Sometimes it's all a matter of perspective.
Sunday, October 19, 2014
Taipei 101 {or A Matter of Perspective}
See that little building in the distance? The one that seems positively dwarfed by the apartment buildings in my complex? Yeah . . . that's the 6th tallest building in the world. Until 2010, it was the tallest building in the world. It has 101 floors. That's about 8 or 9 times more than my apartment building has.
Sometimes it's all a matter of perspective.
I think there's probably a life lesson in there. I'll get back to you once I hash it out.
Sometimes it's all a matter of perspective.
Friday, October 10, 2014
When I Am Weak
Confession. I wrote this a month ago and was too proud and embarrassed to publish.
So, I moved to Taiwan last month.
After a summer of silence, I thought it best to cut to the chase and give the most important update first. In the space of a week, the hubby and I interviewed for positions at an international school here, were offered jobs, packed up our entire apartment, and moved to the other side of the world.
You'd think, after such a drastic life change, that my thoughts would be full of international adventures and profound thoughts on adjusting to new cultures and new ways of living. I do have plenty along those lines to share, but at the moment, my thoughts are full of something else.
Right now, I think of pain. More specifically, I think of these words by Emily Dickinson.
PAIN has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.
It has not future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.
The truth is, I can't recollect a day when pain was not part of my life. It begins in the morning when I wake up--brain-fogged, head already aching, muscles and joints crying out as I steel myself for another day. It continues throughout the day until I collapse into a ball of exhaustion. I go to sleep, vainly hoping that rest will heal my body only to wake up again and face another day of pain.
Periods of busyness and change always increase my pain. Moving to Taiwan is no exception. Right now, I spend the better portion of my day wanting to cry in weariness and frustration. I don't want to be this way. It's not a play for attention or an excuse to spend a day relaxing. It never has been, not when the symptoms started in third grade and not now.
You see, I have what can, at best guess, be called chronic fatigue syndrome and fibromyalgia. In simple terms, it means I'm always tired, no matter how much rest I get, and my body's pain receptors work overtime.
I don't write this post as a plea for sympathy. In fact, I'd rather not talk about it. I know hitting publish when I'm finished will take a great deal of bravery. I don't want to have to admit that I'm sick and have been for the better part of 18 years. If I don't tell you, then I don't have to admit it to myself.
Truth is, I'm ashamed of my pain. Being tired all the time means, in my mind, that I'm weak, lazy, and incompetent. I'm embarrassed to admit that I slept till noon today and then spent the day in bed. At heart, I'm a busy bee morning person. I love getting up before dawn. I'd rather be able to say I conquered the world, or at least my small corner of it, before lunch.
I know the reactions that come when I admit my weaknesses. There's misunderstanding, confusion. People talk about times they've been tired after staying out dancing or pulling an all-nighter. Other people assume I'm a hypochondriac and my condition could be cured with a good night's rest and an aspirin.
Of course, these are only some of the reactions. Many other people, are sympathetic and try to understand. But even that reaction bothers me. Their opinion of me changes. Their sympathy makes me uncomfortable. They try to understand but are reacting to a mysterious condition with no obvious physical signs or clearcut causes. It's not a lost limb or a cancer. It's just constant pain and tiredness for no apparent reason.
I hold nothing against anyone. I get that my weakness is a confusing one. Plus, the truth is, it's nothing compared to amputation or cancer. And really, it's not anyone's business. Why do people need to know? As a northerner, I keep personal information about myself on a need-to-know-basis. This is no exception.
Why then, am I talking now? There are a couple reasons. For starters, I suppose it's cathartic. I'm tired of being ashamed of my weakness. I don't want to complain it from the rooftops, but I don't want to be embarrassed either. Second, I think one of the most important things about personal painful experiences is the lessons they teach us. Some good things are best when shared. Life lessons are one of those things.
Today, I've been thinking about Paul's words in Corinthians. He's talking about his thorn in the flesh, his physical weakness: "For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me. And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong."
I used to think that God's strength being made perfect in my weakness meant that I would somehow be made perfect, not that the weakness would disappear but that I would have supernatural physical strength to achieve great things. Of course, for some people it might mean that, but I took this as a challenge of sorts. I would work multiple jobs, take on heavy course loads at college, and forego sleep because I thought I had to. I thought I had to be not "just like everyone else" but that I had to be better than everyone else. I had to be perfect.
Paul says God allowed his thorn in the flesh to keep him from being proud. I guess that might be why God allowed mine as well. It reminds me that I'm not perfect. I can't do everything. Even if I were healthy, I couldn't do everything. My weakness just helps remind me how much I owe God.
Of course, sometimes, I try to use my weakness as a secret badge of honor. I think, "Look how much I achieved while being in so much pain!" Thinking this way makes me feel better about being different, being weaker. It's always then, though, that I either collapse in exhaustion or God shows me someone who's weaker than I am but has done so much more than me.
The Christian life isn't about being perfect or about comparing trials and tribulations like scars from the battlefield. It's about our own relationship with Christ and how that relationship showcases Christ to the world. God's strength being made perfect in weakness doesn't mean that, because I have Christ, I will have the strength to do wonders. It means that I let my weakness teach me how much I need Christ. I am nothing without Christ, just a self-obsessed girl trying to find meaning in her own inner ramblings. God wants me to glory in my weakness not because it makes me great but because it keeps me humble and lets him shine bright.
With Christ, though, I can let go. I can let go of the need to be perfect. I can let go of the desire to be normal. I can let go of it all. I am sick. That's ok. I am tired. That's ok. I am in pain. That's ok. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's nothing to be proud of, either.
I'm not perfect on the outside or the inside. I have nothing left to prove, nothing left of myself to give. That's ok. I have Christ. When I stop being ashamed or proud and just let myself be weak, my artifices and facades can slip away. When I am weak, he can be strong.
I started this blog to write about finding beauty in imperfection. I used my freckles as an example of that quest. Since moving to Taiwan, my freckles have been getting even more attention. My kids always want to know why I have so many dots on me. I don't think they find them beautiful. They find them strange. I could let that bother me, but it's ok. I've let go. I don't need to have perfect looks anymore. I'm content.
I'm only now just learning, though, how to be content with my physical weakness. Being weaker and tireder than others isn't so ok with me. I've been the weird one in looks and personality as long as I've been the one with the weird physical weakness. I'm ok with the first two weirdnesses, but I'm still holding onto that last one.
I think it's time that stopped. I've actually always been able to find beauty in my pain. I've just too often let my shame or pride alternately drown the beauty out. It's time to let go. God's strength, not mine, is made perfect in my weakness. Because of my pain, I'm drawing closer to Christ. I think that's the most beautiful thing of all.
So, I moved to Taiwan last month.
After a summer of silence, I thought it best to cut to the chase and give the most important update first. In the space of a week, the hubby and I interviewed for positions at an international school here, were offered jobs, packed up our entire apartment, and moved to the other side of the world.
You'd think, after such a drastic life change, that my thoughts would be full of international adventures and profound thoughts on adjusting to new cultures and new ways of living. I do have plenty along those lines to share, but at the moment, my thoughts are full of something else.
Right now, I think of pain. More specifically, I think of these words by Emily Dickinson.
PAIN has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.
It has not future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.
The truth is, I can't recollect a day when pain was not part of my life. It begins in the morning when I wake up--brain-fogged, head already aching, muscles and joints crying out as I steel myself for another day. It continues throughout the day until I collapse into a ball of exhaustion. I go to sleep, vainly hoping that rest will heal my body only to wake up again and face another day of pain.
Periods of busyness and change always increase my pain. Moving to Taiwan is no exception. Right now, I spend the better portion of my day wanting to cry in weariness and frustration. I don't want to be this way. It's not a play for attention or an excuse to spend a day relaxing. It never has been, not when the symptoms started in third grade and not now.
You see, I have what can, at best guess, be called chronic fatigue syndrome and fibromyalgia. In simple terms, it means I'm always tired, no matter how much rest I get, and my body's pain receptors work overtime.
I don't write this post as a plea for sympathy. In fact, I'd rather not talk about it. I know hitting publish when I'm finished will take a great deal of bravery. I don't want to have to admit that I'm sick and have been for the better part of 18 years. If I don't tell you, then I don't have to admit it to myself.
Truth is, I'm ashamed of my pain. Being tired all the time means, in my mind, that I'm weak, lazy, and incompetent. I'm embarrassed to admit that I slept till noon today and then spent the day in bed. At heart, I'm a busy bee morning person. I love getting up before dawn. I'd rather be able to say I conquered the world, or at least my small corner of it, before lunch.
I know the reactions that come when I admit my weaknesses. There's misunderstanding, confusion. People talk about times they've been tired after staying out dancing or pulling an all-nighter. Other people assume I'm a hypochondriac and my condition could be cured with a good night's rest and an aspirin.
Of course, these are only some of the reactions. Many other people, are sympathetic and try to understand. But even that reaction bothers me. Their opinion of me changes. Their sympathy makes me uncomfortable. They try to understand but are reacting to a mysterious condition with no obvious physical signs or clearcut causes. It's not a lost limb or a cancer. It's just constant pain and tiredness for no apparent reason.
I hold nothing against anyone. I get that my weakness is a confusing one. Plus, the truth is, it's nothing compared to amputation or cancer. And really, it's not anyone's business. Why do people need to know? As a northerner, I keep personal information about myself on a need-to-know-basis. This is no exception.
Why then, am I talking now? There are a couple reasons. For starters, I suppose it's cathartic. I'm tired of being ashamed of my weakness. I don't want to complain it from the rooftops, but I don't want to be embarrassed either. Second, I think one of the most important things about personal painful experiences is the lessons they teach us. Some good things are best when shared. Life lessons are one of those things.
Today, I've been thinking about Paul's words in Corinthians. He's talking about his thorn in the flesh, his physical weakness: "For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me. And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong."
I used to think that God's strength being made perfect in my weakness meant that I would somehow be made perfect, not that the weakness would disappear but that I would have supernatural physical strength to achieve great things. Of course, for some people it might mean that, but I took this as a challenge of sorts. I would work multiple jobs, take on heavy course loads at college, and forego sleep because I thought I had to. I thought I had to be not "just like everyone else" but that I had to be better than everyone else. I had to be perfect.
Paul says God allowed his thorn in the flesh to keep him from being proud. I guess that might be why God allowed mine as well. It reminds me that I'm not perfect. I can't do everything. Even if I were healthy, I couldn't do everything. My weakness just helps remind me how much I owe God.
Of course, sometimes, I try to use my weakness as a secret badge of honor. I think, "Look how much I achieved while being in so much pain!" Thinking this way makes me feel better about being different, being weaker. It's always then, though, that I either collapse in exhaustion or God shows me someone who's weaker than I am but has done so much more than me.
The Christian life isn't about being perfect or about comparing trials and tribulations like scars from the battlefield. It's about our own relationship with Christ and how that relationship showcases Christ to the world. God's strength being made perfect in weakness doesn't mean that, because I have Christ, I will have the strength to do wonders. It means that I let my weakness teach me how much I need Christ. I am nothing without Christ, just a self-obsessed girl trying to find meaning in her own inner ramblings. God wants me to glory in my weakness not because it makes me great but because it keeps me humble and lets him shine bright.
With Christ, though, I can let go. I can let go of the need to be perfect. I can let go of the desire to be normal. I can let go of it all. I am sick. That's ok. I am tired. That's ok. I am in pain. That's ok. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's nothing to be proud of, either.
I'm not perfect on the outside or the inside. I have nothing left to prove, nothing left of myself to give. That's ok. I have Christ. When I stop being ashamed or proud and just let myself be weak, my artifices and facades can slip away. When I am weak, he can be strong.
I started this blog to write about finding beauty in imperfection. I used my freckles as an example of that quest. Since moving to Taiwan, my freckles have been getting even more attention. My kids always want to know why I have so many dots on me. I don't think they find them beautiful. They find them strange. I could let that bother me, but it's ok. I've let go. I don't need to have perfect looks anymore. I'm content.
I'm only now just learning, though, how to be content with my physical weakness. Being weaker and tireder than others isn't so ok with me. I've been the weird one in looks and personality as long as I've been the one with the weird physical weakness. I'm ok with the first two weirdnesses, but I'm still holding onto that last one.
I think it's time that stopped. I've actually always been able to find beauty in my pain. I've just too often let my shame or pride alternately drown the beauty out. It's time to let go. God's strength, not mine, is made perfect in my weakness. Because of my pain, I'm drawing closer to Christ. I think that's the most beautiful thing of all.
Sunday, May 25, 2014
Me-Made May Weeks 3 & 4 {All About Refashions}
Despite the craziness of life right now, I've been keeping up with my Me-Made May '14 challenge. The last two weeks were all about refashions.
Week 3, I wore my refashioned 70's skirt, previously blogged here. When I refashioned the skirt, I wasn't sure whether I'd ever actually wear it. It seemed a bit to fancy. Paired with a jean vest and a concert t-shirt, though, it was just right.
Week 2, I wore a refashioned wool skirt. I didn't get a picture of the outfit but did get one of the skirt. Last December, my husband brought home a long wool skirt he'd picked up at the L.L. Bean Employee Store for $2. The length wasn't quite right, so I chopped it in half and created a pencil skirt and a cute gathered skirt.
Monday, May 12, 2014
Me Made May Weeks 1 & 2
May started out slow and normal and took a rather hectic twist last Saturday. My family was thrown into a bit of medical emergency. The crisis isn't over yet, but (praise God) things are looking better and better.
All that to say, I have kept up with my Me-Made-May challenge but haven't been able to blog about it till now.
The first week, I wore my sleeveless Peony.
The second week, I wore a simple, self-drafted, elastic-waist gathered skirt. At this point, I was spending most of my time in the ICU or the ICU waiting room, not exactly a picture friendly place, so I sadly don't have any images to share.
All in all, my Me-Made-May hasn't been very spectacular, but I've been enjoying it. More thoughts to follow!
All that to say, I have kept up with my Me-Made-May challenge but haven't been able to blog about it till now.
The first week, I wore my sleeveless Peony.
Outfit Details
Dress: Handmade by me, Colette's Peony
Shirt: LL Bean Signature
Belt: LL Bean
Shoes: LL Bean Signature
The second week, I wore a simple, self-drafted, elastic-waist gathered skirt. At this point, I was spending most of my time in the ICU or the ICU waiting room, not exactly a picture friendly place, so I sadly don't have any images to share.
All in all, my Me-Made-May hasn't been very spectacular, but I've been enjoying it. More thoughts to follow!
Thursday, May 1, 2014
The Lethargic Seamstress Makes a Pledge {or It's Me-Made-May!}
Every year for the past few years I've felt a bit of sadness when May 1st rolled around. I always want to participate in Me-Made-May and always kick myself for not being a dedicated enough sewer to make it work.
This year, I'm changing that trend. I may not have a closetful of handmade goodies, but I'm not letting that stop me. I figure, I can keep my pledge simple and doable. I'm not going to let my desire for perfectionism stop my from doing what I can. So what if I can't wear a me-made garment everyday of May? I can do something! So here we go!
I, Rachel Kaye, sign up as a participant of Me-Made-May '14. I endeavor to wear one me-made item at least once week for the duration of May 2014.
My pledge isn't that intense in comparison with some of the others out there, but it's a step for me. I'm hoping this experience encourages me to finish up some of those UFOs (un-finished objects) on my sewing table, breaks my recent sewing lethargy, and helps me better understand my personal style and where sewing fits in that equation.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Do What You're Passionate About {or Love is Hard Work}
Disclaimer: The following is a random jumble of sleepy thoughts. It makes no claims to good writing or proper grammar (and yes, I do realize that I just personified my writing).
I have a little secret to tell you. Contrary to popular belief, I don't really enjoy the process of sewing.
I mean seriously? Who enjoys painstakingly cutting out fabric, pinning it together, sewing straight lines, finishing seams, trimming necklines and facings, and all that jazz?
Ok. I know some people enjoy it. I'm just not one of them.
So why do I keep coming back? Why do I lie in bed at night mentally completing sewing projects and thinking through each step (even the ones I hate) involved in designing my own dress, skirt, or pants?
It's the same thing with writing, really. I had a reputation as a writer long before I had a reputation as an aspiring seamstress. The truth is, though, I don't really enjoy it. At least, I don't enjoy the finer points of writing.
Who wants to dissect sentences, hunt for the right word, look up grammar rules, plan out perfect plots, or create cohesive characters? The ideation is great. But going through the blood, sweat, and tears of making those ideas into readable wholes? Not my idea of fun.
And yet, no matter how hard I fight my addiction, I still find myself coming back to writing. I still find myself dreaming up ideas in the shower and rushing out with half-washed hair to write them down before I forget. I still find myself staying up late (like tonight) when I should be in bed just so I can try to corral this stream of ideas into submission. I still find myself trying to create strong characters and plots.
So what is it? Why do I keep coming back to these things I don't like? After much thought, I have only one answer. Passion. Because here's the thing, I'm lazy. I don't like doing anything that reeks of hard work. But I like, love, am passionate about the creating, and creating, my friends, is hard work. I keep coming back because the rewards are sweet.
There's been some recent chatter across social media channels about the saying "Do what you love, and you'll never work a day in your life." To be honest, I've never liked that phrase.
For starters, even the most enjoyable job will have amounts of pure, hair-tearing boredom. It's just a fact. You will work a day in your life. You will work many days in your life. And it will feel like back-breaking labor. The point is to find something that makes the working days worth it.
Second, I feel the statement has a fundamental flaw based on our culture's definition of "love."
Let me explain. We use the word "love" for chocolate and our parents equally. Of course, there's a cultural understanding that you love your parents more than chocolate (at least I hope you do), but we use both words for both feelings. They're different, though. Enjoying chocolate is easy. Loving your parents, or anyone else for that matter, is quite often hard work.
So when people say, "Do what you love, and you'll never work," the idea I take away is enjoyment or the kind of love you have for chocolate. "Do something you enjoy, and you'll never work because enjoyment is the opposite of work."
If I were to simply do what I enjoy, I would spend my days on the couch, watching TV shows and movies with awesome wardrobes, eating pasta, drinking orange juice by the gallon, and shopping for clothing online till my credit card maxed out. I love narrative, food, and style. Why not enjoy them the easy way? But let's face it. I enjoy pasta, but I don't truly love it.
When I do something I love, though, that's a different story. I write stories and blogposts; I make my own pasta (yes, I said make my own pasta!); I plan wardrobes and sew clothes. Don't get me wrong, I do enjoy doing what I love, but I don't enjoy it because it's fundamentally enjoyable to sweat over a rolling pin or pull out threads till my eyes water. I enjoy it because I love it. Few things can match how much I enjoy successfully creating a new recipe, story, or dress, even if the process is hard work.
So I guess what I'm saying is, here's my take on that famous saying, "If you do what you're passionate about, it generally won't be easy, and it won't always be enjoyable, but everyday of work will be worth it."
I have a little secret to tell you. Contrary to popular belief, I don't really enjoy the process of sewing.
I mean seriously? Who enjoys painstakingly cutting out fabric, pinning it together, sewing straight lines, finishing seams, trimming necklines and facings, and all that jazz?
Ok. I know some people enjoy it. I'm just not one of them.
So why do I keep coming back? Why do I lie in bed at night mentally completing sewing projects and thinking through each step (even the ones I hate) involved in designing my own dress, skirt, or pants?
It's the same thing with writing, really. I had a reputation as a writer long before I had a reputation as an aspiring seamstress. The truth is, though, I don't really enjoy it. At least, I don't enjoy the finer points of writing.
Who wants to dissect sentences, hunt for the right word, look up grammar rules, plan out perfect plots, or create cohesive characters? The ideation is great. But going through the blood, sweat, and tears of making those ideas into readable wholes? Not my idea of fun.
And yet, no matter how hard I fight my addiction, I still find myself coming back to writing. I still find myself dreaming up ideas in the shower and rushing out with half-washed hair to write them down before I forget. I still find myself staying up late (like tonight) when I should be in bed just so I can try to corral this stream of ideas into submission. I still find myself trying to create strong characters and plots.
So what is it? Why do I keep coming back to these things I don't like? After much thought, I have only one answer. Passion. Because here's the thing, I'm lazy. I don't like doing anything that reeks of hard work. But I like, love, am passionate about the creating, and creating, my friends, is hard work. I keep coming back because the rewards are sweet.
There's been some recent chatter across social media channels about the saying "Do what you love, and you'll never work a day in your life." To be honest, I've never liked that phrase.
For starters, even the most enjoyable job will have amounts of pure, hair-tearing boredom. It's just a fact. You will work a day in your life. You will work many days in your life. And it will feel like back-breaking labor. The point is to find something that makes the working days worth it.
Second, I feel the statement has a fundamental flaw based on our culture's definition of "love."
Let me explain. We use the word "love" for chocolate and our parents equally. Of course, there's a cultural understanding that you love your parents more than chocolate (at least I hope you do), but we use both words for both feelings. They're different, though. Enjoying chocolate is easy. Loving your parents, or anyone else for that matter, is quite often hard work.
So when people say, "Do what you love, and you'll never work," the idea I take away is enjoyment or the kind of love you have for chocolate. "Do something you enjoy, and you'll never work because enjoyment is the opposite of work."
If I were to simply do what I enjoy, I would spend my days on the couch, watching TV shows and movies with awesome wardrobes, eating pasta, drinking orange juice by the gallon, and shopping for clothing online till my credit card maxed out. I love narrative, food, and style. Why not enjoy them the easy way? But let's face it. I enjoy pasta, but I don't truly love it.
When I do something I love, though, that's a different story. I write stories and blogposts; I make my own pasta (yes, I said make my own pasta!); I plan wardrobes and sew clothes. Don't get me wrong, I do enjoy doing what I love, but I don't enjoy it because it's fundamentally enjoyable to sweat over a rolling pin or pull out threads till my eyes water. I enjoy it because I love it. Few things can match how much I enjoy successfully creating a new recipe, story, or dress, even if the process is hard work.
So I guess what I'm saying is, here's my take on that famous saying, "If you do what you're passionate about, it generally won't be easy, and it won't always be enjoyable, but everyday of work will be worth it."
Monday, March 24, 2014
Last Week {or What I was Doing While Not Blogging}
Last week wasn't particularly busy. There were a few added responsibilities and events but nothing overwhelming. Despite life being fairly simple, I never found the time to blog. I suppose I was just too busy living!
I'm a little obsessed with Spring right now. It's still a little ways away up here in the uninhabitable regions of the Arctic, but I have hope it's coming.
I'm a little obsessed with Spring right now. It's still a little ways away up here in the uninhabitable regions of the Arctic, but I have hope it's coming.
March here is a tempestuous month. Snow, foggy warmth, and clear cold mix together equally. Despite temps that in October or November would have us retreating into our warm woolies, in March we shed our winter coats for Spring jackets and brave the outdoors. It as if by wishful dressing we think we can speed Spring's arrival.
While I wait for Spring, I'm embracing the clearer light and longer days by taking long walks, cooking spring foods, and taking plenty of pictures.
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