhoods, and maybe in the future I can testify that I can see goodness and God's work there (but for now I can only say that in faith). Regardless, good or bad, I just need time to be here.
Monday, October 1, 2012
I still forget what my new home is.
I pull up Google maps to look up directions. Why is this so far away? Then I realize the starting point was my old home in Stockton. It's that easy to subconsciously type an address without thinking.
I try to find my favorite radio stations while keeping my eyes on the road. Since I only have six programmed stations, when I drive back to San Jose, I know which one to hit, then to tune up and down to get to my Bay Area stations. Except this time around, I end up on a classical station?
I forgot I changed my stations to the ones I've found in Sac.
My dad prays for our meal: "Thank you for bringing us home safely...from Malaysia, from Stockton." When he's done, I gently remind him, "Dad, I live in Sacramento now."
I try to find my favorite radio stations while keeping my eyes on the road. Since I only have six programmed stations, when I drive back to San Jose, I know which one to hit, then to tune up and down to get to my Bay Area stations. Except this time around, I end up on a classical station?
I forgot I changed my stations to the ones I've found in Sac.
My dad prays for our meal: "Thank you for bringing us home safely...from Malaysia, from Stockton." When he's done, I gently remind him, "Dad, I live in Sacramento now."
Saturday, September 29, 2012
First [coffee] love
I sit down to a chai latte at Coffee Garden this morning. First off, where's the latte art? Don't all latte's come with a frothy leaf? One of those insignificant things you don't think about, but are surprised at it's absence. I take my first sip and the thought that crosses my mind is It's not as good as Empresso's.
Two minutes later and a couple more sips in, I know that's not entirely fair. The chai is good, just not as spiced and a bit more milky than I'm used to. But what can you say when "used to" means Empresso, the only coffee shop where you've actually had chai lattes? Bigger realization: If there's only one coffee shop you've really loved, isn't everything going to be compared to that? I realize there are many, many reasons why I miss the coffee shop on Miracle Mile, and I think it's because I started going to it so much, I loved everything about it. Everything about it became what I want in a coffee shop now. The balance of conversation buzz and people working. The cartoonist smoking and doodling outside. The customers who walk their bike in the front door and prop it by the wall to order. My favorite spot in the stool by the corner, looking out onto Pacific Ave. And Empresso was where I started drinking enough coffee shop beverages (but not actual coffee) to develop a list of favorites: mango black iced tea and cherry lime Italian soda for the light days, twisted mocha's and chai lattes when it was cold, occasionally a blended drink or white mocha for variation (then there was the time I tried vanilla lattes to see if I'd like them. Didn't last long). I'm so used to these that I expect beverages at any other store I visit to taste like them.
So now when I try to find another place, all I can compare it to is Empresso, because it's the only coffee shop I've ever really loved. Yet no other shop will make the same chai lattes or have art displayed from a local artist I've actually met. And D reminds me with a part animated, part sarcastic voice that if I keep looking for Empresso, I'm going to miss out on things that I could end up loving. I know he's right, and I know he hints at a bigger picture of loving but letting go of the old and finding the new, but I'm just not quite there yet. It takes time to love something.
Two minutes later and a couple more sips in, I know that's not entirely fair. The chai is good, just not as spiced and a bit more milky than I'm used to. But what can you say when "used to" means Empresso, the only coffee shop where you've actually had chai lattes? Bigger realization: If there's only one coffee shop you've really loved, isn't everything going to be compared to that? I realize there are many, many reasons why I miss the coffee shop on Miracle Mile, and I think it's because I started going to it so much, I loved everything about it. Everything about it became what I want in a coffee shop now. The balance of conversation buzz and people working. The cartoonist smoking and doodling outside. The customers who walk their bike in the front door and prop it by the wall to order. My favorite spot in the stool by the corner, looking out onto Pacific Ave. And Empresso was where I started drinking enough coffee shop beverages (but not actual coffee) to develop a list of favorites: mango black iced tea and cherry lime Italian soda for the light days, twisted mocha's and chai lattes when it was cold, occasionally a blended drink or white mocha for variation (then there was the time I tried vanilla lattes to see if I'd like them. Didn't last long). I'm so used to these that I expect beverages at any other store I visit to taste like them.
So now when I try to find another place, all I can compare it to is Empresso, because it's the only coffee shop I've ever really loved. Yet no other shop will make the same chai lattes or have art displayed from a local artist I've actually met. And D reminds me with a part animated, part sarcastic voice that if I keep looking for Empresso, I'm going to miss out on things that I could end up loving. I know he's right, and I know he hints at a bigger picture of loving but letting go of the old and finding the new, but I'm just not quite there yet. It takes time to love something.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Observation
Sacramento has a bunch of things to make you slow down when you're driving:
- Speed Bumps
- Speed Humps
- Speed Table
- Undulations
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Wanted: Friends
Please, please don't let this be awkward.
They tell you that, when you move, it takes time to make new friends. What they didn't tell me is that trying to do so makes you feel like a sixth-grader again. Awkward, kind-of desperate, wondering if you look too desperate. Trying to be yourself, but not entirely sure who that self is.
I met Julie from my women's ultimate league a couple months ago. A couple days, she sent a text inviting those who were in town for the long weekend to a pool party. I eagerly responded because I had just realized that I had nothing fun planned for the three-day weekend, then wondered if I was even a close-enough friend to accept the invitation. Would it be full of people I didn't know? Friends who knew each other more than I knew any of them? I had a back-up plan to bring an old classmate of mine with me, but she couldn't make it.
Today Julie sent out another message, saying that only two of us had responded but we were still welcome anyway. Uh, did I know the other person? Still, I had talked myself into going despite all my hesitations, and I was actually looking forward to getting out of the house.
Yet as I walked up the driveway with board games in my hand and a bag of Lays in my bag, all I could think was, "Please, please don't let this be awkward." I could think of several scenarios. Dead, awkward conversations. Wondering if Julie doubted her invitation when I was 50% of the guest list (I really don't know Julie well). Feeling pathetic that someone who loves people so much could find herself in such great need of just friends to be with on a three-day weekend. Wondering how long the party would last, and how long I would last until I made an excuse to leave.
I walked back down the driveway five hours, half a bottle of home-brewed beer, a game of Ticket to Ride, a walk around the block, a carpese salad, and many conversation topics later. The other mysterious guest turned out to be Kim, one of the ladies from my summer league team that just ended. We had enjoyed the last half of the season together, as well as a fun hour at the sports bar a couple weeks ago. Kim, Julie, and I: three girls who don't quite know each other, but I get the feeling that we all kinda need friends. Well, we know we all have friends: good ones out of town, old friends who've moved, others that we occasionally see...but maybe (wishfully?), we're all looking for people to get to know a little better and even more simply, just to hang out with.
Earlier in the evening, Julie mentioned that when she was inviting people over, she realized just how few people she was really friends with in the area. What I heard between the lines was: Maybe you guys can be some real friends.Whether this was her real meaning or not, who knows? All I know was we enjoyed ourselves, and we all hope to do it again.
And on making new friends in the post-college world, here are some thoughts I have:
The new girl in town
They tell you that, when you move, it takes time to make new friends. What they didn't tell me is that trying to do so makes you feel like a sixth-grader again. Awkward, kind-of desperate, wondering if you look too desperate. Trying to be yourself, but not entirely sure who that self is.
I met Julie from my women's ultimate league a couple months ago. A couple days, she sent a text inviting those who were in town for the long weekend to a pool party. I eagerly responded because I had just realized that I had nothing fun planned for the three-day weekend, then wondered if I was even a close-enough friend to accept the invitation. Would it be full of people I didn't know? Friends who knew each other more than I knew any of them? I had a back-up plan to bring an old classmate of mine with me, but she couldn't make it.
Today Julie sent out another message, saying that only two of us had responded but we were still welcome anyway. Uh, did I know the other person? Still, I had talked myself into going despite all my hesitations, and I was actually looking forward to getting out of the house.
Yet as I walked up the driveway with board games in my hand and a bag of Lays in my bag, all I could think was, "Please, please don't let this be awkward." I could think of several scenarios. Dead, awkward conversations. Wondering if Julie doubted her invitation when I was 50% of the guest list (I really don't know Julie well). Feeling pathetic that someone who loves people so much could find herself in such great need of just friends to be with on a three-day weekend. Wondering how long the party would last, and how long I would last until I made an excuse to leave.
I walked back down the driveway five hours, half a bottle of home-brewed beer, a game of Ticket to Ride, a walk around the block, a carpese salad, and many conversation topics later. The other mysterious guest turned out to be Kim, one of the ladies from my summer league team that just ended. We had enjoyed the last half of the season together, as well as a fun hour at the sports bar a couple weeks ago. Kim, Julie, and I: three girls who don't quite know each other, but I get the feeling that we all kinda need friends. Well, we know we all have friends: good ones out of town, old friends who've moved, others that we occasionally see...but maybe (wishfully?), we're all looking for people to get to know a little better and even more simply, just to hang out with.
Earlier in the evening, Julie mentioned that when she was inviting people over, she realized just how few people she was really friends with in the area. What I heard between the lines was: Maybe you guys can be some real friends.Whether this was her real meaning or not, who knows? All I know was we enjoyed ourselves, and we all hope to do it again.
And on making new friends in the post-college world, here are some thoughts I have:
- It takes time, but it also takes putting yourself out there: saying yes to invites, and potentially even inviting yourself sometimes. Kind of tiring, but I guess like everything worthwhile (and like all good friendships), it takes work.
- There are probably people looking for friends as well, just like you are (this is actually Kim's story of her first league team: new to the area, new to Ultimate, and looking for friends...and thus new friends were made)
- Expect awkwardness
- It's okay to be afraid and to feel like you're back on your first day of Kindergarten. Speaking of that, did you know I had two first days of Kindergarten? I went to one school, then three days later we transferred to another school--the only time I've ever been the new kid at school (I don't really think it counts).
- Admit to yourself that you need friends. It's a human thing and it doesn't mean you're desperate (because you do have other friends, just not here). And it doesn't mean you're hanging out with people just because you need friends, either.
The new girl in town
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Where am i?
I'm losing patience. Last week after Ultimate, I got on the freeway in the wrong direction and had to drive a few miles until the next exit came up and I could head west on 80. This week, I realize that I made a big circle around the block (again) because I didn't realize the ramp was right around the corner.
This morning I got on yelp and Google maps, looking for a nearby Asian market, a Marshall's, and how to get to the current top-coffee shop (no, not my favorite yet). One of the frustrating things is even figuring out what direction I want to go: north to Arden? west to midtown? What's close, what's far? Which Target is my closest?
When I quickly typed a memo on my phone to get to the coffee shop, I skipped the first turn after the freeway. So I drove along the street I merged onto, but after awhile I had a feeling that the turn I was looking for didn't actually intersect the street I was on. I pulled off to the side, pulled out my AAA maps for the tenth time in the past month, and figured out my mistake.
I'm tired of this: feeling directionally lost, having to look up everything, pulling off to the side to look at a map yet again. These are minor things, but in the middle of transition, you're just a bit more raw than usual. And nothing feels quite right: the Target is set up different, you're driving on one-way streets, and you almost make a U-turn where one is not allowed.
These are the verses that guided my time when I finally settled down to a raspberry Italian soda (for which I had to specify whipped cream because they make it with creamer here):
The part that made me feel better was when I made it to the Asian supermarket. It's a very small one with narrow aisles, yet it was enough to make me feel at home. Taro, water chestnuts, tofu. An aisle of crackers, biscuits, and cookies. Another of sauces: dark soy sauce, black bean sauce, Siracha. I let myself stock up on some of the things I have put off getting (eg, Siracha) and happily picked up a big pack of rice noodles, dried shitake mushrooms, and fresh veggies needed for zha chiang mein. I think I'm going to try and make it sometime next week.
Sacramento...I think I'll like you. But today, today was just a little tiring.
_______________________________________________
Then, there’s the weird neutral zone in yourself. You don’t know who you are anymore or how you relate to God in this new weird place, you don’t know who you hang out with or where you like to eat, you don’t know where you go on walks or retreat to when you want to be alone. The neutral zone is like the desert of moving. And it doesn’t feel like home at all. -Relevant, How to Move to a New City
This morning I got on yelp and Google maps, looking for a nearby Asian market, a Marshall's, and how to get to the current top-coffee shop (no, not my favorite yet). One of the frustrating things is even figuring out what direction I want to go: north to Arden? west to midtown? What's close, what's far? Which Target is my closest?
When I quickly typed a memo on my phone to get to the coffee shop, I skipped the first turn after the freeway. So I drove along the street I merged onto, but after awhile I had a feeling that the turn I was looking for didn't actually intersect the street I was on. I pulled off to the side, pulled out my AAA maps for the tenth time in the past month, and figured out my mistake.
I'm tired of this: feeling directionally lost, having to look up everything, pulling off to the side to look at a map yet again. These are minor things, but in the middle of transition, you're just a bit more raw than usual. And nothing feels quite right: the Target is set up different, you're driving on one-way streets, and you almost make a U-turn where one is not allowed.
These are the verses that guided my time when I finally settled down to a raspberry Italian soda (for which I had to specify whipped cream because they make it with creamer here):
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul (Ps 23:1-3)
My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever (Ps 73:26)
The part that made me feel better was when I made it to the Asian supermarket. It's a very small one with narrow aisles, yet it was enough to make me feel at home. Taro, water chestnuts, tofu. An aisle of crackers, biscuits, and cookies. Another of sauces: dark soy sauce, black bean sauce, Siracha. I let myself stock up on some of the things I have put off getting (eg, Siracha) and happily picked up a big pack of rice noodles, dried shitake mushrooms, and fresh veggies needed for zha chiang mein. I think I'm going to try and make it sometime next week.
Sacramento...I think I'll like you. But today, today was just a little tiring.
_______________________________________________
Then, there’s the weird neutral zone in yourself. You don’t know who you are anymore or how you relate to God in this new weird place, you don’t know who you hang out with or where you like to eat, you don’t know where you go on walks or retreat to when you want to be alone. The neutral zone is like the desert of moving. And it doesn’t feel like home at all. -Relevant, How to Move to a New City
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Unsettled
What's the word for "homesick" when you've moved away? All those cliche quotes about home, what is it? My mailing address, places with people I love, somewhere to sleep? If Sacramento is to be my new home, does "homesick" still apply to missing the things I love 45 minutes southwest of here? I used to use "going home" to describe San Jose, but now when people ask where I moved from, all they know is Stockton. So what is home these days?
I had one of those moments in Safeway on Friday when I realized I didn't quite know where everything was. I have never been here before, and this isn't normal yet, so instead of a mere run of errands, I was now facing a sudden pang of sadness. And then my shopping list on a post-it note had fallen, so I felt silly trying to casually look around for it.
It's weird having to look up directions to Target, ask someone where the nearest gas station is, and have to consciously figure out where you are. Kinda makes me feel disoriented and vulnerable.
Speaking of directions, today I emptied out the compartment next to my driver's seat. It held three years worth of Google map printouts and other address scribbled on papers, including three different addresses to my college roommate, documenting the house she grew up in, her first apartment with her husband, and her new house. I didn't need to keep all of these addresses, but it became a habit to stash them, and it prevented me from having to re-look up directions a few times. But chances that I'll be visiting those places now is even less, now that I'm 45 minutes away. In ways, moving feels like I'm having to sort through which memories are actually important. Even so, I read every address, piecing it together with the event or home--FD training in Sac, a friend's new apartment in the Bay, an Ultimate tournament--before putting it through the shredder.
I went to my first church in Sacramento today. Didn't plan in advance enough to go with a friend, so I google'd a church and walked in, sat by myself. Spoke to a few kind members, but otherwise, felt like I slipped in and slipped out. What a change from having a place to be at Quail for so many years.
To say this week has been rough is an understatement. Not because of Sacramento, which I find myself starting to like: driving on freeways, my room, our apartment, the American River, good ultimate and running trails. But life has thrown a curve ball that has left a zillion questions in its trail with no answers. My default ways of processing: running (I can only think one thought at a time when I run) and journaling in a coffee shop. Except I don't have a favorite coffee shop, and I miss Empresso. Once I find a coffee shop with high stools in a corner that let me peer out to the street, I may be sold. I can't count how many times I've sat in my favorite spot at Empresso, churning thoughts while gazing out at Miracle Mile...
I had one of those moments in Safeway on Friday when I realized I didn't quite know where everything was. I have never been here before, and this isn't normal yet, so instead of a mere run of errands, I was now facing a sudden pang of sadness. And then my shopping list on a post-it note had fallen, so I felt silly trying to casually look around for it.
It's weird having to look up directions to Target, ask someone where the nearest gas station is, and have to consciously figure out where you are. Kinda makes me feel disoriented and vulnerable.
Speaking of directions, today I emptied out the compartment next to my driver's seat. It held three years worth of Google map printouts and other address scribbled on papers, including three different addresses to my college roommate, documenting the house she grew up in, her first apartment with her husband, and her new house. I didn't need to keep all of these addresses, but it became a habit to stash them, and it prevented me from having to re-look up directions a few times. But chances that I'll be visiting those places now is even less, now that I'm 45 minutes away. In ways, moving feels like I'm having to sort through which memories are actually important. Even so, I read every address, piecing it together with the event or home--FD training in Sac, a friend's new apartment in the Bay, an Ultimate tournament--before putting it through the shredder.
I went to my first church in Sacramento today. Didn't plan in advance enough to go with a friend, so I google'd a church and walked in, sat by myself. Spoke to a few kind members, but otherwise, felt like I slipped in and slipped out. What a change from having a place to be at Quail for so many years.
To say this week has been rough is an understatement. Not because of Sacramento, which I find myself starting to like: driving on freeways, my room, our apartment, the American River, good ultimate and running trails. But life has thrown a curve ball that has left a zillion questions in its trail with no answers. My default ways of processing: running (I can only think one thought at a time when I run) and journaling in a coffee shop. Except I don't have a favorite coffee shop, and I miss Empresso. Once I find a coffee shop with high stools in a corner that let me peer out to the street, I may be sold. I can't count how many times I've sat in my favorite spot at Empresso, churning thoughts while gazing out at Miracle Mile...
home, when you close your eyes
and you feel in your heart
how your soul’s alive
Home:Word, Magnetic North
Sunday, July 15, 2012
How are you feeling?
About twenty friends and family gathered in Maggie's home this afternoon. Two hours of mingling, small catch-ups, and moving from one conversation to another. Classmates, alumni, small group friends, mentors, professors--all in the same place. Some I see weekly, a few I haven't seen for awhile.
My friends have been asking me how I'm feeling about the transition, the move, Sacramento--however you want to call it. And my long-winded response this afternoon can be summarized into this: The afternoon was good. Good. Not deeply emotional, neither sad nor overjoyed. Just good. Good to acknowledge that I was leaving. Good to really know that I am going. Good to have the people in the room know that they have been important to my life.
Sometimes I'm sad to be leaving the places I love, whether it's my quiet time bench by the rosebushes on campus or my favorite corner stool at Empresso. Sometimes I'm excited about being in a big city again, about driving on freeways and knowing different parts of town. Mostly, I think I just know it's going to happen so I'm waiting for each day to pass along. Although I have a feeling these next two weeks will speed by like nothing, and all of a sudden I'll be loading up my car and heading out.
We've finally put in an application for a place, and if that gets approved, then I'll officially have a place to live, and my mission of making it a home will begin. Many times I have to answer the question of when I'm moving, and the answer now is soon, oh so soon. Back in May, I had a rough night after I had picked up furniture from Linda and felt the urge to start packing. I didn't really, but I did start rearranging stuff in my room, and before I knew it, there was a stack of boxes sitting in my corner, waiting to be packed. When Darrell came over that night, I dramatically told him that everything was changing, everything. He shook his head in confusion and wondered why I was packing when I had two more months to be here.
Well my friends, I'm proud to say that I've held off for this long. I've collected packing boxes and I've mentally planned how to pack, but I haven't put together boxes and haven't put things away. Until today. Today, after I got back from the goodbye party, I read some heartfelt cards and thought, hey, let's put some things away. I taped together a couple boxes and put away my binders and moved my board games from my over-sized Rubio's tote bag to a box (Don't worry, still easily accessible for a game night). I started clearing my walls: the scripture paintings I had done on a Sabbath last semester, timelines and collages that contain expression of life at that point, race bibs from the half marathon and 10k last year. And other than the three huge chunks of paint I accidentally took out of my wall, it just feels right. Not a frantic impatience, not a rushed closure. Just a recognition of the change that I'm sitting in.
I'll have to hold back from packing up the rest of my life just yet and make sure I still focus on work to do this week. I haven't decided on some of the things to keep and to get rid of. My trio of half-insignificant but favorite glass bottles: Starbucks Mocha Frappucino, Pomegranate Izze, and Martinelli's apple cider (D and I shared this on our 3 year anniversary last year)--they carry so little weight except that I love the size and I've had them sitting on a shelf this past year. Do I get rid of it for the convenience, or keep it for the piece of home that it is? Is it time to lose the discounted black photo frames I bought three years ago in lieu of other decor? When do I look for furniture that I know I'll probably want (I'm currently working with a lot of extra surface area from the extra dresser and wall shelf)?
In the meantime, I'm also slowly figuring out what's helpful and what's not in all of this. We had a three-part goodbye shindig when the students were still around, and while it was tons of fun, I realized in hindsight I didn't quite get the goodbye I needed. I didn't realize I needed to be able to say, "Life together has been good, and I am thankful for who you are. You are important to me." I thought implicit would be enough, explicit would be too cheesy...but it turns out that that would have helped a lot. So we did that today, cheesy and awkward as it probably was. And I'm learning to just go with my gut in some of these other friendships and circles. To say, "Hey, I've loved getting to know you, and I'm leaving in a couple weeks, but could we have coffee before I go?" To have hangouts and stay out late with friends and to soak up all this good company.
Two weeks really isn't a lot of time. I feel like I have enough goodbyes to last a month, and yet there's a part of me that's already ready to go.
My friends have been asking me how I'm feeling about the transition, the move, Sacramento--however you want to call it. And my long-winded response this afternoon can be summarized into this: The afternoon was good. Good. Not deeply emotional, neither sad nor overjoyed. Just good. Good to acknowledge that I was leaving. Good to really know that I am going. Good to have the people in the room know that they have been important to my life.
Sometimes I'm sad to be leaving the places I love, whether it's my quiet time bench by the rosebushes on campus or my favorite corner stool at Empresso. Sometimes I'm excited about being in a big city again, about driving on freeways and knowing different parts of town. Mostly, I think I just know it's going to happen so I'm waiting for each day to pass along. Although I have a feeling these next two weeks will speed by like nothing, and all of a sudden I'll be loading up my car and heading out.
We've finally put in an application for a place, and if that gets approved, then I'll officially have a place to live, and my mission of making it a home will begin. Many times I have to answer the question of when I'm moving, and the answer now is soon, oh so soon. Back in May, I had a rough night after I had picked up furniture from Linda and felt the urge to start packing. I didn't really, but I did start rearranging stuff in my room, and before I knew it, there was a stack of boxes sitting in my corner, waiting to be packed. When Darrell came over that night, I dramatically told him that everything was changing, everything. He shook his head in confusion and wondered why I was packing when I had two more months to be here.
Well my friends, I'm proud to say that I've held off for this long. I've collected packing boxes and I've mentally planned how to pack, but I haven't put together boxes and haven't put things away. Until today. Today, after I got back from the goodbye party, I read some heartfelt cards and thought, hey, let's put some things away. I taped together a couple boxes and put away my binders and moved my board games from my over-sized Rubio's tote bag to a box (Don't worry, still easily accessible for a game night). I started clearing my walls: the scripture paintings I had done on a Sabbath last semester, timelines and collages that contain expression of life at that point, race bibs from the half marathon and 10k last year. And other than the three huge chunks of paint I accidentally took out of my wall, it just feels right. Not a frantic impatience, not a rushed closure. Just a recognition of the change that I'm sitting in.
I'll have to hold back from packing up the rest of my life just yet and make sure I still focus on work to do this week. I haven't decided on some of the things to keep and to get rid of. My trio of half-insignificant but favorite glass bottles: Starbucks Mocha Frappucino, Pomegranate Izze, and Martinelli's apple cider (D and I shared this on our 3 year anniversary last year)--they carry so little weight except that I love the size and I've had them sitting on a shelf this past year. Do I get rid of it for the convenience, or keep it for the piece of home that it is? Is it time to lose the discounted black photo frames I bought three years ago in lieu of other decor? When do I look for furniture that I know I'll probably want (I'm currently working with a lot of extra surface area from the extra dresser and wall shelf)?
In the meantime, I'm also slowly figuring out what's helpful and what's not in all of this. We had a three-part goodbye shindig when the students were still around, and while it was tons of fun, I realized in hindsight I didn't quite get the goodbye I needed. I didn't realize I needed to be able to say, "Life together has been good, and I am thankful for who you are. You are important to me." I thought implicit would be enough, explicit would be too cheesy...but it turns out that that would have helped a lot. So we did that today, cheesy and awkward as it probably was. And I'm learning to just go with my gut in some of these other friendships and circles. To say, "Hey, I've loved getting to know you, and I'm leaving in a couple weeks, but could we have coffee before I go?" To have hangouts and stay out late with friends and to soak up all this good company.
Two weeks really isn't a lot of time. I feel like I have enough goodbyes to last a month, and yet there's a part of me that's already ready to go.
Friday, June 8, 2012
I feel like this is going to be me in three months.
And I will remember
The bells of Burns Tower
The beep of the crosswalk
The man in the newsboy cap at Empresso
"Hey there, sweetie" from Linda with Bon Apetit
"Hi, Audrey" from Dr. Saviz
The sound of a car pulling up in front of the house
The roll of the trash cans being taken out
The rhythmic clicks of unlocking the front door
My parking spot in front of Brookside Hall
The squeak of the branches against my window
I read somewhere that moving is like a break-up. I've never experienced the latter, but the idea is that at first you notice every day or week that passes, then the months, then slowly you start to forget how long it's been there. I can imagine this, but check back with me in few months to see how I feel.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Where to next?
Usually I put my shoes away, or they end up scattered around the room (slippers by my bed, sneakers in the closet, running shoes actually in the shoe rack on the closet door like they belong). But these past two days have seen the accumulation of my footwear all in one spot. It’s like I can’t decide what I’m doing next: running for leisurely sake? lounging around at night in slippers? picking up messes around the house in flip flops? running a whole day of errands in hot summer heat? Leaving? Staying? Going deeper? Being rooted out?
On a different note, I called Adam-brother who has been handling my family’s Verizon accounts for what seems like the past decade or so. Turns out he can easily change my phone number if I go in. I guess after nearly seven years it’s time to move on from my Bay Area area code. And four years in the 916 is a rather long time. But I must say it’s rather overwhelming to think of all the accounts my phone number is linked to that I’m going to have to update. And when do I do it? ASAP? (Might as well, my impulsive impatient self says).
The reality and permanence of the next step is slowly starting to sink in. Jesus, show me how this is a promise land when it feels like an unknown wilderness.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Rhythms
Morning office routine
The click of the key in the lock
Quick pull of the blinds
Buzz of the computer
Beep of appointments
Chair wheels sliding back
Drawers sliding out
Clicking of heels on sidewalk
Always pressing the crosswalk three times
Side glances to the cars passing by
Depending on the day,
Quick meal before dashing upstairs with arms full
To pull open the laptop and sign on
To gmail and docs and facebook at once
Rhythms
Normal, weekly, expected, mundane
But you will miss the pleasantness
Of those five-minute car rides late on Wednesday night
The click of the key in the lock
Quick pull of the blinds
Buzz of the computer
Beep of appointments
Chair wheels sliding back
Drawers sliding out
Clicking of heels on sidewalk
Always pressing the crosswalk three times
Side glances to the cars passing by
Depending on the day,
Quick meal before dashing upstairs with arms full
To pull open the laptop and sign on
To gmail and docs and facebook at once
Rhythms
Normal, weekly, expected, mundane
But you will miss the pleasantness
Of those five-minute car rides late on Wednesday night
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