Have this instead:

Human trafficking is not something most of us think about on a daily basis.  Sitting in my own comfortable life, with electricity, heat, indoor plumbing, money to spend, and the freedom to come and go as I choose, I must say that until it was brought to my attention, human trafficking dwelt in the area of my mind that is relegated to movie titles and extremely rare incidents.  However, that is not where it belongs.

Today, human trafficking has millions of victims, and the number of modern slaves (whether in the sex industry, agriculture, or domestic workers) is approximately 27 million.

Yes. Twenty-seven million.   As a reference for those of us who cannot comprehend a value that large, this is more people than the population of the entire New York City Metropolitan Area, by almost 8 million people.  But what we can we do? What can I, a poor college student in the Midwestern United States do about a huge industry that is powerful enough to trick, kidnap, capture, and exploit that many people?  It’s too big to take on by myself.  But I can put a red X on my hand and talk about it when people ask the inevitable question.  I can tell people about it, tell them about the little step that make a difference, and hope that they pass it on.  I can be a voice for the voiceless and share their stories, opening the windows to shine light on their situation.  I can make myself a little uncomfortable to bring attention to the problem that is largely ignored for the sake of not upsetting people.

I am sorry to admit that I hesitated to do this tiny thing.  It took Sarah calling me on my selfish desire to not bring attention to myself, pointing out that I didn’t want to be uncomfortable and have awkward conversations with people who I otherwise don’t talk to for the sake of 27 million people who don’t have the choice of what they will eat or wear, if they go to school, or if they get to control their own bodies.  How could I not have a few conversations if they couldn’t even decide when they work and when they sleep, let alone when they will ever see their friends or family again.  Really?  Was it that inconvenient for me?

And so together, we drew these big red X’s on our hands.  We said that we would be uncomfortable and answer the questions that would inevitably come.  And we did.  For me, it happened at school.  My TA and my fellow students who know me as someone who pretty much keeps to myself, a hard worker and a generally quiet person were surprised when I told them what it was about.  It seemed to surprise them that this wasn’t just a third-world problem, but it happens in the United States, and sadly, even in our own city.  They were amazed at how many people it affects and how it touches even their own lives and habits.  The cocoa supplied by an eight year old with a machete resonated with a fellow student whose own son just turned 8.  The percentage of women who are forced into prostitution and the sex industry caught the ear of one guy who has noticed the objectification of women by his friends as he got married and they were talking about their “chicks.”  And the conversations always ended the same way: What can I do?

And so, my friends, here are few ideas on what you can do, whether you are a millionaire or a humble student like myself.  A mom, a dad, a brother, a sister, or someone who no one would expect to become an abolitionist…you can do something.

Five Action Steps for the Everyday Person…

1. Raise awareness.  Educate yourself and then share the information! Talk to your friends and family and be a voice for the 27 million people who don’t have one.

2. Take Action. Join an existing cause or start a movement in your own community.  Use connections at your school and church to make a bigger impact and offer help to people who are caught in modern day slavery.

3. Be a conscious consumer. Many products are produced using slave labor and every purchase contributes to the continuation of modern day slavery.  Money is power in today’s world, so use yours wisely!

4. Write to your legislators. While slavery is outlawed in most of the world, the penalties for various forms and levels of participation are often minor and do little to discourage the purchase and sale of humans.

5. Support those working against slavery. Several charities and organizations have begun taking action against slavery by rescuing trafficked individuals, prosecuting traffickers and buyers, and working with various governments to strengthen the penalties for participation in human trafficking.  This work is often expensive and dangerous and all support they can get makes a difference!

And just to get you started, a few resources and charities to check out…

Slavery Footprint

The End-It Movement

International Justice Mission

Nefarious: Merchant of Souls

Exodus Cry

Stop the Traffik

References:

Population of NYMetroArea : http://www.census.gov/popest/data/metro/totals/2012/index.html

Work from home – Studies show people who commute more than 31 miles per day, regularly die sooner than those who don’t.  All that stress and time spent sitting inactive really adds up.

Floss – Yep, flossing can add up to 6.4 years to your life.  Good breath and you stick around longer, who knew?  I was eating lunch while reading how many, and what type of germs and bacteria we have in our mouths.  Yummy.

Coffee – While we’re on the subject of teeth…and breath.  It seems coffee in moderation may have gotten a bad rap as of late.  One study of coffee drinkers showed male participants had a 10% less chance of dying and female participants had a 14% less chance of dying as compared to their non-coffee drinking buddies. With the hours I spend driving to photo shoots, checking gear and editing images, caffeine is my friend.  At this rate I’m going to live to be 170 years old!

Exercise – Okay, this one is pretty freaking amazing.  Every minute of exercise can up to seven minutes to your life.  I know right?  How incredible is that!?  How many investments in life deliver 1:1 or 1:7 return?  Brides and Grooms, I’m pointing at you for this one.  Aside from helping you look as hot as possible on your big day, it also reduces stress, helping you actually make it through the big day with all your hair in place.  More about that here.  So get out there and shake what your Momma’ gave you while preparing for your wedding.

Smile and laugh! -    Really, as a Wedding Photographer, how can I not love this one?  The first draft of this blog even had it twice.  I’ve talked about What’s In A Smile before here on the blog but recent studies have once again shown laughter really may be the best medicine.

Tie the knot – That’s right, getting married is good for your health.  Single males aged between 30 and 59 have a two and a half times greater chance of kicking the bucket compared with their married counterparts.  Women have a 23% greater risk.  The study however, did not take into account the number of men who died trying impress a woman.  Been there, done that, have the scars to prove it.

Hey, don’t just stop here, let’s get social   Come visit me on Facebook or Twitter and join in on the fun.  Or if you’re looking for something on the light side, lets share our odd little worlds on “Instagram” at Sean_spphotography.   See you next time everybody   Sean

We’re told to believe in ourselves, to celebrate our victories, to be comfortable with who we are and to be proud of our strengths and aware of our weaknesses. So if I, or anyone else, wants to direct attention to their strengths, that shouldn’t be a problem, right? That’s just being confident in your own abilities and making sure you’re proud of them. Or…is it?

I remember back when I had singing lessons, I was learning from a wonderful teacher but I was still shy about my voice. I knew I hadn’t quite nailed being ‘excellent’ even though I was being told I had some real potential. Of course, me thinking I wasn’t really nailing it only meant that I continued to miss the ‘excellent’ mark. Stupid getting in your own way complex. Anyway, having picked up on my vicious internal monologue my teacher asked me one day:

‘What would you say to someone who, once you told them you were a singer, asked if you were any good?’

‘…ummm…’

‘You say yes. I am.’

What she was trying to teach me here was not that I had a great voice, but that I shouldn’t be ashamed to admit it. I remember saying that I didn’t want to seem arrogant, because no one likes that and she reminded me that there was a difference between arrogance and self confidence. Well, I’ve been happily wondering what the difference is since then.

I think the difference is this: you can be self confident without rubbing it in someone’s face, without making it seem like you think you’re better than someone else. You can be self confident without losing all humility. You cannot be arrogant and humble at the same time.

Humility. It’s hard to nail it on the head exactly, but my understanding is that humility involves a level of self awareness that arrogance cannot posses. Humility does not imply that you think lowly of yourself, it does not mean that you think you are lesser than others, it does not mean you think you are lacking in skills. Humility means you are aware of your strengths, your ‘pros’, your abilities and being modest about them. Not denying their existence, but not yelling about them to the heavens either. Humility allows you to be proud of yourself for your successes, it allows for you to talk about achievements in excitement, it allows for you to admit to people that you’re a good singer. Humility lets you be who you are.

Arrogance on the other hand will find you telling people about your achievements even if they don’t ask, arrogance will find you constantly interjecting conversations with tidbits all about you, it will find you creating tenuous segues just so you can have another opportunity to talk about yourself. Arrogance allows you to look at people with all sincerity and tell them how wonderful you think they are, though really you just want to get something out of them and you know compliments can work wonders. Arrogance is feeling like you have something to prove and making others feel lesser is the only way you know how to make yourself feel better. Arrogance hides who you are under a sheet of ‘look at me! Aren’t I great!?’

So maybe next time I’ll admit to being a good singer…but only if you ask first.

Today my wife and I celebrate 8 years and 4 months of marriage. I agree it is a rather unimportant number but if you change the format it is 100 months of marriage, a seemingly large milestone for any couple. Considering that the CDC/NCHS National Vital Statistics System states that per 1000 people there are 6.8 marriages and 3.6 divorces, making the divorce rate a little over 50%, I am extremely proud of how far we have made it thus far.

I make no claim to be a marriage expert and I understand that 8 years far from qualifies me from being able to tell you how to run your marriage, I do believe that I have learned a few things over the last couple of years.

I brief overview of some of the events my wife and I have had to endure together follows. Before our 1st anniversary I deployed to Iraq for 12 months, making the most delicate time in a marriage even more sensitive. On top of that I was injured by a roadside bomb (IED) just 9 days before our 1st anniversary, hence putting a lot of stress on my wife that was alone in Germany (where I was stationed at the time when not deployed). After moving (PCSing) back to the U.S. I had to have surgery and subsequently was medically discharged from the military within 9 months of being back in the states. I had re-enlisted and we thought that I would still have 4 more years in the Army, just another shake-up/rough spot. Moving to Arizona and starting a civilian job far from family tested our relationship, along with my own personal struggles with PTSD and TBI that further complicated things.

After a couple years in AZ, we decided that it would be best to move back East and be closer to family. I was lucky enough to have a wife that allowed me to go back to school full-time to finish my Bachelor’s degree (which I did in just under 3 years) and even attend and finish graduate school. We have had family with debilitating illnesses live with us until they were able to have some medical issues temporarily put on hold and that was a test in and of itself. We are currently living paycheck to paycheck and trying to gain custody of our nephew (in hopes of being able to provide the support and encouragement he needs as he finished high school). However, looking back as bumpy as this ride has been, I am glad I have had my wife to help me through it. Today being our 100 months of marriage has made me think, How in the hell have we done it? (obviously leaving out some detail for privacy and the length of this post.)

With all that being said, if I could tell a young couple thinking about marriage only one piece of advice it would be: to be HONEST! (this is a mantra that you will hear me ‘preach’ about in the future as well)

Life sucks sometimes and it isn’t always going to be easy but having someone that you can talk to and remember that they have your back provides relief. The feeling that you are not alone provides more comfort that I would have thought 101 months ago. Honestly about who you are and what you want can/should eliminate many of the stupid issues that I hear some couple argue over. Does it really matter what is for dinner or what type of movie you like? (common issues in my house) NO it doesn’t matter, what matters is whether or not you still love the person, trust the person and can be trusted by the person.

I believe that marriage is different for each couple and different rules apply to each individual marriage. Personally, my wife and I are extremely loyal (sexually) and would never dream of cheating or going behind each other’s back. This is not because we are scared to get caught but because we respect each other and realize that we are enough for each other. However, IF a couple agrees that they enjoy other people’s company in the bedroom and they BOTH consent, than I am more than happy for them. If they are happy with a more traditional victorian lifestyle (woman at home and man at work) than I am happy for them. If they are happy with someone of the same sex, than again I am happy for them.

It all boils down to being honest and respectful. It doesn’t matter to me what you do in your personal life because life is short and tomorrow is not promised! So do what makes you happy, find someone that makes you happy: black, white, purple, male, female, smart or dumb, just be happy!

The road is going to get bumpy and you may not always agree with your partner but be honest and compromise because someone being by your side in the tough times makes the good times that much sweeter. For those of you who may not agree, I DO NOT CARE because this great country provides (or at least should) the right to pursue happiness in whatever form!

I leave you with a thought, Are you honest with your partner? Are you happy even in the darkest times? If not look inward before accusing others, the problem may lie within!

Have a GREAT weekend and I will post more later!

-JB

P.S. A huge thank you goes out to my wife and best friend! You have put up with me for so long and I can never repay your patience! I love you!

Today I logged on and found that I had been nominated for a Liebster Award! After some Googling I found that it was an award given to new bloggers who have less than 200 followers. I was kindly nominated by Alicia Benton. After some further Googling (how would I ever survive with out Google?) I discovered that Liebster is German and means beloved, kind, sweetest, welcome etc. Wonderful! I love words that translate into multiple different things! Makes other languages super easy to learn. At least Leibster is a nice word though.

I’m not going to lie to you, this award is exactly like a chain letter you might receive in an email. I hate those chain emails, especially when they threaten something at the end. But this one doesn’t and it’s not arrived in my inbox, so I’ll make an exception. There are rules though:

1. Each person must post 11 things about themselves. 
2. Answer the questions that the tagger set for you plus create 11 questions for the people you’ve tagged to answer.
3. Choose 11 people and link them in your post. (I’m totally going to struggle with this one!)
4. Go to their page and tell them.
5. No tag backs!

Well, here goes! 11 things about me (that you may or may not already know. *Disclaimer: cheating ahead):

1. I’m a singer

1. I’m a cheerleader
2. I have 3 cats
3. (okay, for real now) I find it incredibly difficult to sleep without socks. When I was younger I invented the ‘tickle man’ and if I didnt have socks on he’d come in the night and tickle me. I’m now terrified of being tickled, don’t do it, it’s not funny, I literally stop breathing. (sympathetic hugs welcome)
4. A regular dinner of mine lately has been a heated up piece of pita bread and a banana smoothy with peanut butter in it. This shit is yummy, don’t judge me
5. I find it incredibly difficult to sit on a chair like a normal person, at least one of my legs is always on the chair with the rest of me
6. I hate jeans because I can’t sit in chairs like I want to. And what if I wanted to stretch during the day!? impossible. Jeans suck
7. Water is pretty much the only thing I drink and I’ve always got a bottle with me
8. I’m an extremely talented sleeper; if I’m tired, I can sleep anywhere
9. I cannot, for the life of me, read music
10. My most consistent procrastination tool is cleaning my room. My room is never as clean as it is when I have an essay to write
11. My car is currently a mess. I should clean it already.

Now, for the 11 questions left for me by Alicia

Why did the chicken cross the road? For the greater good of chickens everywhere.

M&Ms: plain or peanut? Plain. I hate peanuts. The crunchy ones are good though! and the peanut butter ones too!

What’s your favourite joke? I have this CD of a whole lot of Jewish ‘schticks’ called You Don’t Have To Be Jewish. It’s hilarious! My father and I bonded over this CD early on.

Best pick-up line? If you were a script, I’d never want to be off-book.

Early bird or night owl? Both? It completely depends on my mood and schedule. I’m pretty decent at both!

Freddy or Jason? I’m sorry, who?

How many licks does it take to get to the centre of a Tootsie Pop? A what?

Favourite pizza toppings? Mushrooms, olives and pineapple

Favourite smell? Good cologne. That shit does things to me!

Can money buy love? No. The Beatles taught me well

What song is it impossible not to dance to? Dance songs? Thats a tough questions…I dance to almost everything. I should be more choosy sometimes.

So there you have it! Two lists of 11! And now, it’s time for a third, though I’m not sure how I’ll do with filling it. 11 blogs that have under 200 followers who I think are awesome. Here goes.

1. Another Bloody Actor – writes some incredibly emotional and insightful stuff.
2. Casual Calculations – He writes maths things I can’t understand!
3. A Very Fine House – because she is a wonderfully talented woman. Also she’s my mum.
4. Stephen Newman Law – He’s my dad (I warned I would cheat!)
5. Drew Lane Musicals – He is a theatre composer and a wonderful friend. He posts his music all the time and it’s wonderfully catchy! Can’t wait for his next project.
6. Elenturner4 – okay, so she has 284 followers, but she has reeeaaaallllyyyy pretty photos! I’m breaking the rules for this one
7. justspokenthoughts – Writes some wonderful pieces. I can’t see how many followers they have though…oh well
8. Words4jp – again, has 250 followers but I just went to their page to double check and they’re doing a similar thing but with a different award! I had to nominate them here. Also, they leave me the most comments for which I am incredibly grateful.
9. Probablyanotherone – Because everyone needs a place to let go and write the truth.

That’s it…that’s all I have…I really need to go on the hunt for some new blogs to follow! I tried though!

Now, for my questions to you dear nominees. Make sure you answer them! I’m very curious to know what the answers are.

1. What’s your favourite animal?
2. What did you want to be when you grew up?
3. Have you ever broken a bone?
4. What’s your favourite TV show?
5. Chocolate or lollies?
6. Who is your favourite Avengers character?
7. If you could have one super power, what would it be?
8. Where would you travel to right now if you had the chance?
9. Who’s your favourite actor/actress?
10. Will you write my essays for me?
11. Quite night in or a raging night out?

Also, there is one more rule, if you have been nominated, post this photo on your blog too! I shall no doubt catch you here tomorrow.

Last month, I went on a 24-hour retreat with a group of women from our church.

That statement in no way conveys what a Big Deal this was. The last time I’d gone away all by myself was over five years ago. I was pregnant with our first child and working for a nonprofit; in that role, I spent one night at a camp we ran for high school students. Fun, but hardly a “retreat.”

Click here to continue reading about my first solo getaway in five years over at On the Willows.

On Wednesday night my parents and I went to see my cousin play Shylock in a performance of The Merchant of Venice. Now, I could go on about how wonderfully talented my cousin happens to be or about how absolutely crazy he was to grow a full on beard for the show, but I wont. I wont because there was something else that happened that night that struck me more deeply than any performance of anything ever could. Which, if you know me, is saying something!

What struck me was one moment. One simple, quiet moment that happened directly to my left. My father asked for ‘tickles’ (basically just a wandering soft touch), a running thing in our family and something we are all want to ask for every now and then. You see, my mother is the Queen of giving tickles. But I digress, after the quiet request my parents shuffled in their seats so that mum could rest on dad’s shoulder while also being able to tickle his arm.

They may not have realised but I was extremely aware of their movements in that one moment and all I saw there was love and companionship. Just for a moment I was jealous. Not in a ‘I wish you didn’t have that and I did’ kind of way, but in a ‘my god I hope that I find that one day too’ kind of way. For seeing them in such an embrace could not have filled me with more hope for my future and gratitude for what I already have.

My parents have been together since…they got married. I shamefully have no idea how long that actually is but I think it’s about 25 years. Essentially just a bit longer than I have been alive. I can’t even begin to understand how lucky I am that my parents are still together, so many people I know have parents who are no longer together. The thing is, within my family I can only think of one couple who are split and they are a rather distant relative of mine. My aunties and uncles on both sides are together, as well are almost all of my Sydney and Israeli family. My entire family is nothing but couples who have fought through life and stayed together. I could never have thought to wish for such a family and having some extreme differences in some cases, I am sometimes oddly surprised we’ve managed to pull this off, but we have.

There are other special things about my immediate family that I am grateful for; our ability to all talk openly to each other, the fact that even at 18-25 none of us are ashamed to jump into mum and dad’s bed for an evening chat about life, or the fact that I know if any of us are ever in trouble we’ll all be there picking each other up. I can share houses and patchwork with my mother, my sense of humour with my father and laugh with my brothers about how they are the ‘girls’ of the family while I am the ‘boy’.

I have never wanted anything more than to create a family of my own in the image of the family my parents have created for us. I hope to give any children I may have the same sense of freedom, fun, love and security that my parents have given me. Even if I do have to do the family shopping sometimes (read, lots of the time)! I hope one day that my child can look across a room, a week before their 24th birthday, and know that her parents still love each other and always will.

Be. Here. Now. My new mantra. Each word on its own, in the moment. It lends itself to a centering, a sense of balance and freedom. I’ve been too much in the future, so this new mantra is both a reminder and a reining in.

I’ve been trying to incorporate it into my life for some time now, but something wasn’t clicking. I feel like things slid a little more into place in Thailand. Aided by caffeine maybe, or perhaps just enough curry and chili pepper to get me going, I had an “Ah-ha!” moment that helped me achieve a great sense of peace. I thought about my future. I thought about it a lot. Maggie and I talked about it in depth over coffee at least twice a day. I told her about my fortune cookies, and how I feel certain that my path is bound to change (and the sooner the better).

I’ve been stuck in the same line my whole life—doing things that I enjoy, but that are often fueled by someone else’s ambitions for me. If I’m honest with myself, they’re my dad’s ambitions for me. He never wanted me to be a starving artist, even though art was what I loved best growing up. I know he always has my best interests at heart. Then I wanted to be like my father and work on a submarine. At the time, women weren’t even allowed on them, and he told me so. It was a pipe dream anyway. He pointed out that I probably wanted to live comfortably. Fine. I had always been interested in biology, too. So I suffered the lower GPA (I’ve never been good at math or chemistry) and challenged myself. I like a challenge. In the process, I found that I was more passionate about the environment than about medicine or genetics. So I got a job in a bio lab. Though field research is fun and exciting, it isn’t something I’m interested in doing for my entire life. That and the grant-writing aspect is odious. I hate asking people for money.

I’ve been trying and missing. I’ve been doing things that I like, or sort of like all along the way, and steering rather determinedly away from the things which make me feel a spark. I have successfully cultivated my passion for the environment, and even found that I’m highly interested in economics as a tool for communicating to people about the value of the natural world. I have been wary of the fact that academic training can box people into academia or research. I am rather determined that my academic training will not box me into academia or research. In fact, the ends will justify the means no matter what I end up doing, as long as I am satisfied and making a difference in the world. I just need to figure out what that is first.

My “Ah-ha!” moment happened when I thought about all of the things I could do between now and whenever I start graduate studies to make me happy. Field research would be cool, but again, means to an end. It’s not what I want to end up doing, so why do it? I have experience with field research already. Here’s where the changing paths bit comes in: I think I might work on a farm. Or at a Co-op. Somewhere where a college degree is beneficial but maybe not necessary. Let’s face it: loans are weighing pretty heavily, and my AmeriCorps position didn’t exactly help me make a huge dent. And the Segal AmeriCorps Education Award counts as taxable income!

I don’t need to be in science right this moment. Everything I want to do would benefit greatly having a higher degree, even before starting an entry-level position. And competition is fierce since the recession—all those college graduates who couldn’t get a job right out of school went into hiding in master’s studies and now have no experience so they’re out-competing people like me for entry-level positions. What a joke. And something I don’t need to stress about.

I’m highly employable. It’s not like I won’t find anything at all. I just have to broaden my search a little more and take what I can get while I can get it. I’m not going to stress out about the future any more. I’m going to Be. Here. Now.

I’ve always thought I had a plan. This is the first time in my life where I feel that I’m without an anchor. And it makes me realize that I’ve been without an anchor for some time now. I have always grounded myself with my art, and I don’t have the opportunity to make it all the time. I think writing more has helped me in my meditations about what I’m looking for in my life. Writing is also an art form. Because while I’m not footloose and fancy-free enough to let the wind take me where it may, I can actually very realistically always fall back on my writing. Editing is always in short demand somewhere, and a heck of a lot easier to find than field work in the Northeast. I’m willing to take that leap of faith and move first, then find a job. Phew! Here goes nothing something!

Floating until I find a new anchor is the start of my plan for living with intention. And chanting with my breath: Be. Here. Now.

By the time I reach the security check-in, I too am joining in the stress, doing the ‘push-me, pull-you’ dance of trying to beat the person behind me to the queue, as if it matters. Suddenly, I stop and ask myself, what am I doing? I’m not late, I don’t need to push myself past anyone else. What makes me any more important, more worthy, more entitled? With that, I decide to stop, and let the woman behind me go ahead.

When we start to board, the whole once-polite waiting room becomes a gladiator’s arena in which we all must fight ‘to the death,’ our weapons the downward glances that prevent us from considering the humanity of our opponents. It is every man for himself, and none of us cares for anything but claiming our seat and overhead compartment on the plane. Again, I step away from the fray, seeing it for the first time as the madness it is. Why do I care so much?

Recently, I’ve decided that I don’t. Care that much, I mean. Have I thought twice about the five seconds I saved the other day by speeding past the car in front of me? Did I treasure and value that shirt that I grabbed first at the sale? Did being one person closer in line add a single day to my life? In the moment, these things seem to matter so much, but in the long run, what would matter more, being first or treating another person with love and kindness? Isn’t that what Jesus asks me to do? Isn’t that loving my neighbor?

Once I force myself to see other people as people, and not just physical barriers to things I want, it becomes harder to put myself first. Loving others is not just in the big things, like being there for a friend who’s hurting or celebrating with them when life is good. Real, true love is sacrificial, seeking to gain nothing, and if I only ever love my friends, I’m not really loving well. Because the truth is that I gain friendship from loving my friends, but it’s a sacrifice to love someone I don’t know.

Do you remember the last time a stranger went out of their way to do something nice for you? I do – I had a cart full of groceries and kids to load into the car, it was raining, and a frail-looking woman no younger than 70 stopped what she was doing and loaded my groceries into the car for me so that I could focus on my kids. It still puts a lump in my throat to think about, and it happened months ago. I could be that for someone, too, every day, if I just stopped focusing so much on myself. So I think I will.

I can sit here, with the safety of the internet, my computer and my desk to protect me, and say that I am sure you are a good person. You have a good family, you might like animals, you treat people well and you may even be looking to have a relationship with a woman. I have one thing to tell you though; I do not trust you.

I have rules, just like many women do. I avoid alleys during the day and the night, I don’t like to  make eye contact with people on the street and I will not go out alone at night unless I am in a heavily populated and well lit area. Even then I know that I am not completely safe. Even then I know that you might approach me; you might smile, you might watch me walk past and I can tell you now, it’s more likely that I am either offended that you think it appropriate to gawk like that or that I’ve decided you are some kind of threat than it is for me to be happy to receive such attention.

I have never been a club or bar person. There is one main reason for this and that is because at night, in a dark place, I am scared. I am scared of the men around me because more often than not I feel powerless. On your watch I am not there to have a good time dancing with my friends, no, I am there as an outlet for your ‘bit of fun’. You make absolutely no calculations as to wether or not I am interested in your idea of fun. (I assure you, I am not).

I went out to a bar with some friends one night and we were approached by a group of men. One of them decided it was appropriate to hover around me for 30 minutes while I tried desperately to give him the hint that I was not interested. I gave him short and blunt answers, I didn’t make eye contact, I continued conversation with my friends. Nothing worked. I’m sure some men reading this are wondering why I didn’t just say ‘I’m sorry, I’m not interested, go away now’. Because if I were to so blankly state my preference I worry about a violent reaction. Thankfully one of my friends spoke up for me and the guy went away.

See, women have been taught by this society that to speak our mind leaves us with a number of different names; frigid, prudish, bitch. We should lighten up! You’re only having a bit of fun, right? You only want to chat, right? Wrong. We do not know that. We do not know you. I am too scared to speak my mind for fear of the reaction you may have and I am too uncomfortable with your blatant disrespect for my personal space to go out to a club.

Many men don’t realise this. Men don’t realise that women feel an overpowering need to leave all details of an outing with a friend, just in case. Men don’t think about how some women carry pepper spray to give them a better chance against an attacker. Men don’t think that a woman might hold her key between her fingers when walking alone. Men do not see how they can be seen as a threat just because they come up and say hi. But you are, because some other asshole once came up to us and grabbed us in a pub, because some ex boyfriend decided that the first no wasn’t a real no, because we hear stories like Jill Meaghar’s and Jane Doe’s all of the time. And what’s worse is there are infinitely more cases we don’t hear about at all.

I don’t think all men are horrible monsters waiting to attack women and I don’t hate men at all. In fact, I quite like men, but that doesn’t take away from the fear I might feel on the street or in a club. It doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been grabbed too many times by random men who think it’s appropriate to do so without looking at my face first and it doesn’t change the fact that my history has taught me to be cautious with people; I do wish it was otherwise. I’m more than happy to have a chat to someone who’s asked for directions, or if I’ve wandered into your store to buy something or if I’m helping catch your dog that’s escaped off its leash (this has actually happened). I like people, I like meeting new people, but when I’m alone on a tram with no real way to get away from you if I wish, then it’s not something I really welcome.

Not all women carry the same level of anxiety with this, but it’s probably best to play it on the safe side if you’re a guy who actually cares. Your want to meet me does not come before my right to feel safe, no matter how many compliments you may throw my way. When I am out alone I mostly want to be left alone, you will know if that’s not the case. And even though you might be the nicest guy in the world, letting my guard down is a big ask, so please don’t ask.

1. The Coleman 1 minute tent is the greatest thing since sliced bread. 

2. It doesn’t matter what the fare, it’s the company over dinner that counts.

3. The first night sleeping anywhere new is strange.

4. Eggs, biscuits and coffee taste better outside.

5. With the right encouragement, kids will do just about anything,

6. Plans are great; but, you need to be flexible.

7. My husband has a little more gray than in used to. But then again so do I.

8. Grilling for 50 people can be therapeutic. 

9. Sleeping for a second night in a new place with a party going on is strange.

10. Bird songs are beautiful; but, not at 6:00 in the morning. 

11. It’s amazing how much cleaner one feels by just brushing one’s teeth.

11. It doesn’t matter if you catch anything, just spending time fishing with your son is enough.

12. A house is empty without a dog.

Image via The Meader Family Association

This fall, I suddenly became fascinated with my ancestry. It all started when my husband and I went to see Skyfall, the latest James Bond film. The movie’s final showdown was filmed in Glencoe, in the Scottish Highlands, and there was something about the landscape that stirred me to the point of telling Erick, “Once the kids leave home, I’d love to visit Scotland.”

My reaction to the Scottish landscape was similar to the reaction I had to the landscape of Tanzania on my first visit to Africa. I’d always attributed my sense of heart-recognition in Tanzania (which is certainly not a unique experience) to the fact that human life probably began somewhere near where I was standing. In other words, I had this response to Africa because my DNA recognized the place.

It seems to me that a fascination with the past typically occurs twice in life. The first is in late elementary school, with the obligatory school project of mapping one’s family tree; this timing tends to coincide with the beginning of puberty, and it’s convenient to use family history as a peg upon which to hang your just-forming identity.

The second round of ancestor research usually comes much later in life. Making sure that every branch of the family tree is accurately filled, that oral histories are recorded, and that cemeteries are cataloged seems to be the domain of the elderly. My guess is that this is a way of insuring an orderly system into which we can be inserted when we pass on.

I am no longer in elementary school, so I can only conclude that my interest in my family’s past means that I’m officially old.

After I saw those stirring film images of the Scottish Highlands, I recalled what little family history I’d learned during my own elementary school ancestry project. I don’t know much about my father’s ancestors, although his family immigrated fairly recently, around the turn of the 20^th century from the countryside near Naples, Italy to work in the leather factories of Lawrence, Massachusetts. There’s much more information about my mother’s side, perhaps because those ancestors immigrated centuries ago and it takes time to become nostalgic for what you left behind. I recalled a morning spent with my mother in the Daughters of the American Revolution Library in Washington, D. C., researching the McDuffie branch of her family.

Now we have the internet, so it didn’t take me long on Google to learn that the McDuffie family came from somewhere near Argyll, Scotland – not too far from Skyfall’s Glencoe setting. The forbears of Grace McDuffie probably arrived in Rochester, New Hampshire around 1715. Grace’s son, Richard, was my maternal grandfather.

What does all this mean for me today? I happen to like the landscape where a handful of my ancestors once lived – big deal! I spend most of my days tethered to the wheel of a minivan or typing at a computer; is it relevant that I’m descended from farmers and factory workers? Will looking back at their patchy history shed any new light on who I am? My first ancestor to set foot in North America seems to have been John Meader, who arrived in Oyster River, New Hampshire from Dorset, England in 1647, seeking religious freedom or plentiful farmland – or both. Did he look back?

My husband is a mystery to me because he seems to exist outside of his own history. He has very few memories of his childhood, and displays no interest in his past – neither bitterness nor nostalgia. When his father gave us a two-volume history about Erick’s great-grandfather – the first Gong to arrive in North America from China – I was the one who read it. Erick’s stance is that looking back is an excuse people use to avoid taking personal responsibility for their lives.

But I don’t know about that. It’s generally a good thing to go through life with some self-awareness, and we’re all part of a history. People came before us, and we carry bits of them inside of us. Maybe learning your family history can be a way of taking personal responsibility, instead of an outlet for placing the blame; rather than I’m a jerk because my great-uncle was a jerk, we can say: My great-uncle was a jerk, so I’d better keep an eye out for jerk-ish tendencies.

And then we move on, because this little life we have may continue our ancestors’ story, but at this moment it’s OUR story.  Understanding the forces that shaped us before we had any control, but moving forward knowing what we can control: I believe that’s called “growing up.”

In the end, there’s a limit to the understanding that looking back can give. Family history, like human history, tends to be a big mess. It’s full of deaths and divorces and tragedies and hurt feelings. Every family has its jerks; every family has its saints. Why did that marriage fail when this one survived? Why did he die young while she lived to an old age? How does it shape someone to leave the country of their birth; how does it shape someone to be left? And what does it mean that we’re here now – that somehow, against many odds, we came from the ones who survived?

Another part of growing up, it seems to me, is that we become more comfortable saying I don’t know.

I’m going to start with body image, because that’s possibly one of the most confusing things for me at the moment. I’m sure many of you have encountered Dove’s new Real Beauty Sketches ad. I came across this ad on a blog. I don’t remember what the blog said about it, but I’m pretty sure the tagline was positive. I doubt I’d have watched it if it wasn’t. The clip wrapped up and I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d also describe myself in such a way that produced a portrait that didn’t much resemble me. I do hope not, but I can’t really know.

Many are saying the ad is wonderful while many others are saying that it’s not. I have to say, my first reaction may have been ‘Wow. That’s incredible, what a good message.’, but after reading the negatives I realise that that’s not really the whole story. Body image is a huge issue; there are far too many beautiful people walking around thinking they’re the ugliest thing in existence. But how on earth do we address this issue without making it sound like looks are still the most important thing a woman can posses? That was a rhetorical question – I have no idea how.

Back to my original thought; I’m supposed to think that beauty lies in every size and people should not be judged on whether or not they align to beauty standards set by magazines or TV. And I do! I really really do believe that. I know that every individual has a healthy weight range for their body and they should feel no pressure at all to try to change that. Apart from the fact that to change your body type is an impossible goal, it’s highly unfair to expect it from anyone. You should be nice to your body and mind, treat them well; eat well, exercise well and have a piece of cake when you’re done! I’m ‘meant’ to think this…I’m also ‘meant’ to be fit and thin while I’m busy being accepting of everyone else. I’m meant to be just like those people in the magazines, acceptance is for everyone else.

The standard I hold myself to. Good luck me!

How does one figure out how to be pro-healthy body image while also thinking they need to be thin and perfect? I have no idea. I’m sorry if you expected a well thought out answer from today’s post, but I don’t have one. I don’t know how to let go of the idea that I must be perfectly un-wobbly, while simultaneously not judging anyone else for their wobblyness. The good thing is that I’ve learnt to be very accepting of other’s everything. I do not support you in eating take away 3-4 times a week and living a generally unhealthy lifestyle, I do not see the point in that. I know from experience that keeping fit and healthy feels a gazillion times better than that maccas tastes, but if you’re rocking the take out, then go for it! It doesn’t affect me and I wont judge you for it. I’m also aware that not every one is built to be, or even wants to be, a size 8. What I’m trying to say, through my terribly unthought out rambling, is that I do not care what anyone else does to and with their body. It is not for me to have an opinion or to judge. I actually think every single one of my friends is beautiful and they come in all shapes and sizes.

But me? I must be perfect. I must be fit, thin and flexible but in the same breath, it must not be the most important thing about me. It must not impress you. For I’m smart, funny on the odd occasion and loving too. I have goals and work hard to try and get everything right, to try and keep my life going in the direction I want it to. My body is not all I am. My beauty is not my most important trait, in fact it’s barely important at all. But damn it, beauty better be something I possess! For I am the most unhappy when I don’t feel physically beautiful. Not when I’ve had a day of being ‘stupid’, not when I’ve made a mistake, not when I’ve accidentally hurt someone I love, but when I don’t feel that I live up to societies standards of beauty. When I feel that I wont get a part in a show because I’m not pretty enough to be on the stage. When I feel like I wont ever have a career in PR because I’m not as psychically flawless as the PR girls I know. And I hate heels, which is of course the worst thing you could hate when you want a career! And I am SO very very aware of how wrong my thinking is, but I rarely feel beautiful and I don’t know how to change that.

I’m wondering if I shouldn’t join the photo and week challenge. I know it seems crazy that I should be taking on something else, but how difficult it is really to take a pretty photo once a week. I’m certainly not planning on becoming any kind of photographer, I just think it might be a nice idea. Maybe it’ll help with inspiration for written pieces too.

See, what I’m really trying to do here is broaden my creative horizons. You find that it’s very easy for your creativity to die a bit when you get up every morning to go to the same office, then come home to the same house to have the same dinner (because who can be bothered cooking at the end of the day) and to wind down in the same way you do every other night. Because the thought of doing something stimulating is beyond you; you used all your energy for the day during the day! The night is for rest. And bad TV.

The problem is, I need to find time to do the creatively stimulating things I want to do, otherwise I fear I wont ever be a creator in the way that I aspire to be. So I’m starting with a photo a week and a post a day. And I should really finish that quilt that I’ve been working on for over a year. Man that’s a good quilt. I used to do a lot of cross stitch, I loved it. Once the pressure of assignments is off my back I will have the mentally capacity to consider filling my time with something other than procrastination. There is something about study that makes you stress out about not doing anything while simultaneously preventing you from doing anything. It’s really quite shit.

Here is a cross stitch piece I did a few years back. It’s one of my favourite.

And now, I will go and watch some TV and consider maybe doing some research, but probably not.

One Leo and two Rahel =)

These past two weeks I found myself thinking a lot about two things: marriage and running. Now you might first wonder why – and then ask what the one has to do with the other! But somehow I found that they make an interesting comparison.

Why marriage? Two weeks ago I went to Gemany to go to the wedding of two friends. It was a great weekend, a beautiful celebration full of joy and an opportunity to see lots of friends again. I felt a little sentimental seeing my friend Rahel get married. We had met in Bible college and later moved to Freiburg together and shared a flat for two years with another friend, Leo. It was by far the coolest flat in Freiburg =) Lots of good memories. Times of laughter…craziness…prayer…tears. And now she was looking so gorgeous, all grown up, with a beautiful smile on her face and walking down the aisle! I’m so glad I could be there for the special start to this new chapter in her and Matthias’ lives!

Why running? Next Sunday I plan to participate in the Rock ‘n Roll Half-Marathon here in Madrid! I’ve been doing a lot of sports this past half year in Madrid and started training more or less for real a few months ago. But then I also had some trouble with my knees and my right foot…I started getting worried and wondered if I would even be able to do regular sport anymore. I went to the doctor and got special soles for my shoes but still had trouble. I also asked friends from my church to pray for me – we had been seeing people get healed in the streets and I wanted to believe God could heal me too, but it didn’t go away completely. So I wasn’t running that much anymore – and the date of the marathon was coming closer! So the Sunday before last was a beautiful sunny day and in the afternoon I decided to go out for a ride with my bike. But then I felt like no – I NEED to go for a run! I was a bit scared, thinking I would surely not be able to run very much…but felt like I should try to run a longer distance than normal. My half-marathon would be about 21km so I tried to think of a decent route where I would come close to that distance and remembered someone suggesting I run to my University to train…it was such a crazy idea – I liked it! I looked it up on google and figured I would just run my bike route. I didn’t really intend to run all the way – I had eaten random food that day, didn’t stretch or warm up, put on ¾ jeans, T-shirt and a sweater and just figured I’d start running and see where I ended up.

It was a sweet run. The first half hour I always find the hardest – and more so on a Sunday afternoon with lots of people on the pavement and all those traffic lights making me stop every few hundred meters…but after about forty minutes I was content to be running and when I reached the Cuatro Torres just as the sun was setting…I figured I might as well keep running. So I kept running and passed through the little town of Fuencarral and thought to myself – if I’ve been crazy enough to run til Fuencarral I might as well run to my university! So I kept running.
And this was when it hit me – I was running and I was feeling JUST FINE! I had no pain whatsoever in my knees or feet! I began to run faster and just laughed and praised God as I ran, feeling so happy and loving the moment! God is so good!

The goal in sight!

I arrived at my campus after two hours and three minutes. Suppose if I subtract the times I waited for a traffic light or stopped for a drink at a water fountain I would improve my time…but in the end I didn’t care so much about the minutes. I had arrived!
And that’s what got me thinking – in the end running has a lot to do with commitment. And so does marriage. It’s about making the conscious decision to go all the way. To not give up, to not change goals. I think in our society there’s often a lack of commitment. And I understand that – I mean, its scary! Its serious! I was scared when I thought of having to run 21km and didn’t really think I could…in the same way you might be scared to think of taking marriage seriously – as a life long commitment! Can I do that? Wont I get tired after 7 years – just like I might get tired after 7km? Well people always say that long distance running is a mind thing – and I think that goes for marriage too. If a marathon runner keeps having to ask himself if he will continue or not – I doubt he will reach the finish line. So once you decide to run the marathon – don’t go back on that decision. There will be difficulties for sure – like thirst, muscle cramps, whatever…but keep the goal in mind and don’t quit. RUN! And like I found with my run – its God who gives me the capacity for everything! If you build your relationship, your marriage on God as foundation with the love of Jesus Christ as your example – striving to honour HIM and maintaining love, respect, humility, honesty, forgiveness, patience – HE will help you carry through! May God bless all you couples out there, especially if you’re passing through tough times, and renew your love and strength!!! And blessings to all fellow runners too =)

I’ve never felt this bad about anything in my life. Ever.

You know how people say that hearing “I’m disappointed” is worse than being yelled at? Yeah, that’s the truth. The thing is, I can be better. I have been better. But this time I know I really screwed up. And that makes it ten times worse.

Not only did I humiliate myself, but I also humiliated my parents. You know, I don’t even really care about the fact that I embarrassed myself. Maybe it would’ve been better if I had been there by myself, I would’ve been able to deal with all of it by myself. Knowing that my parents have such high expectations for me, I went and screwed it all over. Since they’re so kind, nice, and caring, they don’t yell at me. They don’t even mention it. They just are silent.

Silence. The worst type of punishment I’ve had to deal with. I’ve dealt with tears, screams, time-outs, call-homes, slaps, the like. And the other person’s satisfaction from hurting me with words or blows bestows itself on me, and I feel a satisfaction that “yes, I deserve this. I’m a horrible person and I deserve all of this. Please, punish me more. I’m sorry.” But silence just takes everything in my stomach and empties it out. It clutches at my heart and rips it out of my chest. It clouds my vision with shame. I can’t even say I’m sorry because then the response will only be, “Why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything wrong.” But we all know that I did.

I think it’s time to reform myself. I always talk about reforming myself, but sadly I never do. I guess it’s because I feel like I’ve gotten what I deserve and it’ll be all right. For the next week I’ll probably be washing the dishes every night and cleaning out my room. I’ll probably ace all my tests and probably try to save the world a few times if I have space in my schedule. But nothing will alleviate my guilt except for time. And hoping that they’ll forget and that accusing glare in their pupils will slowly fade away as they forget and new, better memories replace today.

-hils
Website: http://owlonabraintree.wordpress.com
This post is part of a series of posts called Thoughts on Life.

But things were not as idyllic, as they seemed. I had become involved in something really really difficult. In a way with my eyes open. My daughter´s father, a manic-depressive, who had tried to kill himself twice, before I met him, and who had now taken up drinking … was in every way my polar opposite, and I felt from the beginning, that it was my job to fill that black empty hole in him with love. Yes. I had to save him back to life. But as I discovered, it worked the other way around. I totally underestimated the power of so much hopelessness, and how it slowly drained all my energy and made my rainbow grey. Soon I was, if possible, even more lonely than before, and this time very much aware of it. I still remember standing under the small roof window in the far end of our bathroom silently crying, looking up at the stars or just the dark blue night, because I knew it was the only way to express my sorrow. Not a word. Not a single word.

Gradually I grew numb, as if everything inside me had died. I still took care of my child, my home, went to piano and singing lessons, smiled and tried to make things look fine on the outside. But I was not present. Not until one morning. For a second I woke up. My husband had left for work, I was alone in our apartment with our now 2 1/2 year old daughter, when it happened. As if an angel had called me, and I listened. “Go”. She said. “You have to leave. Now!” “Go!” And while she continued to talk to me, I grabbed a bag, packed a few things and left, my right arm holding my daughter on my hip, my guitar in the other hand, and the bag across my back. It was as if an extremely heavy door had opened just long enough for the two of us to get out, and I was scared to death, that by some accident he would arrive, before I could make it to the taxi waiting in the street.

… read next chapter

… read 1st chapter

…are the ones that explain that you don’t know what to say.