I seriously dislike freelance writing much more than I thought I would.
I started graduate school because (despite all the fluffy bunnies you read about here), I have a tweed soul and belong in academia.
So now what? Where does that leave the blog?
This life still feels sorta freelance.
It's a patched together wife-mom-student-writer-babysitter life. Writing is a part of it. It is just not where the focus is going to be for the next two years as I go to class and write papers about postpositive worldview approach to rhetoric.
(I KNOW, RIGHT? I loved writing that just now. I have no idea what it means.)
Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.
Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.
Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.
But not only that:
Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.
From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:
This is not the point of today's blog. It's not even something I've tried (much) to change. It's just a fact necessary for this story.
When I was twelve, at summer camp, as I was prattling along with my "white-girl problems," (thank you Susan Isaacs for that line,) a little boy named Jeff said, "Oh yeah? Well at least you're not ADOPTED."
I had nothing to say. He was right. I wasn't adopted.
And later, as an adult (in number, not in attitude), I was again complaining (it's sorta my thing, remember?) someone said, "At least you didn't spend the NIGHT IN JAIL."
Hm. Again, true. No jail time served. Yet, anyway.
These two moments, a decade apart, immediately married themselves in my brain.
Two Random Things
First, sin begets sin. My selfishness (complaints) brought out the selfishness (You idiot girl, shut it) of others. (My stuff's important. No, MY STUFF'S important.) Nobody wins the who-hurts-more race. What was it about my complaining that brought out these, "At least you never..." moments? It was simply two different people feeling unimportant and un-listened to.
Second, I think what these guys were saying was that I didn't have compassion. As I was going on and on about myself, I didn't SEE anybody else. Isn't that the basis of compassion? Isn't that where it starts? SEEING?
I don't really have any answers today. I am still a complainer.
Today's post is simply a reminder to self: you never know what anybody is going through. I'm starting to believe everybody's going through something.
I am starting grad school soon, and you know what I'm most concerned about? I will give you three guesses.
A) Work / Life Balance: How will I be able to do it all? Manage a house? Raise a family? Work? Go to school? Write papers? Still invite people over for spicy food? Remember what my friends look like? Write something? Anything? Compose witty blog posts for all seven of you?
B) School Itself: Keeping all the Brontes straight? Not embarrassing myself with ignorant questions? All the cold hard cash I am going to require in order to finish?
I've written before that this Donald Miller idea has changed my life, and I wasn't exaggerating. I want to live a good story.
Have I mentioned I am glad it's a new year? Yes? Yes.
Keri and I have been talking about hospitality again. Jesus said it first, yo. I've been missing friends, so decided to make a life change. Nothing big. Just feeding people when they come over. Asking them to come over in the first place.
If you know me, or really, even if you don't, but are nice and sane and totally not a serial killer, you can invite yourself over. You might get nothin' fancy, but I can guarantee something spicy and delicious followed by coffee. If you bring an adult beverage, I will let you out of dish washing duty.
This may or may not be a lie. Tell you what. You bring drinks. This will make dishes fun.
I am going to graduate school. I can't even talk about it without crying tears of joy, so I really try not to talk about it too much because I am afraid if I talk about it and jump up and down like I want to, someone will tell me mistakes were made, and practical jokes were had and I'm not really going.
And THEN I start crying for real, like, what if this IS practical joke or a giant mistake and I'm not really supposed to be in grad school at all?
I can't even think about it without hyperventilating and I've been dreaming about this for so long and I. Am. So. Happy.
I know. I sound like a crazy person. I'm SOOOOOOOO EXCITED!!!
Speaking of craaaazy, my to-do lists look like something a crazy person would write. I end up feeling like a big/fat/failure for not accomplishing the insanity I set for meeeself to do.
I didn't get the book finished. Fail. I watched a lot of movies and took the GRE and wrote my statement of purpose for school and hung out with my family and ripped up the to-do lists.
You know what?
That crazy goal list made me DO SOMETHING. I failed because I TRIED.
I got a lot more accomplished on the book than I would have otherwise if I hadn't put "book finishing" on the to-do list. The book is 3/4 done. It is on its way. I need a new date as a goal to finish, I guess. I'm setting something reasonable this time.
WOULD IT KILL YOU TO LEAVE A COMMENT ABOUT RESOLUTIONS A WEEK AFTER JANUARY FIRST? OF COURSE NOT.