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Dont you just love being right? Or, for that matter, who doesnt love when they get to tell someone that may or may not have been teasing them about something that they themselves were in fact RIGHT? And even better than being right is when, on the rare occassion, something percieved to be odd, different, or just plain out of the ordinary - is actually THE COOLEST THING IN THE WORLD.
J (the boyfriend/fiance - who will henceforth be known as Crayon) has, since we started dating, been teasing me because of the fact that my second toe (the one normal people wear toe rings on) is slightly longer than all my other toes. However, today I have news for him, and anyone else that might have been subject to this form of discriminatory prefrence when it comes to toes.
Stephanie Klein (of the blog Greek Tragedy - see the blog list ---->) has not only mentioned this affliction/talent. She has given it a name.
*ahem* Royalty Toe.
Brilliant isn't it? SO HA!
No longer will my Royalty Toe take any negative criticism, or poking fun at. It will stand proud - nay King-Like, to be compared with all the other nifty body anomalies such as joint dislocation, ear dancing, double-jointedness, and all varieties of tongue origami.
And since I can do none of the above I am quite proud of my Royalty Toe.
I will be spending the day wearing new flip flops as a reward for my Royalty Toe's modesty in light of this new discovery.
Lizzy
Showing posts with label J. Show all posts
Showing posts with label J. Show all posts
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Backup Plans
Sometimes its so damn frustrating to know what you want. There are days when I envy my friends for just being able to do the "college thing". It all seems so ridiculously easy. They all get to go to school for four years, pick a major, and follow their yellow-brick-road of a career path to wherever they want to go. They get to go to med school. They get to apply for the law program. It seems unfair for the rest of us that have "unconventional" career choices. What guidebook is there for us to follow?
There aren't pretty office complexes for writers. We don't get to sign up with big brand names and impersonal corporations. We don't have the job security, the HMO's, the pensions, or the 401k's. There's no set formula to do well in our industry. No guarantee that with good grades and extracurricular activities, we'll graduate with job offers and proud parents, with a sense of where we're headed, or even the promise that we'll like it when we get there. There are no try-outs, no hopeful gateways, and the entry-level jobs that one might work up from are few and far between. There aren't any support groups either - and writing is a lonely affair. Working on a book is nothing like blogging. The blog community has the benefits of instant validation on any and all content. For the lucky few of us that have a small number of dedicated readers we are able to receive immediate feedback, (and most of us survive off of this drip-line of positive reinforcement). Unfortunately with a book you're up against 65,000 words without any kind of a support system. And that can be pretty daunting. It can also make you reconsider what the hell it is you're trying to do exactly.
My mother wanted to be a writer too. She fell in love with words the same way I did, through literature and music, and like me, she never really let go of the idea. She worked hard at it, as she does with everything in her life, and sold a few short stories here and there but nothing further came of it. She's a testament to the reality that the creative industries have more than enough fresh blood each year, to glide over all the Mid-Lister's that didn't make it as big as they had planned. Now, at 44 years old, she's going into a nursing program, finally pursuing her only other passion. She's my reminder of how cruel life can be to those that fall between the cracks and it makes me wonder if I'm not setting myself up to fail.
Now that I'm here I can't imagine really doing anything else - the standard fall-backs of journalism and teaching don't appeal to me very much - but I can't help worrying about what happens if I'm not part of that lucky (but minuscule) percentage that actually manages to get published, let alone figure out a way to make a living off of this writing business. I know that all I can do is try my hardest and hope for the best outcome but it seems like I have so much riding on all this now, I can't help but let my rational side suggest that I might be making a mistake. I have a fiance with whom I hope to build a comfortable (read: not lacking) sort of lifestyle and I wonder if I ought to pursue a more established type of career. I know that he wants me to do what makes me happy but I refuse to be one of those women that stays home and lives off their husbands income. I wasn't raised that way - and frankly I'd probably go crazy. So what it really all comes down to is - if not this, then what?
There aren't pretty office complexes for writers. We don't get to sign up with big brand names and impersonal corporations. We don't have the job security, the HMO's, the pensions, or the 401k's. There's no set formula to do well in our industry. No guarantee that with good grades and extracurricular activities, we'll graduate with job offers and proud parents, with a sense of where we're headed, or even the promise that we'll like it when we get there. There are no try-outs, no hopeful gateways, and the entry-level jobs that one might work up from are few and far between. There aren't any support groups either - and writing is a lonely affair. Working on a book is nothing like blogging. The blog community has the benefits of instant validation on any and all content. For the lucky few of us that have a small number of dedicated readers we are able to receive immediate feedback, (and most of us survive off of this drip-line of positive reinforcement). Unfortunately with a book you're up against 65,000 words without any kind of a support system. And that can be pretty daunting. It can also make you reconsider what the hell it is you're trying to do exactly.
My mother wanted to be a writer too. She fell in love with words the same way I did, through literature and music, and like me, she never really let go of the idea. She worked hard at it, as she does with everything in her life, and sold a few short stories here and there but nothing further came of it. She's a testament to the reality that the creative industries have more than enough fresh blood each year, to glide over all the Mid-Lister's that didn't make it as big as they had planned. Now, at 44 years old, she's going into a nursing program, finally pursuing her only other passion. She's my reminder of how cruel life can be to those that fall between the cracks and it makes me wonder if I'm not setting myself up to fail.
Now that I'm here I can't imagine really doing anything else - the standard fall-backs of journalism and teaching don't appeal to me very much - but I can't help worrying about what happens if I'm not part of that lucky (but minuscule) percentage that actually manages to get published, let alone figure out a way to make a living off of this writing business. I know that all I can do is try my hardest and hope for the best outcome but it seems like I have so much riding on all this now, I can't help but let my rational side suggest that I might be making a mistake. I have a fiance with whom I hope to build a comfortable (read: not lacking) sort of lifestyle and I wonder if I ought to pursue a more established type of career. I know that he wants me to do what makes me happy but I refuse to be one of those women that stays home and lives off their husbands income. I wasn't raised that way - and frankly I'd probably go crazy. So what it really all comes down to is - if not this, then what?
Monday, August 18, 2008
The Poetry of Love
Love is a difficult subject to present in a fair light. Our modern-day cliches and Hollywood exaggerations make it hard to truly see love for what it is and can be. It teaches us a lot about ourselves and about life. I've heard it compared to a mirror - a way of seeing yourself through the eyes of others. And in many ways that's exactly right.
I've learned my fair amount of lessons, moving in and out of relationships. I've learned to appreciate the flurry of new love and to press forward when it fades. I've learned to give everything I have for the sake of a companion and how, when I have nothing left, to live within the artful postures of love - instead of love itself. I taught myself to appreciate the little things, to create my own happiness. Most importantly though, I learned to take care of myself and to retain a sense of self within a relationship. And for some strange reason it was only when I figured all of this out that I was truly ready for the person I needed to come into my life. And then he did.
It seems unfair, when I have been so lucky in so many other ways, that I should be graced with the presence of such an amazing person. I certainly don't deserve it. In a surreal, movie-like sort of way, he strolled into my life, asked me to dance, and, remarkably enough, hasn't taken his eyes off of me since. The clarity and the reassurance that his presence holds is something I've come to depend on and in many ways it's allowed me to return to that centered, balanced sort of state I've been missing for many years. It's one of the many things that, for me, mark him as a lasting presence in my life. I could sigh over how handsome he is, the way he opens every door for me, refuses to let me pay for even a cup of coffee, and surprises me with presents for the smallest of reasons, but the truth of the matter is that I love him for the purest of reasons I've come to find. That being - that he simply loves me, without question or unsurety, without demand for performance or change. He loves me - just me and just as I am.
The true poetry of love and romance lies in its simplicity and its consistency. Love begins and ends within the same designs and its the dedication of those in love that keep such a cycle in its delicate balance. It's the compromising and the combination of honesty and trust that allow an unfolding of one of life's most precious gifts. If love remains patient, remains kind, we might find that instead of being left empty when pouring our time and efforts into a relationship, we are filled to the brim with the rewards of our labors. We might find ourselves rekindled, renewed, and above all if we allow ourselves to discover the very truth and nature by which life and love exist we might also find someone with which to share it.
I've learned my fair amount of lessons, moving in and out of relationships. I've learned to appreciate the flurry of new love and to press forward when it fades. I've learned to give everything I have for the sake of a companion and how, when I have nothing left, to live within the artful postures of love - instead of love itself. I taught myself to appreciate the little things, to create my own happiness. Most importantly though, I learned to take care of myself and to retain a sense of self within a relationship. And for some strange reason it was only when I figured all of this out that I was truly ready for the person I needed to come into my life. And then he did.
It seems unfair, when I have been so lucky in so many other ways, that I should be graced with the presence of such an amazing person. I certainly don't deserve it. In a surreal, movie-like sort of way, he strolled into my life, asked me to dance, and, remarkably enough, hasn't taken his eyes off of me since. The clarity and the reassurance that his presence holds is something I've come to depend on and in many ways it's allowed me to return to that centered, balanced sort of state I've been missing for many years. It's one of the many things that, for me, mark him as a lasting presence in my life. I could sigh over how handsome he is, the way he opens every door for me, refuses to let me pay for even a cup of coffee, and surprises me with presents for the smallest of reasons, but the truth of the matter is that I love him for the purest of reasons I've come to find. That being - that he simply loves me, without question or unsurety, without demand for performance or change. He loves me - just me and just as I am.
The true poetry of love and romance lies in its simplicity and its consistency. Love begins and ends within the same designs and its the dedication of those in love that keep such a cycle in its delicate balance. It's the compromising and the combination of honesty and trust that allow an unfolding of one of life's most precious gifts. If love remains patient, remains kind, we might find that instead of being left empty when pouring our time and efforts into a relationship, we are filled to the brim with the rewards of our labors. We might find ourselves rekindled, renewed, and above all if we allow ourselves to discover the very truth and nature by which life and love exist we might also find someone with which to share it.
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