a bend in the road

As a personal rule, I don't talk about my work in this space. But now, it's not just work. It is personal, and I can't discuss this without talking a bit about my job.

I learned a little over two weeks ago that my department is being relocated to our office in the greater Seattle area. You can check it on a map; it's not terribly far from where I live now -- roughly 100 miles. But it is away, nonetheless.

I was alternately frozen and shaking as they delivered the news and we were presented with a variety of options. This can't be happening. Within the first few days of hearing the news, I experienced an array of different emotions: anger, betrayal, excitement, hope, sadness, elation. One moment I was hopeful and ready to explore my options, and the next I was a puddle of tears. We learned in the change management workshop following the announcement that it was normal to zig-zag all over the emotional map. And so I gave a chance for the shock to wear off and just two days ago, made my decision official.

When friends and family initially heard the news, there were a variety of opinions expressed and solutions offered. Take the severance. Just get a new job. Time to start something new anyway. And I quickly understood that I didn't care to hear any of them -- this was my life and my decision -- one I had to make on my own.

This is not just a job for me; it's about the relationships I've developed over the past several years of working with some of the most highly-tenured and highly-skilled people in the company. I had to consider those relationships, the state of our economy, my benefits package, the job market in my current town (difficult even in healthy economic circumstances), and so on. As I considered these things, I likewise felt my heart pull toward family, church, friends, and the doctors that I have such good relationships with and whom I have come to depend upon for my physical well-being. All these things are Bellingham and home to me. And so I realized that no matter what I chose, my ship of safety was rocked. Nothing about this was going to be easy.

So here it is: I'm moving to Seattle. I'm keeping my job. And while there is still some lingering sadness over what I'll be giving up by moving, there is also excitement beginning to bubble up about those things I cannot yet see waiting for me beyond this bend.

winding tracks photo by kirsten.michelle

six more random things

Because he makes me laugh and calls me his gluten-free friend, I am taking 23 Degrees's tag-back request to share six more random things. :o)

First, a correction to a random thing in the original post.
I was 2 or 3 years old when the robin egg eating incident occurred, not 5 or 6, and I thought you should know. Thanks for keeping me honest, Mom!!


1. The latte diet took a detour.
I had to switch to decaf because regular coffee was making me break out like a thirteen-year-old. Sadly, even the so-called Anti-Acne Blend that Caleb was good enough to send to me – that he roasted himself at Yaks, by the way – resulted in several facial eruptions of the pimply kind (but that dangerously dark roast is so stinking delicious, I almost didn’t care about the zits). Sometimes I sneak a few fully-leaded beans into my morning grind because 1) it would be tragic and irresponsible of me to let perfectly good coffee beans go to waste, and 2) I’m rebellious & fond of testing my limits.


2. No dish needed.
As far as I’m concerned, this is on my Top 10 List of Things I Love About Being Single. I bought it, no one else eats it, no one else has a right to complain about it, and there is just no sense in dirtying the dish (I do, however, use a spoon). So yes, I am going to be so audacious as to stand in the kitchen & eat Luna & Larry’s Coconut Bliss Mint Galactica ice cream Straight From the Container.


3. Gasp!! Where is my French homework?!
It would be exaggerating to call them nightmares, but several times a year, I have the same dream that I’m back in high school & have forgotten my French homework and my locker combination. The anxiety that attends these dreams is such that I wake up tense, frantic, my heart pounding with dread, wondering how in the world I could be so irresponsible as to forget my French homework (gasp!!). Incidentally, I never forgot my locker combo, & the one time I forgot a homework assignment in high school, it was for a government class (American government to be specific, which did not involve any guillotines as far as I recall).


4. Gladiator love.
When Christin and I were roommates in our senior year at Biola, we fell in love with the movie Gladiator. We saw it no less than three times in the movie theater, primarily because we were so enamored of the character Maximus (aided in no small part by the fact that he was played by Russell Crowe). Seriously … what’s not to love about a fierce warrior who, when asked how long it’s been since he has been home with his wife and son, replies, “Two years, two hundred and sixty-four days and this morning”? Aw …


5. A trouble-maker, even in utero.
My havoc-wreaking days on this earth began before I even exited the womb; just ask my Mom. I certainly kicked as babies do, but I did kicking one better. I became fond of sticking one of my feet up in between Mom’s ribs. She would push it down and I would put it right back. She would push it down again, and I would shove that cute little foot right back into the same place in those ribs. Over and over again. She was still sore long after I was born because I had managed to break three ribs and tear some cartilage. Ow. Sorry, Mom!


6. Car trip countdown.
If you’ve seen my sidebar, you know I’m a fan of countdowns. On one now infamous family vacation to the Oregon coast when I was about 10 years old, I asked my dad how long it would be until we arrived at our destination. He told me, about two hours. And I asked, how many minutes is that? He told me it was 120 minutes. I would periodically pop my head forward to the little digital clock taped to the dash of the old Chevy Citation and announce: 119 minutes! 118 minutes! 117 minutes! 116 minutes! I think it was at about 114 minutes! that Mom had had enough and ripped (ripped, I tell you!!) that little clock right off the dash.

Whew! For now this gluten-free-eating-decaf-coffee-drinking-standing-in-the-kitchen-eating-coconut-milk-ice-cream-French-homework-dreaming-gladiator-loving-troublemaking-rib-breaking-countdowning girl is going to wrap herself in some red flannel sheets and call it a night.

Peace to you all, and have a great weekend!

pre-grad photo of christin & kirsten {may 2000}

coffee photo by kirsten.michelle

celebration {me}

So what have I been up to lately? So glad you asked!

There are a few words I could use:

affirmation.

identity.

celebration.

beauty.

fun.

laughter.

imago dei.

me.

I could try and use more words, but the pictures do a pretty good job, too.

{click on the photo to see a few more}

And I'm only getting warmed up.

In an e-mail I sent to friends yesterday, I said:

those of you who have been witness to my journey in any capacity over the last few weeks & months know that i've been taking a meandering & oftentimes reluctant journey not only toward realizing that God made me to be a writer, but toward beginning to understand & to embrace my unique God-given identity as a woman, as God's child, & as one called to be a minister of His grace in a way i'm only beginning to understand. not only that, i've been learning to appreciate, to like & to love all these crazy & amazing things God has planted in me that make me unlike any other.

this photo session was about taking that truth another step & really just celebrating it: celebrating the unfolding of God's plan taking root & blooming in me. it was a wildly fun & empowering experience and (i think) captured some of that imago dei in me.

I guess it's something like that.

It took several weeks for this to go from an idea {I think I want to have a photo session by myself} to actually getting up the guts to research photographers and finally to reach out to the only one who seemed like a good fit {submit comment on photographer's website: do you do this kind of thing?? I'm not getting married or having a baby, is it really okay to do this??}. Eventually, I realized I didn't care if other people had done it; I wanted to do it.

And then it came time to move from concept to reality: hello, butterflies!!

It was nearly two weeks ago that Jen and I dared to traipse all over our local downtown area in the thick of the busiest time of the day: people getting off work, driving by, watching. Me posing, smiling, standing tall and standing out. Tossing flowers, laughing, celebrating. Intimidating at first, but ultimately:

fun. celebratory. affirming. empowering.

An enormous thanks to the lovely, delightful, immensely talented, goofy, and amazing Jen Fox who was my partner and advocate in this project {who, not-so-incidentally, I also went to high school with. What fun!!}.

All this got me thinking: what are some other ways we can affirm and celebrate ourselves?

remembering her

I'm hitting a wall.

I've been working on my book proposal and I'm hitting a wall, but it's not what you might think. The words come freely and prolifically, except for when I try to remember her. I'm trying to plough full steam ahead and find myself bumping up against a wall of forgetting whenever I try to write about her.

Maybe that's the problem: I'm writing about her. I'm not thinking of writing about me, the thirteen-year-old who learned to cope by building walls. Disconnecting. Responding to her body's perceived betrayal by treating it like her enemy. She turned away from the body she lived in, putting up heavy barriers in the roadway of communication between herself and her flesh. At some point she said, Okay, Body. If this is how you're going to be, we're not talking anymore.

I can write freely of the ensuing bout with anorexia, about the numbness I allowed following the car accident, about the arrhythmia that held me prisoner for a time during my senior year in college. But I can't remember her. She made a deal with herself to choke off any pathways of remembering, to burn the bridges that might lead back to those painful places of being burdened with a body. I trust innately that I cannot sidestep these places or take a detour; without fully understanding why, I know that there are not any shortcuts to take if I'm going to be faithful to the story God wants to write, a story that I believe He intends to direct to a destination beyond my imagining, a place I can only describe as claiming His grace in and for the body. My body.

I remember learning a great deal about the nervous system following my car accident in 1996. I would frequently experience numbness in my face, tingling in my limbs. My neurologist explained to me that when the nerves are overstimulated, they begin to shut down, to turn themselves off. When the signals and stimulus gets to be more than they can handle, the flesh stops feeling altogether. The brain refuses to process the signals from overloaded circuits. Numbness is the result.

I think that's what I'm contending with here: a thirteen-year-old who was overloaded, ill-equipped to manage all the changes thrown at her, both from inside and from outside her body; she disconnected from those things she could not reckon with at the time. These are the very things I need help to remember.

I called my Mom this afternoon and asked her for what she remembers from that time. And that helped; I remember far more now than I did before I spoke with her. And some of her memories of that time brought fresh tears to my eyes; those numb, cold places are starting to tingle with feeling. They're waking up and for the first time in seventeen years, I'm taking notice of those sharp slivers still embedded deep in my flesh. I'm afraid to feel those things fully, to allow myself the space to fling open wide the gates to those memories.

I have a compass now, a direction; hearing these things from her helped me to get my bearings. I can begin to remember now, to take stock of my surroundings, and to continue walking, learning to trust in the grace that is now with me, and in the grace that is waiting for me in the hidden and forgotten places.

kirsten, circa 1990 {taken by dad}

celebrating with friends

On Saturday night, a few friends joined me for a birthday dinner at Impromptu Wine Bar in Seattle. This restaurant is a very special place; with only twenty-five seats in the entire restaurant, my birthday dinner took up nearly one-third of the restaurant's available seats. My friend Peggy introduced me to the restaurant when she found a piece in the Seattle Times about Gluten-Free Girl whose husband is executive chef at Impromptu. This is a place where someone with food allergies like mine may dine with complete and utter abandon and enjoy a sumptuous meal; the restaurtant is almost entirely gluten-free.

Not only were the food and wine ridiculously [as in close your eyes & moan] delicious, but I could not have been surrounded by better company. I was joined by my sister Kaari, my friend Peggy and her husband Adam, my friend Ilse and her boyfriend Brian, as well as Taylor, one of my good friends and partners in crime from work. It was a cold night, but I was enveloped in love, laughter, and warmth. I am every bit as fortunate with my friends here as I am in the blogosphere; and that, my friends, is a lot of love. And who could ask for a better celebration of life than that?

peggy & me

inside the restaurant

from inside the restaurant

getting ready @ the hotel

the wine list

kaari & me getting ready @ the hotel

L to R: adam, peggy, me, taylor

everyone! clockwise from L: adam, peggy, me, taylor, kaari, ilse, brian

see all 30th birthday dinner photos

an anatomy of exhaustion

I am positively spent. Exhausted. Part of me wonders why I’m here typing when I could be slipping into unconsciousness on the couch or staring off into space, absentmindedly sipping a glass of wine and fantasizing about a twenty-first century Mr. Darcy.

I don’t speak often of my work here; like many people, the means by which I secure a paycheck is not fulfilling any childhood dreams or lifelong goals. But I am fortunate in that I do like my job and the people I work with. I am challenged, I am stretched, and I am making positive contributions in my current role. Knowing that God has plans for me as a writer, I am content with my current employment.

The past seven to eight months have been challenging. Workloads have increased and department staffing has decreased. A new product offering launched in July was rushed, creating unanticipated challenges and demands across the organization; we are still reeling from the fallout, eyes widening like deer caught in the headlights as the numbers continue to rise. As a result, I’ve been working 50-60 hour weeks fairly consistently for the past six months at least.

Add to that my efforts to maintain my overall health, experiencing a breakup, attempting to maintain friendships, developing my writing, delving into deep explorations of faith, and you have a recipe for one extremely tired blogger.

Today was one of those days where moments of stillness were achieved only by periodic trips to the restroom. My team was busy preparing our department for a magnificent push of mandatory overtime tomorrow in addition to participating in the requisite meetings (five in all), maintaining daily responsibilities, and ensuring our new-hires were supported appropriately.

Bleh. Bland stuff, I know.

Knowing all the busyness of this week and the weeks that preceded it demanded a deliberate act of relaxation on my part, I went to my favorite coffeeshop after work, ordered a tall soy chai, and planted myself near the fireplace. I opened the book I’ve been toting around with me all week, but have not had a chance to open until this afternoon. I curled my hands around the cup, allowing the moist heat of the drink to seep through the cup and translate its warmth to my hands. I savored my drink, closing my eyes and took pleasure in the mild and unassuming balance of vanilla and cinnamon.

When I returned home, I was faced with a new set of realities and my mind began to reel again. It went something like this:

I see a small pile of my things that have been taking up space in the corner of my dining room for the past few weeks newly deposited at the bottom of the stairs leading up to my bedroom. I suddenly feel that perhaps despite my best efforts not to be a slacker, I am shirking my responsibilities as a housemate, but frankly don’t think I could possibly handle their response if the two who live with me agree with my inkling of guilt. When I get to my bedroom, I am confronted with the laundry basket full of folded laundry that has been sitting there, begging to be put away since last week. I see the clothes I bought over a week ago (also neatly folded), tags still attached and still not put away. I see that my bookshelves are in desperate need of dusting and that I have that huge poinsettia gift bag sitting on my floor, stuffed with remnants of wrapping paper and gift receipts. Clearly, I need to relax. Relax, relax, relax!! I think that maybe taking a bath will do the trick, so I walk into the bathroom and look at the tub. It was six days since I last cleaned it, and odd strands of long curly red hair (whose could they be?) are strewn across the surface of the tub. Who cares, it’s my hair anyway, I reason, so I brave it anyway. I run the water and pour in the pomegranate-scented bubble bath. I light a couple candles, turn off the lights, and slip into a tub full of water that is neither too hot nor too tepid and feel a brief moment of physical and mental release. Perfect! Ah, relaxation! I stretch my hands down the length of my tired shins and calves and realize that it’s been far too long since they had any sort of acquaintance with a razor. Why does that clock tick so loudly? I'm really getting lax in my bathroom cleaning. I start to think about all the witty and insightful comments I’ve read on various blog posts today and wonder why I bothered when my own wit was substandard and my insight on par with a houseplant. I start to think about writing my own post about this dilemma of mine and start to wonder if I really should be including the bit about needing to shave my legs. Is that too much information? How could I describe the perfect chai latte? I really need to go back to yoga. Bubble bath makes a funny sound as it disappears into the tubwater. What will Elyse wear for her picture on Sunday? I hate it when people talk on their cell phones in restroom stalls. Does that sign with the cell phone in the center of that bold red circle/slash mean nothing? I really like the color orange. I wonder what Nathan looks like. I really need a pedicure. But I think green is still my favorite.

And it went downhill from there:

yoga mat digital camera purple shirt havarti cheese frizzy hair seven-up camel pose savasana locust simultaneous charley horses olives red skirt hair do skinny pants kombucha orange shirt Julia Roberts green beans pirates fuzzy socks and do I like the color pink birthday party kleenex wine cork Ireland training wheels evolution Hilary Clinton cute Starbucks crossword guy gym dues StoryCorps dripping faucet spaghetti sauce teapot jet lag sushi Scrabble nail clippers yellow monkey hoop skirts monkey monkey underpants amen

What the … ?

[really, it’s okay to laugh]

Realizing now would be a good time to invoke my own advice, I went to my bedroom and turned off the lights. I stretched out on the floor and took several slow and deliberate breaths. With my mind reeling like it was, it took an enormous act of the will to

just
stay
still

I stayed that way for some time, concentrating on my breathing. I shoved away every intrusion that demanded I be conscious of the passing time and instead focused my energy on every single slow and intentional breath. Gradually, the mind and the pulse slowed. I felt my belly rise and thought of how the blood circulated through my body with every miracle of a heartbeat. I thought of the electrical signals coming from my brain, the rhythmic squeezing of the heart muscle, the valves in countless blood vessels opening and closing the way God designed them to open and close without our needing to will it. Slowly, my mind and my body intersected again. I allowed myself to move my body into a few remembered yoga postures and enjoyed the feeling of lengthening and stretching, of defying frenzy. I stayed in the darkness and simply breathed. When I finally left my room, I discovered I had been in there a full hour.

And now here I am, telling you all about it, telling you I actually succeeded employing my own advice. I will have to say no to some good things. Didn’t I say that? I really do love how things have taken off with blogging lately. I love visiting new blogs and having new visitors find my own. But with my fifty and sixty hour workweeks, attempting to maintain my health and my sanity, do something to develop my own writing, attempting to stay in communication with everyone, and finding the time to squeeze in some sleep and teeth-brushing, something’s gotta give. I trust that with my friends here, no apologies are necessary if I don’t wave my arm and interject myself into all the conversations and goings-on.

I am here breathing and doing my best to stay on the right side of insanity. If I don’t, there will be an increasing number of houseplant insights and many more instances of monkey monkey underpants.

Good night, dear friends. Know I hold you in my thoughts and in my heart and in my prayers. Much love to you all.

facing the day photo by kirsten.michelle

more fiercely me

God utters me like a word containing a partial thought of himself. A word will never be able to comprehend the voice that utters it. But if I am true to the concept God utters in me, if I am true to the thought in him I was meant to embody, I shall be full of his actuality and find him everywhere in myself, and find myself nowhere. I shall be lost in him.

Thomas Merton, Seeds of Contemplation

I have been doing a fair amount of peering back over my shoulder these days, considering what the past year has been for me. I am doing this not for the sake of nostalgia so much as wanting to pause to consider the hard-won lessons this year brought so I can move forward with the wisdom they brought.

Like so many people I know, I learn best the hard way; heartache is a fierce and unrelenting teacher, but its lessons are rarely forgotten. Much of what I learned is so blaringly obvious on an intellectual level that when you read what is on my list, you might be tempted to think this girl is dumb as a pile of rocks (but I know you are all far too kind to say or think such things). It was only when I learned these lessons through making my own blunders and recovering from them that I could live to the truth of these authentically and from my heart. If you ask me, there's no other way to live and walk through the world.

I am continuing to learn to listen to and to be good to my body. I was often in the habit of exercising when I desperately needed rest, pushing myself past stiffness and exhaustion. When faced with an extended and unexplained illness, I had to pay close attention to what I put into my body, to the messages it sent me (such as need rest! or don't eat that!), and to heed them. When I am good to my body, it is good to me. I am continually amazed at the capacities with which God endowed it for strengthening, healing, and adapting.

This year saw the end of two dating relationships with men who couldn't be more different (one with no religious faith, the other high-church) or more the same. So many hard lessons came to the fore with these relationships. The long and the short of it was that I bent myself to become who they wanted me to be, made myself so pliable as to try and fit the molds of what they each bore in mind as ideal. It was only in hindsight that I see it this way; at the time I justified it as making those sorts of compromises that were necessary for the health of any relationship. While I always want to be challenged, developing myself, and learning new things, I learned (in a soul-deep, very gut-wrenching sort of way) that any relationship that asks me to be someone other than myself is a relationship not worth having. [Can I get an AMEN?!]

I am learning the delicate and appropriate balance between transparency and vulnerability on one hand and appropriate and healthy boundaries on the other. There were times this year where my transparency invited heartache that was ultimately avoidable and unnecessary. I've learned that the people who love me will respect and observe my boundaries when I declare and enforce them. With this, I am learning not to feel defensive or apologetic about drawing these lines, by limiting access in my life where I once permitted others to roam freely.

I am more aware of my heart than ever before. Just because my heart is not intellectual does not mean it is not wise; the mind and the heart are not opposed to one another as I often seemed to think. This lesson was won with months of tears, sweat, and prayers and ultimately came about when I gave up on the need to understand it all and simply opened my hands, allowing my heart what it needed, letting it speak, and paying attention to what it said. I really had no idea how much I stifled it until I came to a place where I was suffocating it completely. In the giving up, in that sweet wake of surrender, it was as if two long-going parallel lines intersected in the wilderness inside me. I don't know how else to describe it. Long in the habit of giving the intellect precedence, I am learning (like the tab on the Yogi teabag says) to have my head bow to my heart. This one was and is earthshaking and recent enough for me that I will expect that this lesson is one that I will continue to return to, distill, and approach from different vantage points as I progress in my journey. I know this lesson is only the beginning of something, that as this lesson unfolds and blooms inside me, I will better be able to live fully in the present moment. I will be learning to live with arms and heart wide open.

I think I am falling in love with myself. I don't mean this in a vain or self-centered way. What I mean is that as God's unique design in me continues to unfold and reveal itself, I'm liking what I see. I'm excited! In my more insecure moments in life, I have co-opted and puppeted traits in others I thought were cool or admirable, either because I did not like or did not know myself. Some of these borrowed characteristics were more ill-fitting than others. As I continue to see those false and borrowed things scraped away, I am thrilled to discover the me that lies beneath, to nurture this person as the truth of her is uncovered.

All these lessons (and the others too numerous to list here) have revealed more to me about myself and have granted me as strong an appreciation as I have ever had for being uniquely me: unlike anyone else in all creation, as singular as a snowflake or a thumbprint and infinitely more precious. I am a word spoken by God just once in all eternity, containing a partial thought of Himself; I am part of the story He is telling.

And speaking of singularity, there are a few more things you might be interested in knowing about me, truths that are neither deep nor hard-won (but amusing, I hope!) ...

• I use no less than three styling products on my hair.
• I'm very vigilant about eating healthfully, but admit I have a weakness for Kettle brand Sea Salt & Vinegar potato chips.
• When frustrated or flustered, the exclamation most likely to escape my lips is, oh for Pete's sake! You might also hear good gravy!
• If asked to name a favorite color, there's a 99% chance I'll say "green", but I recently starting flirting with the color orange. We like each other quite a bit & our future together looks promising.
• I keep red flannel sheets and a down comforter on my bed year-round.
• I actually enjoy doing laundry; few things give me as much domestic pleasure as folding my towels perfectly and stacking my washcloths into color-coordinated piles.
• I still like blowing bubbles and seeing how high I can swing on the swingset.
• I was the kid who colored the hallways of her childhood home with crayon, who lifted her dress over her head in the church Christmas program, and who wrote her name in the side of her Dad's car with his keys.
• I cannot watch Love Actually, Mona Lisa Smile, or Moulin Rouge without crying.
• I am a bit of a music addict, but were I ever in the unlikely & unfortunate position of being able to listen to just one CD for the rest of my life, it would be Deb Talan's A Bird Flies Out. No contest!

I want to thank those of you who journey with me, whether you are new friends or old, whether or not I've ever seen your face ... thank you for walking with me, for laughing with me, for crying with me, and praying with me. Thank you for joining me on my journey, and for inviting me to be a part of your own.

Blessings!

mug o' wisdom photo by kirsten.michelle

Of Surpassed Expectations, Very Many Pleasant Surprises, & the Consumption of Humble Pie (or, How a Boy & Girl Met): Part 2

In which Kirsten resumes the story in the first person and consumes at least two helpings of the Pie.

It occurred to me only as I was driving to meet Mike at the agreed-upon location: Holy crap!! I'm driving to go meet someone I met on the internet!! What was I thinking?!

Not one to back down at the last minute or avoid potentially awkward circumstances simply because they might be awkward, I kept driving, desperately attempting to ignore the fact that my pulse had accelerated and that my instantly clammy hands belied the otherwise calm & cool exterior I was determined to maintain.

This was not my typical Wednesday afternoon. Not by a longshot.

I couldn't run away from this now. And after all, he had driven up from south Seattle to meet me. Not a short jaunt, by any means. I had signed on for this, had I not? Get a grip, Kirsten!

I am normally a timely person (in fact, I like to show up at least 5 minutes early for everything), but cut my departure time close. As [ill] luck would have it, I was delayed by construction crews, grooved pavement, and unfriendly red traffic lights [sidenote: all good northwesterners know that there are not four seasons here, but three: wet, wetter, & road construction]. I arrived at the destination a few minutes later than expected thinking, dear God, now he's going to think I don't care or that I'm a habitually late person. As if my blood pressure weren't high enough at the moment.

Any awkwardness I felt passed in less than a minute from our meeting. Our conversation was easy, relaxed, and natural. In what felt like a few minutes, two hours had passed. Drinks turned to dinner, which turned to ice cream (sorbet for me, the food-allergy girl), which turned to a walk on the pier on my favorite stretch of local waterfront. Before I knew it, nearly seven hours had passed from the moment I walked in [a few minutes late] to meet him for drinks.

He gave me some CDs to listen to; while we liked many of the same obscure indie bands, he had a few he just knew I would love [in which he was later proven right]. And I knew I'd have to get these back to him eventually, in which the female mind concludes: second date.

.

Another impression of the first meeting? We're also both unabashedly honest, straight-forward people. No games, no hiding, no beating around the bush here. I've always been this way to some degree, but no one I've dated has ever expressed any sort of appreciation of this quality. I never realized until now how much I tempered that trait of mine and kept it under wraps for others who didn't care so much for it. And it was reciprocated in a big way: I like you. I want to see you again. I knew within 10 minutes that you were someone amazing. What are you doing next weekend?

[Ow. My arms are still bruised from how I've pinched them.]

This was pretty much the best first date I've had; a sentiment we both shared. In a matter of hours -- minutes, really -- I felt like I was spending time with someone I had known my whole life. I felt that every relationship cliche I had heard over the years was coming true; I was embodying every single one of them. It will happen when you least expect it. You mean that's really true? When you know, you know. Seriously?

[cue first slice of Humble Pie]

When we spoke two days later, I was glad to hear (to be reminded, really) that my own assessment of our first meeting was not obscured; whatever this was, this was fairly extraordinary. We had connected; I wasn't fabricating this in my own mind [something those of us creative, imaginative types need to watch out for sometimes]. I was going to be in Seattle that weekend and we agreed to meet Sunday afternoon.

We went had lunch at a little Mexican cantina in Fremont (the area of Seattle where the famous Fremont Troll resides) and briefly wandered around the area. Our three hours together weren't nearly long enough. I had to get on the road to get to my sister's birthday dinner on time. Suffice it to say, goodbye was difficult. And I returned home a bit later than was intended.

But leave I did, and he came back up the following Wednesday, just one week from our initial meeting. He brought me a big, beautiful pot of red mums (see photo in sidebar at the right). We went to a local wine bar, to a local eatery for some great Italian food, and for a drive along the water. This goodbye came with increased difficulty, and I went to bed too late for the third night in a week.

And here is where the Second Slice of Humble Pie comes into play. You may recall the first post in which I told a friend: What could possibly happen? It's the internet! I ate thick, hearty slices of those words, but [luckily] they went down relatively easily; somehow, I didn't take exception to being wrong about this. Said friend was present and only too happy to ensure each word was chewed thoroughly prior to swallowing.

[It is good and advisable to have a spotter nearby when eating this much Humble Pie]

Not only was this internet dating gig working out well for me [for which I only deigned to sign on, if you recall], it was doing so within one month of when I had joined. And on the first date I had. Most of the eHarmony "Success Stories" on the website read something like, I had been on eHarmony for 1 and 1/2 years and had nearly given up ... I had been internet dating here for almost two years with no success ... John was the 15th eHarmony date I had gone on after being a member of the site for two years; I was about to cancel my subscription. The expectation is that the process works, but requires the Patience of Job, squared.

The first eHarmony date, within my first month of joining. It's still making my head spin. I hate to use the buzzword "success" in this context. It goes against the grain for me when used to speak of any relationship. But I was looking for something particular, and dare I say so? While it's too early to say the future is going to hold this or that, I can say with confidence that what we've got going on here is something rather extraordinary.

Sunset from the drive along the water [date #3]

So I'm not going to make any declarative statements about the future here, at least not now. But what I may declare definitively is this: here is someone who exceeds my expectations, who sees into me in ways that others often miss, with whom I am entirely unselfconscious, and for whom I have already developed a deep affection.

You know I could go on, but I think my fingers might bleed from that much typing.

I kid you not.

[cue music]


Stay tuned for Part 3 in which I explain how this relationship is teaching me to Carve Out a Path for myself.

Of Low Expectations, Pleasant Surprises, & Slices of Humble Pie (Or, How a Boy & Girl Met): Part 1 of a very un-Fairy Tale

... there was a fair blogger named Kirsten. Kirsten was a single blogger and while she didn’t really mind the fact and found plenty to enjoy about it, she knew she wanted something more. No white knights, no towers, no dragon-guarded castles, mind you; she was no damsel in distress and frankly didn’t have the time or patience to grow sturdy ladder-worthy hair. Frankly, the thought alone made her scalp ache. Sigh. What’s a single gal to do?

Then came a fairy godmother with a sparkling wand …

Okay, so not really. No godmother, just the magic of the internet. On a whim, Kirsten went to eHarmony.com, jumped through the hoops, took the test, and uploaded the photos. What could possibly happen? It's the internet! she quipped to a friend skeptically. Frankly, she didn’t expect much . Frankly, she wasn’t quite sure why she was doing it. Frankly, she was using the word “frankly” too much. That being said, with such low expectations she knew she would not be disappointed when this turned out to be One More Fruitless Endeavor in her quest for True Love. Sigh.

But it was worth a try, right?

Right?

Days and weeks went by. She got the odd requests for communication here and there, and I do mean odd: Do you like dogs? Dogs are so great! I love my dog a lot a lot a lot [Are you sure you're on the correct website?]. How do you feel about moving to Arizona and being a step-mom? [GASP! Choke!] Would you be willing to give up your career and personal goals to stay home and raise our [hypothetical] children? [RUN AWAY NOW!!!] Most of the matches were closed after she discovered that there were plenty of didn’t-fits, not-quite-rights, and not-if-my-life-depended-on-its. There were many days when this eHarmony gig felt like a second full-time job, this weeding through smelly piles of ill-fitting so-called “matches”. Sigh. And sigh again.

[Kirsten has been sighing a lot these days]

One request for communication started out like any other; questions were sent back and forth until finally, both our fair blogger and her would-be suitor decided to take the daring leap into the Land of Open Communication (which amounts to secure e-mails sent to each other via the eHarmony site). Of the two brave souls who dared venture this far, he was the second to make it through the gauntlet of guided communication and Kirsten’s own perilous, daunting, and positively bone-chilling scrutiny. But ... this daring adventurer was the first to whom she would grant a personal audience.

[insert fanfare here]

In short, open communication led to the request for a phone number. When granted, this led to speaking (much to the preference of both parties involved), which led to said personal audience (known in the vernacular as “a date”). This led to, well …

Sigh.

[dramatic pause]

Sigh.

Yep, I’m going to make you wait for that. Cruel, isn’t it? (Fairy tales always contain some small degree of cruelty, you know.)

To be continued … I promise.

Catching My Breath

This post today finds me at the Starbucks just down the street from my apartment; the sun is shining and after the deluge of last weekend, the sun is a welcome relief. These past couple of weeks having left my head spinning and for once, it is nice to sit, soak up the sun (and the WiFi), and to sip on some passion iced tea.

Two weeks ago, I broke up with my boyfriend. The week after that, I had two job interviews (one on Wednesday, the next on Thursday). That Friday, I was offered the job I wanted most (I can finally announce it publicly now -- yeah!!), and turned the other down. During this same week, I found out that the house we had hoped to move into in a few days will not be ready until mid-July at the soonest (they have actually refused to give us a date). I have to be out of my current apartment by the July 8, meaning I will be sans address for at least a week and will have to move twice, finding a home for my boxes, furniture, and other contents of my apartment during that time. Thankfully, my friend Peggy & her husband Adam have graciously agreed to put a roof over my head for as long as I should need one.

Dizzy. Head is spinning.

Since I must be out of my current apartment by the 8th, the bulk of today has been spent doing my traditional Saturday cleaning (bathroom, floors, etc.) as well as boxing up the less essential contents of my apartment. My once-colorful picture and magnet-adorned fridge is stark white and naked. To me, it looks a trifle sad that way. Today I boxed up my books -- all 350 or 400 or them (I have lost count, as I am adding to my collection constantly). All the adornments that gave my apartment personality (framed photos and artwork, mostly) are tucked away in boring white storage boxes, courtesy of Office Depot. Speaking of which, it seems almost criminal to be asked to pay $30 for what amounts to a pile of cardboard (in my opinion, these folding storage boxes are the only way to go when moving massive amounts of books. Any box bigger than that tends to weigh 700 pounds).

I am really looking forward to my new job -- it promises to be a challenge! The raise that accompanies the new title is more than welcome, but is incidental to the fact that I will be doing something I enjoy. I will be a part of my current department's Training & Support team, responsible for evaluating all our current processes, identifying and addressing gaps, and training new hires to perform these processes. I will be responsible for documentation and working interdepartmentally when there is a change or practice that impacts other teams. It will call on my skills of analysis, writing, and being a support to the team. I'm so excited to begin this work, which will begin officially on the 15th.

So yeah ... a lot of ch- ch- ch- changes! If I am remiss is posting or commenting, if I seem to have lost the ability to string words together in coherent sentences, if you start to think I need to make a reservation at a mental health clinic, please let this serve as my explanation for the why of it.

I told the Lord to have His way with me and my goodness -- He took me up on that invitation and is leading me on a grand adventure!! ...

As Promised, the Tattoo

Because Blue Mountain Mama asked so nicely, here is a picture of my tattoo. I had originally written a post to go with it, but didn't like it and therefore deleted it after one kind soul beat me to it & commented on it. So if I ever write it in a way I like it -- assuming my brain is ever again connected with my body -- I just might post it someday.

I believe I can safely promise that this is the most flesh I'll ever display on the internet (not to be outdone by the lovely Christin, who got to show off her surgery scars). I believe I can also safely promise that this is the last photo that will ever put my backside on display. :o)

It's Here!!

The new laptop has finally arrived! After many frustrating phone calls with FedEx, I was finally** able to arrange to pick up my laptop at a local holding facility.

WOO HOO!! Let the writing begin ...

**When I ordered the laptop, I requested that it be shipped to my mom's place of business. I even spelled the street name twice for the representative who took my order. My mom's place of work receives several shipments daily & this way I knew that my package could be signed for and in a safe place. However, it was only when I received notice on my apartment door last week that FedEx had attempted delivery did I discover that due to some unknown mishap, my billing address was also listed as the shipping address. Originally, they told me I could not pick it up, it had to be delivered. Then they told me I could pick it up in a holding facility 30 miles south of where I live. That was clearly not my best option & I became flustered at the shocking lack of customer service being displayed. The FedEx representative remarked that delivery would be attempted the following day. When I replied that I have a full-time job and could not wait at home all day for the package, the representative said "really?" as if it were the most incredulous thing he had heard all day that I should have a job. When I asked to have it re-routed, they said only the shipper could do that. So I called the shipper & they told me sorry, they were unable to re-route the package (even though I had originally given them a different shipping address). Finally, I called FedEx again yesterday & they are holding it for me at the local FedEx facility which is just a couple miles from where I work.

At last! SIGH.

Care & Maintenance of the Curly Coiffure

Over the years I (like many of my curly-haired friends) have been stopped & complimented on my hair. "Yes, it's naturally curly." I always thank them for the compliment and if asked, refer them to Lori, the woman who (I am convinced) is the best hair therapist this side of the Atlantic Ocean.

I certainly cannot take credit for the hair being curly; that was God's doing. When I was being formed in the womb, He spliced genes together in the perfect marriage of DNA between my parents and voila! Kirsten is born with curly locks.

The only thing I can reasonably take credit for is the maintenance of my mane, which is an ongoing experiment in the right combination and balance of products used at the appropriate time (as almost anyone with curly hair will tell you). It is a common occurrence to stop or be stopped by another curly-haired woman in the restroom & to hear the question, “what do you use?” We are always on the quest not only for the perfect products, but the perfect combination of products. A discussion of the four or five indispensable gels, mousses, creams, and sprays & their proper applications can have two curly-haired strangers locked in conversation for considerable amounts of time.

The ironic thing about having naturally curly hair is that the process of making it look like something other than an SOS pad struck by lightning is one that is anything but "natural". Honestly, I am not complaining. I love having curly hair! It's just that those who think they want it cannot know the time one must invest to keep it in good shape. The morning regimen varies from head to head, but the common thread is time & multiple products. Lest anyone be covetous of a curly-haired mop, here is my typical morning hair regimen:

Every 2-3 days:

1. Shampoo hair (this is done every 2-3 days to prevent the hair from drying out)
   

Every day:

1. After hair is wet (& shampoo rinsed out), brush through intensive conditioner.
2. Rinse.
3. Once out of the shower, wrap towel around the head in an attractive turban.
4. After 5-7 minutes (I am putting on makeup during this time), remove the turban.
5. Apply flexible hold/anti-frizz gel throughout hair.
6. Flip head upside down and shake out curls with fingers.
7. Apply curl-enhancing mousse throughout hair.
8. Flip head right-side up. Don’t touch the curls!
9. In about 2-4 minutes (after finishing final makeup touchups), blow-dry with a diffuser (this takes about 5-6 minutes).
10. Apply finishing crème (a light conditioning crème that helps tame frizz created by blow-drying and other environmental stressors).
11. Finish with flexible-hold hairspray & more finishing crème as needed.

Sadly, following the same routine daily does not guarantee that my hair behaves or looks the same, nor does it mean it won’t turn into a poofball rivaling a lion's mane the instant it comes in contact with the moisture in the air that is ubiquitous to the Pacific Northwest. Nevertheless, in an effort not to look like the offspring of Medusa, I follow & modify the routine & hope for the best.

Can I get an "AMEN" from the curly-haired girls?

Cars on Ice

All the snow & ice that's been hanging around finally reared its ugly head at me yesterday. In my 13 years of driving, I've driven in snowy & icy conditions enough to know how to handle myself, my car, & to know when conditions warrant locking the door and staying at home. In this storm we've been fortunate in that the main roads have been kept clear & dry (for the most part), making driving far less treacherous than the winter storm we had in November.

Yesterday, I went to renew my driver's license (my birthday is on Tuesday - yikes!) and after I was done, decided I wanted to stop at Starbucks to get a latte. I pulled slowly into left hand turn lane & gently applied my brakes. Time slowed down, the wheels stopped turning, but my car did not stop moving. I collided into the car in front me, causing that car to bump into the car in front of it. In the years I've been a licensed driver, this is the first time I've been the one behind the wheel in an auto accident.

While the experience fell something short of pleasant, I felt fortunate in that damage was so minimal to the other car that the police said it did not warrant an accident report. No one was injured. There was no discernible damage to my own car. The others who were involved in this with me were gracious, understanding it was not negligence on my part, but the slippery ice that was the primary culprit in the collision. I was not given a ticket. The representatives I spoke with at my insurance company were not just civil, but even pleasant to deal with.

Given the circumstances, I believe it is the best I could hope for. For someone with perfectionistic tendencies however, it came as a blow. But God is good. I am continually amazed how & when He chooses to reveal Himself, turning even a "bad day" into a blessing. Mom & Dad came to the rescue, bringing my currently carless boyfriend to me. I was surrounded by people who love me & was reminded of how fortunate I am to have them in my life & to realize (as cheesy as it may sound) that it really will all be okay.

Debt Free! ... well, sort of

My VISA is officially paid off!! I cannot tell you what an enormous relief it is to see this at a zero balance. I’m still repaying my student loans from college of course, but to have the worst kind of debt eliminated from my life makes me feel tremendously happy.

Thoughts on the Single Life, Part 1

A good man is hard to find. I think I can safely say that I know the truth of that as well as anyone.

Whether looking at my adolescence, my high school years, college years, & even most of those years beyond, I was as free & single as they come. I hardly regret not being the object of a 14 year old boy’s desire, but as the years passed, I increasingly felt like a bit of a pariah. Through high school & college, I saw friends giddily pairing off, holding hands, sharing innocent kisses, having someone celebrate with on national holidays. On my worst days, I wondered what was wrong with me. On my best, I celebrated the fact that my time, money, and video rentals were mine to control.

I did my best where my attitude was concerned as these friends began to get married & start families. I don’t mind admitting I was jealous; it got tiresome bringing gifts to bridal showers, weddings, & baby showers when for the foreseeable future, there would be no such celebrations thrown on my behalf.

During these years, it’s not as if I went completely unnoticed. I’ve had enough first dates in the last five to six years to make me a veritable expert on the subject, having accepted offers from almost any natural born male who was walking upright, breathing, had a clean police record, & good hygiene. This is not because I had no standards, but because I had believed (or inanely hoped) that being open to someone who did not necessarily fit my running list of requirements would increase the possibility that I might find what every person ultimately wants: love. I accepted offers to be set up on blind dates when I should have known better, I accepted dates from guys I knew deep in my gut were wrong for me, all in the name of being “open”.

I did my own fair share of making the first move also. I would never have gone to a high school dance had I not done the asking. I initiated the “DTR” (define the relationship) conversation with a friend in college who I was certain wanted more, only to be told I was mistaken. I have taken the first bold step, only to be “let down easy” more times in my adult life than I care to admit.

When you’re this single and keep meeting dead end after dead end, it is all but impossible to keep from being discouraged about it. It’s helpful if you have someone you can commiserate with over a latte, a martini, or a big pan of brownies, but the friends I relied on for such sessions were becoming increasingly scarce. Friends & family would make their best efforts at providing encouragement, which (sadly) often resulted in being subject to hearing the same clichés repeated ad infinitum:

• “There’s someone out there for you.”


• “It will happen when you least expect it.”


• “There are good guys out there.”


• “You’re just being too picky.”


• “You’re too intimidating.”

It was as if being one half of a couple gave everyone I knew amnesia when it came to their previously single lives, about which they too had once complained. “Out there” was relied upon a tad too heavily for my taste. Give me something a little less nebulous than “someday”, I’d ask. When I’m 36? 53? In the nursing home? And I knew the good guys were “out there”, because I had friends who were marrying them.
***As a side note, I got some wonderful single-girl comebacks from a handy little book, Even God is Single, So Stop Giving Me a Hard Time. Quite witty, if I don’t say so myself. :o)

I was not so naïve as to think that being part of a couple resulted in unmitigated bliss. This reality became most apparent when I saw young couples my age going through their respective divorces. It was sobering to see how a relationship that started so beautifully and with such hope could disintegrate, even when they were so certain of having done everything right. I would not wish that pain on anyone.

As the years passed & the wisdom of others blended with my own prayers and experiences, I grew more confident in my worth as God’s child. I acquired contentment. I was certain I still wanted to get married & perhaps begin a family one day, but I felt increasingly blessed with the gift of being happy as I was, exactly where God wanted me to be. At 28, I knew my days of being able to meet someone weren’t over, but I was certain I’d be perfectly well if that never happened.

I knew that the next guy that came along would have to try & convince this single girl that she didn’t want to be single anymore.

To be continued …

Getting My E-legs...

Welcome friends & family!

At long last, I have joined the world of blogging. E-mail was just getting to be too darn easy & I figured this is one of the best & easiest ways to keep up to date on people's lives as we scatter here & there ...
Here are a few highlights from the past few years/months:

• June 2000: Hired @ VoiceStream Wireless (now known as T-Mobile). Currently, I am an Accounting Coordinator II in the Cash Applications department (in a nutshell, we handle refunds & returned payments).
• June 2002: Traveled to Durban, South Africa with Habitat for Humanity's Jimmy Carter Work Project. I helped build a house!! Few experiences I've had in life could even come close to rivalling this. Check out the photo for my house's team (I'm in the front on the far left).
• November 2003: I got a tattoo!!
• August 2005: Paid off my first car, a 2000 Hyundai Accent.
• September 2005: Moved into my first VERY OWN apartment.
• What else I've been up to: co-leading a small group @ Christ the King church in Bellingham, working out @ Gold's, doing Bikram Yoga, spending time with my family/friends, reading, drinking lattes, & much, much more ...

So I'll be adding more elements & updating this as often as I can. Thanks for visiting & come again soon ...
- kirsten