23 June 2008

30 to Eternity

I walk through the last days and weeks of being 29. The closer 30 gets, the more I wonder what that transition means to me...as a woman, as a person who feels far removed from being a grown-up sometimes. I ponder what I have done with my life up to this point. I wonder why 30 is such a precipice of existence, especially for females...chased by expectations of marriage, career, age-appropriate clothes, successful careers, children...

Who decided that 30 was the be-all end-all? I am more proud of the mountains I have climbed in the last ten years, the valleys I have crawled out of; then turning another obscure year older. I am happy to be alive, to have a strong and proud family, faithful friends I am honored to call "friend." I have my health, my sight, everything works the way it's supposed to. There are things I do very well, things I am learning to do better, and things I simply admire in other people. There are times I wonder how I got this far in life, and I am truly grateful.

For obvious reasons, this birthday makes me reflect on my life leading up to July 9, 2008. I recall being six, clutching Blankie as Mom carried me up the stairs to bed; at nine, I remember rollerskating in the basement, Whitney Houston on the tape player; at eleven, hugging my knees and watching Murder, She Wrote by the fire on Sunday nights; at thirteen, whispering "good luck" to my classmates before the curtain rose at the annual dance recital; upon my sweet sixteen...leaning out of the window at Camp Broadstone, the boys cabin serenading me as the sun set over the Blue Ridge Mountains; a freshman in college, contemplating a chaos of boxes in a sterile dorm room, minutes after my parents drove home with a lighter car and slightly heavier hearts; at twenty, watching the sun sink to the black sand of the Santorini beaches, reveling in my first international adventure; jubilant at twenty-one, shaking the Dean's hand, accepting my diploma, pausing to smile at my beaming family; twenty-three and unrolling my hard-earned Master's Degree, pride in my eyes; holding an infant patient at twenty-six, walking down the hall after his appointment, talking to him as he holds my fingers in his small fist; gazing out the airplane window at twenty-nine, watching the lights fade away as I begin my 2800 mile move to Seattle. And at thirty, looking at the radiant faces of my friends around the table during my birthday dinner...happier and more fulfilled than I have ever been.

My head, not yours!

I have a habit of wearing scarves on my head. Sometimes the scarf is black, sometimes striped with fringe. It is not because I am Muslim, a cancer victim, going bald in any way...nor am I making light of any person who falls under the former categories. I am simply a girl who likes to wrap my head in a scarf. One of my genetic gifts happens to be an excess of dark, curly hair with a mind of its own at times. When this hair of mine refuses to be tamed, I rely on a small box full of lovely scarves. I do not mean for this decoration to represent any personal choice or battle I am fighting. It is simply a symbol of me.

On two distinct occasions, I have been ridiculed for wearing these harmless scarves. In the first instance, I was told I could not wear a scarf on my head while at work. An explanation was never offered as to why this action was necessary. There was no dress code in place that would have forbade the wearing of this particular accessory. I leave you, dear reader, to come up with what may have been the feeble reason behind this directive.

In the second instance, all it took was a glance. Any talk after that was just a confirmation of what I already knew to be true. "Why does she wear that thing on her head?" I'm certain that if I looked, I would find no dress code violation for wearing my beloved scarves at this place either.

What is it about a simple piece of fabric, wrapped carefully around a woman's head that so offends certain individuals? This is a timely questions that is asked all over the world. I was surprised that, as a white American female, I would ever be forbidden to have a certain look. Oddly, even as the above, I have been discriminated against many times. For my skin being too dark, my hair too curly, my accent all wrong, my body too slim. I ask you, if I were a redhead or a blonde...would I be so threatening with a scarf on my head? Therein lies the fundamental issue of fear and ignorance that keeps wars going, lines continuously drawn, countries destroyed. Or maybe it just keeps little girls from having friends, or a big one from wearing a pretty white scarf in her dark hair.

03 June 2008

Ode to Myself

I am not perfect:

I am too sensitive, I have too many lines on my hands (a fortune-teller's dream, I have been told), I am kind of a prude, my hair never does what its told, one foot is bigger than the other, my skin is temperamental at best, I cry at Hallmark commercials, I wear my heart on my sleeve (damn the consequences), I have a jagged scar on my upper right thigh, I fear worms and being left behind, I was a nightmare at 13; (sorry Mom) and not much better at 23 (forgive me, Mom?), I can be insecure about my looks, I compare myself to other people too much, I procrastinate, I never get enough sleep, one side of my tummy is rounder than the other, I love Legally Blonde, I'd rather read a mystery novel than something "serious," I am too affected by too many rainy days, I feel too sorry for myself when I am sick, I fall in love too hard, I complain too much about not having my ideal job, I would rather lounge than exercise, I would rather complain than do something about that part of my body I'm not happy with, I complain about being not tall enough, not having enough cleavage, I laugh during movies when no one else is, I don't call my father enough, I don't call my grandmother at all, I eat too much chips and dip, I don't eat enough vegetables, and sometimes I am not nice enough to myself.

I am not perfect:

But I am the best friend a person could have, I give up my seat on the bus to someone who needs it more than I do, I know when to say I'm sorry, I know when to be quiet, I will one day be the best and most loyal wife, a tireless mother; I know when someone needs to be alone, I am a dedicated worker, I am silly, I am not afraid to laugh too loud, love too much, cry when I need to, I have a great sense of humor, I am cuddly, I am determined, I am graceful, I am pleasantly irreverent, I rock a cowgirl hat or a cocktail dress, I have a killer smile, a strong body, I have good manners, I can out-sprint most challengers, I sing really well when I'm all alone, I have a good heart, good intentions, I am me: hazel-eyed, high-spirited, faulty, but whole.

Mother Doing Good

Self Magazine has an award contest called Women Doing Good. It honors women who give their time and talents to charitable organizations. I k...