Reflective processing...

Holy smokes, it's interview time again which means it's my requisite shift into reflective processing (nerdy psych language for introspection... just FYI this is what happens to you when you're in school for too long). Again, because I've been so delinquent in keeping up my writing, I won't even attempt to recall all that's happened. I'll just start right where I'm at.

Next week is a busy week, which is a good word to describe me the last 2 years. Yes, it was 2 years ago that I was going through the grad school interview process and it's funny to look back now and think, "If only I had known," when I drove into Waco that very first time. Next week is, in addition to interviews, my birthday, a psychopathology midterm, my friend Destiny's wedding, and the beginning of my trip to backpack the Grand Canyon. Haha, and that's only the stuff I don't normally do in a week.

My friend was telling me what it was like to grow up in Haiti and he shared that people there have such little hope for improving their lot in life, or rather little opportunity, that they would think nothing of spending an entire afternoon on the porch... tossing rocks into a cup. We, on the other hand, are nagged by this constant pressure to do, achieve, be. Don't get me wrong, I've never craved an afternoon of rock throwing, but it certainly highlights an important aspect of American culture. When you're presented with unlimited opportunity and an abundance of resources it feels as though doing nothing is almost neglectful. I'm still debating this issue in my own head, as I clearly have a hard time regulating my own activity level.

One point that I seem to continually come to, however, is my desire to live a balanced life. In doing so I'm dedicating myself not only to success in my profession but also success in my personal life and relationships. Herein lies the difficulty... I rarely feel like I'm able to devote the time and effort I wish I could to those relationships. Unless of course I pick up a meth habit, there just aren't enough hours in the day! So I made a conscious choice in recent months to try to focus on being a good friend and nurture the relationships I already have as priority over creating lots of new, superficial relationships. It's funny, in shifting my focus I've actually made some new connections and strengthened ones that were superficial to begin with. I still feel like I don't do enough, or call enough, or reach out enough... but it's a process. I would formally like to apologize to Signe, Fitzi, Jen, and Jack who are all currently awaiting a returned call- sorry peeps!

For the most part, I feel good about what I'm doing. I am seeing some amazing progress with my clients and I feel so much more comfortable as a therapist. In fact, I actually feel like I know what I'm doing now and it's been such a bizarre transition! Shehzad and I have this conversation frequently in which we secretly (to one another) marvel at our own development and the sense that we're playing an important part in helping our clients to ease their pain and create change. That and I've started working with my first child client doing play therapy. It's such a shift to go from exploring a client's experience of bipolar disorder to playing in the sand and singing "If you're happy and you know it clap your hands" in the span of 15 minutes. What can I say, I love my job.

But back to interviews. Tomorrow and in the coming weeks there will be plenty of people in stark black suits nervously wandering by my office door. Behind that door lies secrets, tears, anxieties, caramel Nips that I can't seem to keep myself from eating, books with lots of unnecessarily fancy words, and a burned out light that my client with OCD continually brings to my attention (I'm working out how to use it therapeutically as something he can't control and make "perfect," haha). Will those nervous, conservatively-dressed young'uns know what awaits them? Would they want it if they did? There's so much that I don't discuss in my writing about grad school that is less attractive than the personal growth I tend to spotlight. Would I make the same decision if I had known what was in store?

I think I would. For all the frustrations, I have learned an incredible amount about myself and humanity. I have gained some incredible relationships in the meanwhile, and no matter if those relationships last another week or a lifetime they have served a purpose and hold a place in my mind and heart. Crystal mentioned that she has to continually remind herself of this point, and for me I wonder if it's something that's even harder for my brain to consolidate having as my model many friendships that HAVE lasted a long time.

I'm missing the first day of interviews so that I can spend time trying to develop my relationship with a new friend in Dallas. You can't do it all, I suppose... there just aren't enough hours in the day.

Oh yeah! And I got half my thyroid removed... but that's a story for another entry.

Multiple Immersions

I'm wondering if it's merely coincident that I'm taking Multiculturalism this semester. Certainly I've been a "culture fanatic" for, well... forever. Moving to Texas required learning a new culture: the language, the customs, the values. I mean, Boulder doesn't recognize Dairy Queen as one of the nutritional staples ya'll, and there are few other locales that one can wear "dress boots" to work.

Recently though, I've been privy to another unique culture unexpectedly tucked just 10 miles outside of town. Go ahead, get your cult jokes out now... there's definitely a hint of fundamental religiosity associated with it, but frankly I've never once felt pressured to believe anything differently than my own experience and values since befriending these people. Actually, they've never even asked my religion.

It all started a couple of weeks ago when my friends accidentally secured us an invitation to a private picnic at the Homestead, from a girl named Destiny no less. As part of a group of culture-holics, I find that many of our adventures in cultural immersion begin in just such an accidental way. Previous forays have included pizza with peace activists, second-hand-smoking at AA meetings, polka-dancing with Czech immigrants, dining with Hare Krishnas, and singing with African American gospel-goers, among others. So naturally, we jumped at the opportunity to picnic with a community in which the women wear skirts and braids, and it's not uncommon to run across someone keeping bees, making cheese, or blacksmithing.

Firstly, I've never been introduced to as many people in such a short time, nor have I enjoyed such a wide assortment of delicious homemade goodies before. It's true, frozen yogurt made before your eyes with strawberries from the garden and milk from a cow named Apricot, well it just tastes better. What's more surprising, however, is the curious ways in which the community at the Homestead isn't all that different from the rest of us modern-living folk.

-They text people on their cell phones.
-And use air conditioning.
-And cars.
-They listen to CDs.
-They play volleyball... not well, but they do. My friend Crystal and I joined an all-male Homestead volleyball team for a rousing tournament behind the farm. And we had a blast- even though she kept yelling "Crap" and I kept shooting her "Can you say that here?!" looks and giggles.
-They let their kids live in the outside world and decide if they want to continue living as part of the community, much like the Amish Rumspringa tradition.
-They worry about their weight.
-They can be really sarcastic and funny, after you get past the inevitable jitters of racking one's brain for shared experiences to fill the silence. Tony told us a story about flipping her canoe and we talked her through the process of how to get back in it... those kind of shared experiences.
-They love, absolutely love, Indian food.
-They're incredibly knowledgeable about the science behind farming, and growing, and living off the land.
-They go on vacation to places like Tahiti. And they bring back touristy souvenirs for their friends.
-They don't adhere as strictly to traditional gender roles as one might assume. If a young boy wants to learn knitting, or a girl finds she's skilled at raising barns, it's respected... even encouraged.
-And they're just about the friendliest group of people ever.

Okay, I'm sensing we need a break for more "Don't drink the Kool-Aid jokes." Done? Good.

After watching the sunset over fields of corn and hay bales at the Overlook, we made plans with our new friends to have an Indian cookfest in the coming weeks. Thinking this was one of those plans you make that no one actually expects to follow through with, I wholeheartedly agreed. But it's going to happen... this Thursday. It will be a much more exclusive group, however, just 23 this time. We're all bringing a dish to share and really: What's more multicultural than a bunch of transplant Baylor grad students of varying backgrounds celebrating Indian culture with Amish-types young and old on the Texas prairie? I won't lie, it's going to be hard to top.

Destiny had us over for lunch this Saturday, and I got the opportunity for full immersion before our upcoming potluck. She made use grilled pizza with dough harvested from wheat down the road, and cheese made that morning, and a salad picked fresh from the garden. We took a risk and brought a pie that Crystal and I made, sans recipe, during one of our cooking adventures (luckily it turned out fantastically since pie-baking falls neatly in the realm of the aforementioned delicious goodies that are the forte of Homesteaders). She took us on a walk to see a new filly born just 5 hours previously, and she pointed out pomegranate trees and took us to their stretch of the Brazos River. We chatted as we walked in the 100-degree heat, and she told us about what it's like to live as part of the community of nearly 1,000.

Maybe it's my Little House on the Prairie leanings, but I really connected with their practice of self-sustained living. I also have great admiration for the worksmanship and artistry of their pottery, and weaving, and woodworking, and all those practices that have long been replaced by industrial mass production, disposable living, and limitless consumption. And beyond that, there's a certain beauty in their collectivist culture... everyone knows everyone and goes out of their way to help the other. We got lost on our way to Destiny's so I rolled down my window and asked a gentleman (who I later learned was Caleb) for directions. He dropped the work he was doing, borrowed his neighbor's car, and drove us there. No wonder everyone's so darn happy, they've got the best support system ever.

Of course it's not all homegrown peaches and cream... they also miss out on the benefits of higher education (they're all homeschooled), and with that the exposure to a variety of ideas about how the world works that comes with the college experience. They're also limited in their opportunities as a result of committing to such a simple, home-based life. In some senses, I got the feeling that Destiny was just as interested in our experiences as we were in hers.

So, as has been my experience with every culture and subculture I've dared to peek into, the greater the exposure the greater the understanding. With that understanding comes the erasure of stereotypes, and prejudice, and fear. And boy isn't fear at the heart of hatred, and discrimination, and war?

Haha, my multiculturalism professor would be so proud!

"I soon realized that no journey carries one far unless, as it extends into the world around us, it goes an equal distance into the world within."
~Lillian Smith

The Impossible Dream.

Well, there's really no way to describe the last 6 months that I've been remiss in keeping up with this blog. I began thinking about all of the meaningful events and lessons from that period and was overwhelmed by the memories, emotions, and frankly the ridiculousness of it all. So instead of talking about century bike rides and camels and conferences and canoeing and health scares and accidents and substance abusers using sidewalk chalk...

I'll just say that last semester was a roller coaster of wonderful and heartbreaking proportions. For as much as I'd anticipated that learning about psychology would inevitably change the way I look at myself and those around me, I was still taken by surprise. Psychologists are continually fighting the perception that they're always "on duty," such that no matter where they are or who they're with they're constantly analyzing every word, action, and situation. The classic defense is always, "Trust me, I've got better things to do than psychoanalyze you all day!" but in a sense, understanding psychology and human behavior is a bell you can't unring.

What am I saying? I conceptualize human development and behavior in a different way now... and as much as I try not to let it sometimes, it informs my worldview. There has been profound disappointment as a result, mostly in the moments where the quirks and vulnerabilities of the people I love dearly can't help but fit into the frame of defenses and maladaptive relational styles. But there has also been profound calm and clarity in the moments I'm able to see those behaviors and patterns that irritate and haunt me for what they really are: adaptations. I guess it's inspiring, in a way, to be able to see how people have developed into who they are (functionally or otherwise). It's been surprisingly inspiring to see how I've developed into the person I am.

So no, I'm not constantly analyzing my friends and family, but I am finding it necessary to rededicate myself to an appreciation of those quirks and vulnerabilities that I find so attractive and fascinating about people. The perfect example, I met a woman the other day when my friend Sarah and I were laying in the pool. According to Sarah this woman had a bout of encephalitis some time ago and since suffers the problem of severely impaired short term memory ala Dory in Finding Nemo. So this woman, Nancy, introduces herself to us and proceeds to regale us (seemingly without ever stopping to take a breath) with blonde jokes, complaints about her nagging sister, and true tales of her funny interactions with children, for a solid 20 minutes. The coup de gras was a true Texas-ism in which Nancy's sister told her, "You're slower than a herd of turtles in peanut butter!" After she left Sarah informed me that she regularly hears this story each morning as Nancy walks by her house, and indeed Nancy introduced herself and told the turtle story again the following morning.

Nancy has popped into my mind a couple of times and I've found myself chuckling and appreciating her incessant talking and the ease with which this elderly woman delivered crude blonde jokes. I find that I appreciate her not in spite of her quirks, but rather, because of them. Is it always appropriate to strip people of their defenses and maladaptive relational styles in order to allow them the psychologist's stamp of good mental health? I'd argue no. People are so complex, diverse, and rich in their experiences and talents and interests that even a doctorate in psychology can't explain 100% of people 100% of the time. If that were the case, I'd hope to understand my own thoughts, feelings, and behaviors better... ah, to dream the impossible dream.

There's a certain comfort in ignorance, in never ringing the bell of knowledge, in approaching the world from one's own limited perspective.This field is tough. Tougher than I'd expected. Tougher on my own perspectives, and feelings, and relationships than I'd expected. I sure hope it's worth it.

Francis Ford Copolla never had to deal with this...

My mother and I cried today... but they weren't tears of pain or frustration. Rather, they were tears of laughter fueled by memories and really bad videography ala my father. It seemed appropriate that during my homecoming we might delve into such memories with the help of some old home movies, so sure enough after I mentioned it in passing yesterday my mother dutifully set up the camera and we sat down today for a serious flashback.

As a result I relived 1987, my first day of Kindergarten, and the day I learned to ride a bike. I also watched my 3-year old sister play tetherball with herself for a solid 15 minutes... clearly this is before my father learned that just because you CAN record moments for posterity, doesn't mean you necessarily SHOULD. It was very Napoleon Dynamite. Perhaps my favorite moment was my father interviewing me after my first day of school. I'm swaying back and forth in our backyard swing and about every 2 minutes my Dad tells me to stop and asks me if I'm trying to drive him crazy, eventually sighing, "Francis Ford Copolla never had to deal with this!" Ahh, childhood.

After the laughfest, my mother mentioned something interesting. She noted how interesting it was to see how enduring some of our personality characteristics were. And she was right, I noticed myself and Liz doing some of the same things as children that we do today. Gives some credence to the nature side of the nature vs. nurture debate. So it was on my mind again tonight as I played "Crazy Aunt Lora" to my best friend Travis and Nicole's daughter, Avery. She'll be two next month and she's developing at the speed of light. I couldn't help but wonder which qualities will endure in her, and how those qualities will present themselves in the person she will be as an adult. She is so much like her parents... like Travis she loves repetition, like Nicole she likes things to be organized and "just right." Having known Travis and Nicole since we ourselves were kids, it's funny to see how these qualities have been enduring in them since childhood too.

That's one of the things I appreciate most about maintaining relationships since childhood. I've blogged about this a lot, but it's truly a special experience to see the progression of people you love over time. It's hard to feel like I'm missing that progression as a result of moving, but that's an essential part of my progression. Avery's been talking about Crazy Aunt Lora for weeks, but the first time she saw me upon my return she started crying... she didn't recognize me, it had been 1/4 of her life since she'd seen me! Thankfully, I'm learning that 6 months of separation isn't that difficult to overcome and the love that characterizes such long-term relationships is its enduring quality.

The Road Home...

It's been 6 months... more than 6 months actually. Time keeps on ticking, I keep on learning, and I keep on seeking out new experiences. One of those experiences is returning home for the first time since "truly" moving away. I haven't lived at home since high school, but I've always lived within a hour's drive of the home I grew up in, the friends I learned multiplication and sharing with, and the places that are burned into my brain since birth. On the one hand, I can't believe it's taken me this long to have this experience, but on the other hand I realize that some people die having never lived more than a stone's throw from their birthplace.

The concept of seeing old things with new eyes is one that I've been thinking about since a dear friend mentioned it in an e-mail last week. I feel like I'm returning to all that I know, but frankly, I don't know what it will be like. My eyes are indeed "new" and my perspective has changed... I'm still wholeheartedly myself, but with 6 months greater perspective. In that period I've moved to a different state (let's be honest, Texas is kind of a different country), built a support system from the ground up, started an intense doctoral program, started an intense new job, coordinated a clinical research lab, had a car accident, broken a bone (haha, okay it's my toe, but it counts!), had a family health scare, and made it out in one piece! Now that's some perspective. We'll see how it translates to good ol' Colorado... which is still, very much, my home.

I ask my group to do "final thoughts" a lot at the end of our group: a thought that reflects on the day so far and the day ahead. It's funny, I end up seeing the "doorknob effect" a lot. Clinically, it's the phenomenon of a client coming to see you for therapy for an hour but not speaking the real problem or feeling until the moment they're opening the door to leave. So my final thought is:

There's no place like home.

Love,

Laura.

Sunday Conversations

Some relationships are best described by a glimpse into their exchanges... I'm completely guilty of keeping e-mails, cards, text messages, voicemails, and verbatim memories of conversations stored away as a reminder of the people that make hanging out on this planet worth it. I joke with Travis about some of the voicemails of his that I've saved for months because every 30 days when the nice automated voice at Verizon reminds me that I should erase my saved messages, I get to enjoy the ridiculousness of his 2 minute rambling messages and laugh about them all over again.

Maybe I'm just sentimental, or silly, or incapable of letting go... but in lieu of writing a rambling blog entry myself, I'll let some of the people in my life speak for me.

So, here's a glimpse into a single day of relationships... a select sampling of today in dialogue:

Jack: "Do you like banana pancakes?"
Me: "Umm, basically I don't like anyone who would answer 'No' to that question. It's pretty much my yardstick for a quality person."
Jack: "Hi, nice to meet you, do you like banana pancakes? No, you say?"
Me: "Yeah, you don't know this but we're not going to get along."
Jack: "I see, by the way I just bought a griddle. When are you coming over for banana pancakes?"
Me: "As soon as possible."

_________________________

this is a super official email. you know because it smacks of official-ness.

bunchy which pictures do you still owe me? i think there are some but i am not sure.

ps. bring your camera today.
pps. i think jigs is coming, i hope, and that would be fun.
ppps. i am kinda dressed like an art teacher again today.
pppps. when can we have an italian-movie fest?
pppps. what are you doing tonight?
ppppps. the last two ps's had the same number of p's.
pppppps. all my ps's have proper grammar. be proud. <3
ppppppppppppppps. i can't wait to go to homestead, it's gonna be fairly rockin. okay fine, really rockin.

i hope you get this before we go.

punchy.

_________________________

Just a quick holiday party follow-up. Please vote for the following.
1) For the 3-tiered beverage fountain, I would like my beverage to be:
a. margaritas
b. straight whiskey
c. grape fanta
d. other: ______

2) As part of the party reveling, I would like to experience:
a. the world's worst R&B "comcast on-demand karaoke" on Jane's tv
b. Trivial Pursuit: The Longmont Edition
c. having an artist paint our group portrait in lieu of digital photos
d. other: _____

3) I plan to attend said holiday party on Saturday the 20th:
a. without a doubt
b. had the wrong date in mind but now I'm sorted out
c. with a faux English accent, like Madonna

happy weekending,
Jane the Very Exhausted
ps- Tom and I just had Vietnamese food, and my fortune was "you will encounter fortunate circumstances at different times in the future". Voting preference will be given to those who tell me a fortune that's even remotely better than this one.

_________________________

Me: "I should call my Mom and make sure I can use her car that day so I can meet you guys for lunch."
Fitzi: "Ha, don't you feel like you're 16 again... you have to ask to borrow the car."
Me: "I know!"

_________________________

me: No, I don't think thats measured in the discrepancies (according to the book)... but maybe you're right and we should just use the simple difference method. Let's just do the best we can and have Sara rip it apart tomorrow.

Shehzad: okie doke

I don't care too much anymore hahasee ya in the morn for the best freeman center day ever

plus dinner

me: now THAT's what I'm talking about!! :)

Shehzad: course I'll probably ask you something before then

me: haha, I know... likewise.

Shehzad: cool :) bye for now then

me: ciao for now (hey, that rhymes)

_________________________

Of all our family other than me, you're the only one that really has the capacity to write, that is, to communicate in an archaic form of communication begun with the Semites on the deserts of the Middle East 5,000 years ago, and which ended with the cell phone and Blackberry in our own times. Being able to write to you is like being able to communicate with someone in Latin, another now dead language.

You should not lose your ability to express yourself with the written word. We're one of the least permanent societies that ever existed on the earth. This email message will never be printed and will be lost to time in a year at best. If you download it to a CD, the CD will be unreadable in 10 years. If you print it, it may last 100, but by then, nobody will be able to read anyway because they've also lost the ability to write. If it were carved in stone, as were the hieroglyphs of the Egyptians, people could still read it 4,000 years later. How odd it is. The Incas were an entirely oral society, as were their predecesors, the Wari and Huani and the other societies of Sourth America in pre-Conquest times. Nothing is known of them. The ONLY reason we know anything of the Inca, who would now be extinct anyway as a result of the natural process of time, is that the Spanish "Conquistadores" sent clerics, accountants and historians to document who they were, who were their gods and leaders, so they could justify the Conquest and forced Christianization, a form of cultural and actual genocide. How ironic it is, therefore, that those very destructors preserved them for all time. We only know of the Incas because they were the regime in power (to be conquered) at the time of the Conquest. Without the Conquest, they would be as unknown as the others. I could carry this absurd monologue to its logical limits, however I will abandon that to speak of things more current and interesting.

... Love, Dad

_________________________

Where do these people come from and how did I get so lucky to have them in my life? I love my peeps... those represented here and those I didn't happen to converse with today. There's always tomorrow!

It Really is Wednesday Again.

I kind of fell off the blogging wagon since moving to Texas, but after six months in my little corner of crazy I feel compelled to reflect a bit on the experience before it comes full circle with my return home in a week.

So, it's Wednesday again. Wednesdays are my rough days... they usually begin at 9am with me leading a hodge podge of substance abusing women in group therapy. To be honest, sometimes it's them that lead me, but that's the process. Throw in a couple of individual therapy sessions at the men's house, some B.S.ing with Shehzad over lunch, five hours of neuropsych testing, and I find myself collapsing on the couch at 11pm. Even though I'm exhausted, I end the day knowing I did something. That's really important to me... to know that my efforts at the end of the day served a purpose greater than just my own enjoyment. And strangely, I gain a sense of enjoyment from knowing I met that goal. Selfish selflessness at its finest, I suppose.

27 growing women
+ 2 hours
+ 6 criers
+ 3 apologies
+ 2 hugs
+ a sleeping pregnant woman
+ a touch of psychosis
+ a slew of denial
+ "Miss Laura"
________________
My Wednesday Morning

Something changed over the last few weeks. I stopped feeling like a stranger in a strange land. I started feeling confident, truly capable, in the work that I'm doing. I won't lie, it feels fantastic despite the exhaustion. I don't think I've ever been this unrelentingly active in my entire life, and frankly I had a twinge of regret for some of the opportunities I've missed by sitting back in life. I've changed a lot, not just in the past six months, but in the past few years. I feel like I'm closer to the person I wanted to be as a little girl imagining her life in the future, though none of the realities of my life are close to those long ago visions.

At this age I pictured myself married, living in a quaint and beautiful town, working in a professional job, thinking about children, spending time with funny and caring friends, buying a house... basically I pictured myself as a "cooler" version of my own mother. The reality is that I'm not married much less anywhere near motherhood, I'm living in Waco (heart of Bible-belt) Texas, I'm a student who shuffles between other peoples' offices to see clients who would have scared me as a child, I'm living alone in an apartment, and I'm spending time with funny and caring friends. All in all, it's nothing like my vision of who I wanted to be. Inside my head, when I allow myself to see it, it's even better than my vision of who I wanted to be. That "perfect" life I'd envisioned is so BORING! That life wouldn't have been challenging or forced me to learn... it might have been nice but it's so expected... and I expect more of myself than that.

So next week I'll be back in Colorado and likely conflicted about my role as a visitor at home. What a strange concept, to be a visitor in your own home. What a strange concept to believe that home lies in any particular place, or time, or people. Tomorrow is Shefrischmakwanzaka... the holiday celebration of my Waco family in my Waco home. I could explain the name, but it would require more backstory than I have the energy for right now. Suffice it to say, home is one of those concepts I've thought a lot about lately and to steal the sentiment of Maya Angelou,

"I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself."

Dammit, I started writing too late... now it's Thursday again. :)

These people say, "Thumbs up for Wednesdays!"