I don't have anything in particular to blog about tonight; if it were up to me, I'd be sleeping right now.

However, since my body has decided that is currently not an option, here I am.

When I say I don't have anything to blog about, that technically means that I found myself on blogger with no specific plan or topic in mind, but it certainly doesn't mean there is nothing on my mind. If anything, there is too much in my brain tonight and I'm just not sure if I can sort through enough of it to make a coherent entry. Time to change gears.

On Thursday, while I was putting in some office hours at church, I found myself with some free time on my hands before band practice. Since it had been a very long time since I was last able to just sit down and REALLY sing, I decided it was long overdue. (I'm actually trying to remember just how long, and can't think of the last time. That is a little saddening.)
There are few things I enjoy more than sitting down at a piano with no agenda other than to just make music, whether that involves just me and the instrument or adding my voice into the mix. Before I got tendonitis, I would sometimes sit in a practice room for hours at a time, just playing.
I had a great practice session. My voice took a little while to fully warm up, but after an hour or so I was singing about as well as when I was in school and practicing for an hour or two every day. Maybe it was because I was having a good voice day, but I started thinking about purpose. Specifically, musical purpose.
I don't regret deciding not to go into the opera field. I think that with work and some luck I could have made it happen, but I think I would have been miserable in that lifestyle. But it does make me wonder sometimes what I'm doing, or rather what I should be doing. Playing and singing for church is wonderful, and I firmly believe that my being where I am is a blessing to the congregation, and to me as well. However, there is only so much I can do on a Sunday morning. What is the good in being able to sing opera if I never sing for anyone?
This is an issue I find myself coming back to periodically, but I'm not sure that it has an easy answer. If anything, I'm sure it's similar to what many people feel after graduating college with degrees that they aren't currently making use of- what am I supposed to do with my newly-honed abilities in writing papers on philosophy? or being a theater major who isn't currently in a play?
I think the question really becomes, is this something that is worth pursuing in and of itself, even if I never sing for another person again? And for me, the answer to that question is yes, definitely. Not just for the fact that I personally find such joy in doing it, but for the fact that God gave me this talent, and every time I sing, I give Him glory. That may happen in front of a crowd of people, or it may happen walking on a beach by myself at night, but either way He is glorified.

When to Speak

I'm struggling this week with the question of when to speak out and when to let things go.

Let me explain.

Before church, I had a conversation with an older man who is kind, loves the Lord, and is more giving of his time and effort to our church than most other people combined. He started by saying that the reason I was probably so trim was because I walk back and forth so often moving sound equipment, and then proceeded to tell me a story about a 'colored' woman who walked into an office where he was waiting for the doctor, who had a big butt and large 'bosoms.' And he turned to his wife and said something along the lines of being glad that she didn't turn out that way when she got older.

I think I sort of gave a half laugh, said something about how it's hard to stay in shape, and quickly changed the subject. But it got me thinking, simply because the conversation made me so uncomfortable on so many different levels.

I didn't appreciate that he was making comments on my body. I was a little shocked to hear someone use the term colored. I was really uncomfortable that we were talking about some other woman's body. And the feminist in me was offended that he would say something like that to his wife.

How do I respond to something like this? I know that the story was not meant to make me feel uncomfortable; he was simply making conversation, although it took a turn that I felt was fairly inappropriate. I've always had trouble with confrontation, especially when it comes to older people making comments that I know come from growing up in a different society where different things were politically correct, but where is the line? When do I let things go, with the reasoning that the person didn't mean to be offensive, and when do I speak up to let them know that I don't think they should be saying something like that, either to me or to anyone else?

It seems to me that this sort of issue, like most difficult issues, doesn't have a concrete answer. It also seems like being on staff at church makes maneuvering around these sorts of conversations even more difficult. Where is the line between accepting that people aren't perfect, and will say things that should not be said, and calling them out in love? And does that line change depending on the age of each of those people?

I love spending time with older people, and love that working with the choir allows me to do that, but I've noticed this issue more than once with this particular age group. Each time it happens, whether it's a full conversation like the one this week, or a passing comment from a sweet old former pastor's wife about the musical abilities of 'darkies,' I'm suddenly uncomfortable and completely unprepared for how to respond.

I know this problem doesn't have an easy answer, as much as I would like it to. I guess the best way to navigate is simply with the law of love, of loving my neighbor as I love myself. As I love myself- would I choose to remain ignorant of something I do that is giving offense, or would I rather be informed so that I might change that behavior? And would that change depending on the person giving the advice? Again, no easy answers, just what's on my mind tonight.

Knit-astrophe!

Sooo... this happened a couple of days ago.

Oops.

First, the backstory:
I finished this mitten a few months ago, and realized I didn't have enough yarn to finish the second one. I researched online, and found out the yarn was discontinued.
I decided I wasn't THAT excited about this particular mitten, and figured I could use the first one as a potholder/hot pad.
I did this successfully for several months with no issues.

Skip back to Tuesday. Somehow this happened. Still not entirely sure how. My whole apartment smelled like burning wool for about an hour. Yecch.

Although it's always a little disappointing to me when things happen to items that I've made, I think in the long run it's good for me to be reminded that things are temporary. It doesn't matter how much time I've spent making something; sometimes the hat will be lost, the sweater will get holes, the mitten will be burnt to a crisp (although hopefully, the last one won't happen again).

The reason I make things is not so that they can stay in pristine shape, to be displayed somewhere behind a glass box. I make things so that they can be used. I think this is part of why working in a kitchen is such a mixture of frustration and enjoyment. On the one hand, the work is never finished- people always need another meal, and there will always be more food to make. On the other hand, there will always be new things to try, and a constant stream of people enjoying and using the things I am making for them.

The things I make will not stay perfect forever. They will get worn out, lost, and sometimes destroyed, and this is a good thing. It means I will always have things to make, ways to be creative, and things to give away. Here's to ruined projects.

My favorite project

As anyone who knows me at all will attest to, I'm a big fan of knitting. I generally have a minimum of 5 or 6 projects going at once, and on the rare occasion that I leave my house without something to work on, I feel a little bit panicky until I am reunited with my yarn.

I've made a lot of things in my many years of knitting. Hats, socks, scarves, sweaters, baby blankets, dragons... If it can be knitted, there is a good chance that I've at least attempted to make it. However, my favorite projects are usually socks.

Knitted socks are something that most people don't understand (except for the people who own them- they know exactly why I keep making socks, and once they receive a pair, usually ask for more within a few weeks). With all the socks I've made over the years, I've accumulated a lot of leftover little balls of sock yarn.

Which brings me to the subject of this post: my favorite project.

I've been working on this blanket for a few years now. I tend not to be very consistent with it- I'll finish a few squares at a time, maybe even a few squares a day for several days, and then it will sit in its basket for weeks or months before I'll pick it up again.
It's pretty simple compared to a lot of things I've made- just a basic mitered square pattern, the same little square made by picking up stitches from its neighbor squares, over and over. There have been other things I've made where I've loved the yarn, or the pattern, or the fact that it's a DRAGON, so much that it was the only thing I worked on for days or weeks until it was finished. But this blanket remains my favorite.

I was trying to figure out why that might be, and decided it comes from two reasons.

First, there is the material I'm using. This is a blanket made from sock yarn, but more importantly, it is made from yarn that was already used for various projects. With each new square, I am reminded of a previous pair of socks, each of which took hours of work. Many of them were gifts, and I am reminded of the person who owns those socks and of the relationship we share. Many of them are sitting in my sock drawer, and I am reminded of a pattern I particularly enjoyed, or even of the place I bought the yarn. A few are even from pairs that have already worn out from being used a little too frequently. I love that the simple act of making a simple blanket can bring back so many memories, of people, and of the time and dedication I have put into doing something that I love.

The time spent on this project is the second reason this is my favorite project. Most of my projects take an average of a few weeks. Hats I can usually whip out in a day or two, while a lace shawl might take closer to several months. This is definitely not anything close to instant gratification, but I can generally see some serious progress in a very short period of time. Working on the blanket reminds me of the importance of the process, as well as the product, of knitting. Each square takes 20-30 minutes to complete. It's not particularly exciting work- it can be downright boring sometimes, which is why it spends so much time in its basket. But the blanket reminds me that some things are worth taking time. Lots of time. 

In a culture that puts so much emphasis on instant gratification, it's important for me to remember that not everything needs to happen immediately. Part of the pleasure in creating is in the anticipation of the finished product. 

This is true for me, as well as my blanket. I am an unfinished project. It's nice to think that, even during times when I am frustrated by my failings and parts of me that I wish were different, I am constantly growing and changing and being worked on by the Creator. And even though the end product can be hard to see sometimes, I can find comfort in the knowledge that at some point all of the unfinished pieces will come together and I will see the whole picture of who I am supposed to be. Little by little, square by square, I am moving toward the finish. And it will be a glorious finish.

Restart?

It's entirely possible this is only happening because it's late, and I can't fall asleep. But since I've been amusing myself by looking at other blogs, I suppose it's not unreasonable that I would end up here.
Actually, I have been thinking lately about restarting this blog, even in times when I was not affected by a bout of insomnia. I've also made a goal for myself to be better about taking pictures, so I'm thinking this may be a good way of combining the two. With that said:
I've finally been doing some legitimate adventuring in the past week or so! I made it up to Tuolomne Meadows for the first time, and I am still a little shocked that it took me so long to make the trip. I guess if I'd known what I was missing, I would have found my way much sooner.

I didn't take any pictures my first day, because I was at a Trespassers show and too busy dancing and listening to good music, but the next morning I set off with Lily to have an adventure!

We decided our adventure would consist of hiking the Glen Aulin trail, as recommended by another friend, Katie. It's 6 miles in, but we figured we could go as far as time would allow, and head back early if needed. (In retrospect, we probably should have gotten more information about the hike before we went, as Katie is not always an accurate judge of adventure difficulty levels. She likes to run half marathons.) 

So we did end up making it all the way to the end of the trail, which is a backpacker's camp. We definitely passed several people on the trail who asked how long we were staying, and were a little confused when we told them we were only hiking in for the day. I guess 12.5 mile hikes at 8000 foot elevation is not something that people do very often. Lily and I are just cool like that. Also, here is where we stopped for lunch and some wading/swimming.

All in all, a beautiful day with a good friend, and a long, tired drive back. I may have done some waddling around the next couple days because my legs were protesting, but it was definitely worth it. I'm already figuring out when I can go back, and who to take with me.

I had another adventure a few days later, but that is a story for another day...

I just spent a little time reading through all my old blog posts from high school. And as interesting as it is to reread some of those posts, (some, not all. I was really boring a few times...) I decided it was time to move on. It may be beneficial for me to remember where I was, and what I felt, and the ways that God moved in my life, but I'm not really interested in sharing that with the rest of the world. To be honest, I was a little embarrassed about how trivial most of the entries were. I definitely went through a phase of posting things just for the sake of writing on the blog, without taking into consideration the fact that no one was actually reading it. I don't know that anyone will be reading this either, but my purpose in writing tonight is more for my own sake and for getting my thoughts out. It's interesting how getting back into school has changed my perspective in that area. For a while I sort of gave up writing for myself because I either thought I had nothing to say, or I was embarrassed when I reread things. But after writing all semester for school, I think I've finally started to rediscover my voice.
It's interesting to me that I have always had such mixed feelings about writing. In school I've always been a strong student, and have always gotten positive feedback on my assignments. But what does that actually say about my writing? It never gave me much confidence or pleasure. I always put off writing assignments until the last minute, and I don't think I've ever actually taken the time to proofread a paper since high school-I never wanted to reread my own words. Too embarrassed with my own thoughts to take the time to reflect on them. Too stuck on the ideals of perfection to actually take the time to improve my work. That last thought seems rather counterintuitive, but it's accurate. One of the strangest things in my struggles with perfectionism has been coming to terms with the fact that it manifests itself by convincing me that if I don't do my best on things, I won't be disappointed when my best doesn't end up being perfect.
I've been thinking tonight about an article I read earlier today. It talked about how people who grow up being told they are good students, or smart, rather than being told they are hard workers, have trouble later on in life with confidence and motivation. Because they used to thinking of themselves as naturally good at something, it follows that the things that give them trouble are things they are "naturally" just not good at. And this means that when they fail at something, rather than trying harder or changing strategies, or any number of other coping mechanisms, they simply give up and move on, convinced that if they were able to do it, they would do it naturally on the first try. The article also said that girls were especially susceptible to this way of thinking, because girls are so often told that they are good, or well-behaved, or whatever.
The reason this article has stayed on my mind for so long tonight is because I saw so many connections to my own life. I know, in the part of my mind that can detach itself from my emotions, that I am intelligent, capable, and talented. I know that if I were to give things my full effort, there are few things I could not do, even if I had to try a few times to do them. And all my experience in this area has taught me that these things are true. When I have pushed myself past my own inclination to stop when things get difficult, or when I couldn't do something on the first try, I have generally found that I could not only do things, but do them well. What I have not been able to do, is to solidify this knowledge to the point of finally having confidence in myself. I still, after years of being a student, cannot break the habit of procrastination, because there is part of me that needs to have an excuse to fail beyond my own potential lack of ability. A part of me that needs to be able to say "well, I probably could have done that better, but since I don't have time, here is the best I could do under the circumstances." And even though it usually turns out fine, or better than fine, I never give myself the option of saying "here, I worked on this to the utmost of my ability, this is TRULY the best that I could have done." And I think it's because I am too afraid of the possibility that the best I can do isn't good enough. It's a funny paradox, really. I stay contented with good grades on what is probably for me, mediocre work, rather than putting in the time and effort to truly try for the best I could possibly do because for some reason I'm afraid of what people would think of my best.
This all goes back to the constant struggle to grasp the fact that in God's eyes, I am enough. Not just enough, but beautifully and wonderfully made in His own image. I don't often give myself goals because it seems like I'm trying to force the future, but I think for this it will be worth it. My goal: to live life steeped in the knowledge that I am God's beloved child, that I have nothing to fear from failure, and that the worst that can happen is what I'm already doing- not living up to my full potential. I may need to keep reminding myself of this, but it doesn't change the truth. I really can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Can I really believe that my personal inhibitions and lack of confidence can stand up to the love and support from the maker of the universe? Well, not when I put it like that... Let's hope I can keep things in context and make a strong end to this semester. It's not for my own benefit I decided to go into teaching, after all. God's the one who decided on that, and if He hadn't pushed me here I wouldn't have made it this far. And He isn't about to give up on me.