Through a Glass, Darkly

I finished it. There was a point at which I thought I never would, and there was a point at which I thought I never could. But I finished, and now I know lots more than I ever thought I would about mythology. It was interesting, if not exactly my thing. But I have reasons for not recommending it.

As I turned to the last page, I got a papercut. It hurt. And bled. A lot. By then, it was too late not to finish, but the book will go down as one of the most vicious I’ve ever read. I slogged through it, reading almost 100 pages yesterday just to be done . . . and it rewards me by attacking me. On my dinner break. Stay away from this book. It will cut you.

(I’m still bleeding.)

I have Mike’s socks on today, because all my black socks were in the wash. I’m not above wearing socks more than once, but mine were literally in the wash - I put a load in before we went to bed last night, so all my black socks were wet. I should have planned a little better, I know. Mike’s socks are a little too big for me, but it works. His are also softer and more comfortable. And they are almost like knee socks. What’s not to like?

Today’s confession: I have been working on Don’t Know Much About Mythology off and on for the past couple of weeks. I keep having to stop and read something more enjoyable. I’ve read five different books while being in the middle of this one. I never read like that. I am always a “read straight through” kind of girl. But yesterday I watched four episodes of Gilmore Girls season 5, just to keep from having to read. Not that watching Gilmore Girls is a hardship, but even Mike remarked that I am going to great lengths to keep from reading this book. It’s not that it’s bad, just that it’s probably more than I wanted to know. But I will finish it! Today at lunch I knocked out another 40 pages or so, and I’ve just got a little over a hundred left, so I should definitely be done by Wednesday. Usually when it’s this hard to get myself to read something, I just quit. But by the time I realized I was stuck, I was almost halfway done, and I wasn’t going to let all my previous effort be wasted. So here I am, plowing through it just to be done. All in all, not the best reading experience I’ve ever had.

The weekend went much too quickly, and now I’m staring down a week in which I need to get a lot of things settled before we go on vacation. I’ve got books checked out, I’ve started planning what to pack (you can see my priorities - books before clothes), and I can’t wait to be in Florida.

Dear ladies who might see me on their caller ID from Friday afternoon around 2:30 EST,

So, my friend who is having a baby said they needed diapers. I don’t know anything about diapers. I went to the diaper aisle at Target and there are all these numbers! What do they mean? How do I know which ones are good? Huggies? Pampers? I heard the Wal-Mart brand was okay, but I was in Target. And I didn’t really want to buy the store brand for a shower. I am apparently not qualified to buy diapers! But none of you answered your phones! If they’re not right, I blame you.

I almost asked a random lady on the aisle, but I was afraid to scare her,
Kari

—

Dear people in the picture frame aisle at Target,

Didn’t you think it was funny that we were all on our cell phones? I hope that you, lady with the green t-shirt, have a good time at your chic dinner tonight, and you, man with frayed jeans, can fix whatever it was you were fighting about. And, yes, my husband did get the ingredients for peach cobbler at the grocery store. Thanks for asking.

Enjoy those frames,
Kari

—

Dear large athletic store,

I don’t know if that guy was a district manager or what, but, just a suggestion: Berating the employees in front of the customers may not be the way to go. Why would I want help from someone who just yelled at a bunch of people? Why would I buy shoes from you?

I was the one practically running out the door,
Kari

—

Dear large shoe store,

So that’s what 50,000 pairs of shoes look like.

Wow,
Kari

—

Dear people in the car next to me,

Yes, I like Kelly Clarkson. I like singing along to her. What is the problem?

I’m so moving on,
Kari

—

Dear lady who sang “Breakaway” when it started playing over the store’s speakers,

Exactly.

I’ll spread my wings and I’ll learn how to fly,
Kari

—

Dear people who make shoes,

I know it’s been a long time since I bought shoes, but . . . velcro? For adults? Really? I’m 26, are you sure that’s okay?

I think the last time I had velcro was on KangaRoos,
Kari

—

Dear Mom,

You might want to sit down, because all the shoes I liked today were grey and pink. That’s right, pink.

I’m a woman who wears pink,
Kari

—

Dear Easy Peach Cobbler,

Wow, your name is for real! So easy! So peachy! I don’t even feel guilty about using canned peaches!

I don’t even really like peach cobbler, but you have won me over with your easy cobbler ways,
Kari

—

Dear Friday,

Could you always be this warm and wonderful? I like driving around with my windows rolled down. (Listening to Kelly Clarkson.)

Thanks for a nice day off,
Kari

I’ve been reading a book called Why I’m Still Married, which is full of essays women have written about marriage. In almost every one, I can find something that I relate to, something that echoes my own relationship. It reminds me of how universal our struggles are, that people have been there before, and their examples give me courage.

I am interested in reading about marriage, because I like people’s stories. And I realized, while reading this book, that I would like to gather the women who are important to me and get them to tell me why they are still married. “By the grace of God,” most of them would say, and I would lean in and say, “But why? How?” Everyone’s story would be different, everyone would say that they work things out in different ways. We’d hear about laughter and children and tears and vacations and mornings in bed and time in the kitchen and late night walks - all those moments of grace that make it worth it, even in the darkest times. And if we met again in five years, their reasons would be different yet again.

I’ve been married almost six years, and there was a point last year where I thought, “We are finally starting to get the hang of this thing.” I could tell you some reasons why we are still married: that Mike has learned to say, “We’ll figure it out together,” instead of, “It’s going to be okay,” when I cry, that he makes me laugh even when I don’t want to, that his strength and compassion continue to grow, that he teaches me to be more patient and forgiving.

Today, though, the reason I think I am still married comes from a story that Mike told me last night. He had to go to a play for one of his classes, which meant that he didn’t get home until almost 11:00. In one of his earlier classes, several people were making announcements, and someone announced the play, and someone announced a meeting, and when the teacher asked if there were any other announcements, Mike said, “Yes, I am going to the play tonight, and if any of you find out what the figure skating results are and tell me, I’ll kill you.” Mike and I are still married (and I think we might be able to make it) because he cares about the things that are important to me, and I try to care about the things that are important to him. From silly things like figure skating and music and books on up to listening to each other’s hurts and fears. Mike, in all his passion for life, has embraced me, and with me he’s embraced my favorite basketball team and my love for Italian food and the chick flicks I watch and the novels I read when I’m upset. He’s embraced the way I can’t keep a desk clean, the way I hate to vacuum, the way I fold his t-shirts. He makes me feel valued and important. I could list a million different reasons why we are still married, but today the reason is simply that he pays attention to the things that are important to me so that I can be myself. I feel really lucky to have found that.

On the way to church last night, I left the music off and left the phone in my purse. I had a couple of things on my mind, something that had been bugging me all day, and I needed to give myself some space to think about it, to wonder why I’ve been carrying so many feelings about this issue lately, even though it’s something I’ve tried to put behind me over and over again.

As I was thinking and praying about it, what I realized was that I still don’t really want to put it behind me, because what I want is to be vindicated first. That’s why I’m still angry. I thought about it and prayed about it, and I asked God, again, to help me put the anger and the fear and the people pleasing that this issue always brings up behind me. I feel like I’ve said and done all of this a hundred times, and tonight I realized that I will probably do it a hundred more (but I promise to try not to post about it a hundred more times). Maybe part of the problem is that I’m not letting myself enjoy the process, that I’m wanting instant change, for these feelings to go away. Instead, maybe I should be willing to get down in the dirt of my soul and wrestle with this stuff a little more than I have been. Maybe I should be a little less focused on the end goal. It always helps me to think of it as working out my salvation - not that my salvation depends on this one thing, but that working it out is actually going to be beneficial to me.

It was nice to be at church among friends and to get a break from some of these endless mental cartwheels. And on the way home, I left the phone in my purse, but I did put on Miranda Stone’s 7 Deadly Sins, which is my go-to February album. I expected to play it through, but I kept playing the first song over and over.

This time is the last time and this time is the last time . . .

What I realized is that I need a new beginning. I need to start over with this whole situation and actually believe that forgiveness is possible, actually believe that I could put it behind me. Inspired by some of the words of the song, I decided to think of the rain that was falling as a sort of baptism, that I was going to move from this pattern into a new kind of life.

Driving rain chauffeurs me to redemption
Working out my dishonorable mention

The thing about baptism is that it doesn’t mean that you do everything perfectly afterward. It’s an outward sign of your inner change. Everything didn’t change in the car last night, either to church or on the way home from it. But maybe I’m finally ready to allow that change to come.

Yesterday instead of Sunday School, there was a speaker talking about The Lord’s Prayer to all the Sunday School classes. He spoke several different times over the weekend, going through the whole prayer, but yesterday’s class was on, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” To get us talking with those around us, he asked us what our idea of a heavenly kingdom would look like. I think he was trying to get us to think beyond the usual - no natural disasters, peace on earth, that kind of thing. He said that, for him, the answer might be an endless cup of Diet Coke (at which Mike perked up) and being able to eat as much poundcake as he wanted without having to loosen his belt. And that exercise would be fun. We thought about it for a minute and then shared with our neighbors - Mike liked the Diet Coke thing a lot (for the record, he hasn’t had any since he gave it up in August), and I said that I’d like exercise to be more like reading a book. Another friend said that it would be like sitting in a recliner with her two young sons. There were plenty of ideas - the perfect hair day, endless amounts of chocolate, never having to diet . . . and then the man next to us, an older gentleman I’d never seen before, started to speak. He told us he’d been in Europe for 25 months during World War II, and that, after seeing the cost of war, his only answer was no more war. He talked and talked about how we couldn’t understand that, being so much younger. At first I felt a little bit like he had missed the point, that we were just supposed to be sharing silly stuff, but then I realized maybe I’d be missing the point if I didn’t pay attention. So I tried to really listen as he poured his heart out to us, virtual strangers. I tried to step out of my normal patterns and think about what he was saying, that cost he was talking about that my generation doesn’t often have to consider. I don’t know him at all, and I don’t know if I’ll see him again, but it resonated with me pretty sharply. It’s nice to daydream, and it’s great to enjoy the things we’re given here on earth, but when it comes down to it, peace is a lot more important than any of those things (great hairday included).

In talking about that line, the speaker said that we should be careful when we pray for God’s kingdom to come, because he’s going to ask us to be a part of it, to do things that seem uncomfortable to us. A common theme of sermons and other talks I’ve heard lately is that we can’t talk to God like he’s a fairy godfather, that we can’t just ask him for favors all the time. At the same time, we should feel free to talk to him about everything. The more I hear about prayer, the more I realize I don’t know how to pray. It’s complicated and messy, and we don’t get answers for things that are important while simple easy things seem to just . . . work out. It’s hard to trust God with the desires of my heart when things haven’t worked out in the past. I’m still learning about the conversational give and take.

What I really like about The Lord’s Prayer is that there’s so much to it. Last year I thought a lot about forgiveness when I prayed it, and as I’m continuing to unpack it, I imagine that I’ll focus on other lines. Right now what I need to hear is that I need to give things up, to stop trying to control God, to control other people. I need to learn to participate in the kingdom of God without expecting things to work a certain way. And right now I’m just thankful we say it every week at church, because The Lord’s Prayer is still teaching me how to pray. (I hope it always will.)

Though yesterday was a “snow” day, for some reason or other, Mike and I didn’t watch Pride and Prejudice, our usual tradition. I blame the Olympics. The good news is that I’ve been watching it today (and reading), and Mr. Darcy is currently paused on my television set (Mike: “Did you do that on purpose?” Kari: “Nope, but it worked out well, didn’t it?”). I think I’m gonna go hang out with him some more. My goal is to get halfway through my book tonight, too. Only 20 more pages . . . it’s been a productive evening. And, yes, Mike has homework. How could you tell? hehe.

(Oh, and only nine days until the new Pride and Prejudice is out on DVD! Hooray!)

I don’t like change. Especially change for the sake of change. I don’t mind good, necessary change if you give me time to adjust, but you have to give me time. Probably more time than the average person, and then I’ll probably go kind of crazy, and then after that I’ll be fine. That’s usually how it all goes down with me. A recent example of this was our new computer system at work. I kept messing things up, and I asked for a week with some extra time at my desk to get things done, and after that week, I was like, “Wow, the new system works really well!” But I had to freak out and ask for that extra time in order to get there. Now they’re talking about changing some stuff again, and I’m like, “Wait! I just learned this one! Can’t we use it for at least a year or so!” hehe.

This week I was thinking about different phases of my life, and how I had to learn how to be in each of those phases. When I went to college, I had to learn how to be a college student and an adult. I had to learn to live with a roommate and how to make good decisions and take care of myself. I didn’t do it all right, but I learned how to do it, learning a lot about myself in the process.

When we got married, there was a learning curve then, too. That’s why people say the first year is hard - even if you can roll with the punches a little better than I can, there’s a lot of adjusting to do. Your life’s pretty different. It’s a good kind of different, but even good change can be difficult to adjust to. I didn’t do all of that right, either (in fact, I did a lot of things very wrong), but, again, it worked out, and I grew because of it, in so many ways.

Since getting married, Mike and I have gone through some big changes. Our relationship really changed about three years ago, and since then I finished grad school and got a job and Mike quit his job and started school. There were good things and difficult things, but they were all big things, and I don’t think I’ve completely adjusted. I feel like a bad wife when I can’t get dinner on the table, even though I’m working 40 hours a week, most nights until 6:00. I get frustrated with myself when I still respond out of fear or bad habits. I don’t always know how to handle the busy-ness of life. I’m way better at this stuff than I was three years ago, but I’m not there yet. There were things this week that brought that into focus. And it was pointed out to me that I keep expecting myself to adjust to change quickly when I know that I’m not one to actually be able to do that. Especially when it comes to big change or issues that are close to my heart - my relationship with Mike, my role in our home, the way I view myself. I probably won’t go back and become the same person that I was before all this change, and that’s okay. You can’t unlearn the things you’ve learned. But I need to accept that, for me, growth and change come in stages, and some of my stages are going to be longer than I think they ought to be. I need to take care of myself and quit putting so many expectations on what growth and change and healing ought to look like.

So, what I’ve learned this week is that I’m not the new me. Not yet. But I’m getting there.

Discussion of the Gilmore Girls episode “A Vineyard Valentine” below. Beware, those of you who haven’t seen it. This means you, Dawn. hehe.

I have to confess that I was not a big fan of this week’s episode. Mike watched it on Tuesday night, but I didn’t get to watch it until last night. He said that it was pretty painful for the first 45 minutes or so, but then there were some redemptive parts at the end, even if it wasn’t completely redemptive. And, I agree with that. The only problem with the “Luke and Lorelai are going to be okay” list is that I hated Luke so much in this episode that I wanted Lorelai to break up with him. I yelled down to Mike that I was breaking up with Luke, that he would no longer be my television boyfriend. He yelled back that Noah Wyle is back on ER, so maybe I could look for love there. hehe. Where was the romantic Luke who kept a horoscope in his wallet for eight years? Where was the guy who said he “could be a movie guy?” Where was the man who brought flowers and waltzed and let his actions speak because “that’s the romantic way to do this, dammit?” I miss old Luke.

Anyway. I still have reasons they are going to be fine. Even if Luke and I are on a break.

1. Sure, Luke was a jerkface this whole episode, when Lorelai finally expressed her feelings about the wedding being postponed, he responded well. They talked about the wedding, and, I was right last week! The wedding discussion wasn’t a big blowup! They took it in another direction! Point for Kari! And things seemed more normal, they were spending time together, having a good conversation. That one scene was really nice. As far as the wedding goes, we don’t have Luke and Lorelai drama, even with the newspaper announcement. Now we have Emily drama. Emily drama is fun, and gives us no need to worry.

1.5. Remember the season 1 episode in which Lorelai talks about how hard it’s been for her to say that she loves anyone? The whole time that Luke and Lorelai have been together, they have never said I love you onscreen. But Luke said it this week. That’s a good sign. (Yes, I am freakish for paying attention to that, but they made such a big deal about it in the first season that I really thought it was important to watch.)

2. It sure would have been nice to end it on a happy note with Luke inviting Lorelai to spend time with April or Lorelai letting Luke know she wanted time with April. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. However, I’ve never been worried about April threatening their relationship. I think after they talk about her, it will be fine. The April drama will just take some time to smooth out, but it’s not going to be that big of a deal.

3. I think I’ve been right all along about the parallels between the first half of the season and the second half. In the first half, we had Luke saying, “Are we ever going to get married?” Now we have Lorelai saying that to Luke. So, unless Lorelai also has some long-lost kids she’s not aware of, we’ll get this straightened out and they’ll be back on track.

That’s it. That’s all I’ve got. Other than Luke being a jerk, I’m not worried. And I feel like all of that’s been written so out of character that I don’t even know how I feel about their relationship anymore. Way to go, Palladinos. Way to take my favorite television relationship and crap on it. Anyway. I think they’ll elope (to keep Emily out of the plans) and be fine. The end.

I’ve noticed that I have to be careful to screw the lid on my Nalgene tight, or else it leaks. I’ve noticed it, but it didn’t register this morning, when I didn’t screw it quite tight enough. Almost a quarter of the bottle dumped all over the contents of my tote bag as I was driving to work. So, now my pants are a little damp from where I dumped the contents of the bag into the parking lot . . . and slightly on myself. Luckily, I had put the library books in spine down, so the covers got wet but not the pages. A librarian destroying library books makes quite the story, don’t you think?

I have a long history of spilling water in my bag - I did it in college (not with the Nalgene, because I didn’t have a Nalgene), I did it in grad school. One incident in grad school was particularly bad - water spilled all over a project I had been working on. Luckily it wasn’t due that day, but I had to reprint a bunch of stuff. I didn’t quite have a meltdown, but standing in the LIS mailbox area with water all over my pants (are you noticing a trend?), I came pretty close. And there was the time I spilled an entire cup of Coke right in my lap . . . as we were driving to a concert. The time I dropped a bottle of Dr. Pepper and then opened it and it exploded all over my shirt . . . as we were on our way to see Mike’s parents. You can see why I stick to water these days. And that’s just liquid. We won’t even get started on food (or what exactly it was that got on my yellow sweater yesterday . . . I still don’t know).

I’m just one of those people who spills things, and my damp pants and I have come to terms with that, at least most days. But it’s still kind of embarassing. I’m gonna hide at my desk until things dry.

Since being with Mike, I have consistently struggled with comparing us to other couples, edging right up to the line of jealousy. I’m not sure if it’s just wanting to have attention (”You guys are the cutest couple!”) or too many romance novels or the grass is greener syndrome (that made me think that other people had things easier than we did) or just my regular old comparison struggle exhibiting itself in new and different ways. In college, I struggled because Mike and I were never going to be the cute IV couple, since he wasn’t in IV. I struggled because I wanted him to be as high profile as some friends of ours who were in ministry. And I struggled most of all with the in-law situation, wondering why other people got in-laws who liked them (or at least, you know, showed up at the wedding) while I had a whole ‘nother can of worms.

It’s gotten better as I’ve gotten more comfortable with myself, but it still comes up from time to time. And there’s one couple that always makes the hackles rise, for some reason. Part of it is attention - I want people to think we are a great/cute/whatever couple. And part of it is something I can’t really figure out, a niggling jealousy that comes up . . . maybe because things seem consistently easy for them. They have that gift of walking through the world without trouble. I know I can be a tad dramatic about the problems in my life, but it can be frustrating when I’m having a hard time and this couple’s biggest problem seems to be, “Where will we go out to eat tonight?”

One thing I have learned is that an outsider can’t always tell what’s going on in a relationship, good or bad. It can be easy to assume that something is not going well, but sometimes things that we think shouldn’t work . . . do work, easily. The couple makes it work. And sometimes people seem happy in public when they really aren’t. We all know stories like that. So, really, I should know better than to assume that my friends don’t have problems. But I keep right on doing it.

I’m having a rough day today, so I know perspective is a little off. I’m a little mired in the negative. But even I can see, looking at my original list, it’s interesting to see how some of that stuff either doesn’t matter anymore (being a cute IV couple), or how it’s worked out in another way (the high profile stuff - Mike is co-leading a Wednesday night class at church, he was liturgist a few weeks ago, his cheesecake went over like gangbusters, and a paper that he wrote about the church was given to the deacons). I’ve made some peace with the in-law situation. My priorities have shifted in many ways. But this one area is still hard for me, harder than it really should be. I’m still learning . . . contentment, if that’s what you want to call it. Not to compare.

It’s not that I want Mike to be any of those other people, or that I would particularly like to be any of those other people. I just, as Mike always says, wish everything in my life could be perfect.

I’ve been reading Don’t Know Much About Mythology by Kenneth Davis, but I decided last night to switch to Light From Heaven, the latest Mitford. It was a good decision. Reading Father Tim makes me feel like, even if everything isn’t perfect, it’s going to be okay anyway. Just what I need to hear.

The first Olympics that Mike and I experienced together were the 2000 Summer Olympics in Sydney. I heard that they didn’t have very good ratings, but Mike and I watched them faithfully all the same. While I will watch any Olympic event, the Summer Olympics don’t capture my heart like the Winter Games do. I like the swimming and the running and the gymnastics, but I don’t love them like I do the figure skating.

Some of my earliest Olympic memories are of watching figure skating - Katarina Witt, especially. I guess the 1988 Olympics are the first ones I remember very well, because I remember the battle between Witt and Debi Thomas. I remember everyone talking about Brian Boitano and the Battle of the Brians. I remember watching the competition with my mom, and the exhibition later on. That was probably when I started getting into figure skating.

A few years later, in the midst of the Nancy/Tonya showdown, a new skater caught my eye - Michelle Kwan. She was about my age, and I always enjoyed watching her. My mom and I both became avid fans, watching her skate on TV at every opportunity (much to my dad’s dismay). In 1998, my roommate and I watched in horror (at least, I watched in horror - I think I remember my roommate taking the opposite position just to bug me) as Tara Lipinski won the gold. A huge disappointment, I thought, but there’s still Salt Lake City. And I watched as Kwan continued to skate well at Nationals and at Worlds, hoping that Salt Lake City would be her chance.

As we all know, it wasn’t to be. Mike, though he knew I was a fan, didn’t know the extent of my fandom until I sat crying on the couch after the medal ceremony, after it had all fallen apart. He didn’t know what to do as I cried through the exhibition, when she skated to “Fields of Gold.” I cried at other things, too (the Olympics always make me cry), but that exhibition really stands out as a strong memory from those Olympics - the announcers were crying, Michelle Kwan was crying, and I sat in the second bedroom watching TV and grading papers and bawling my eyes out as Mike played XBox in the living room.

For Mother’s Day that year, I took my mom to see the Olympic Champions on Ice when they came to Greensboro. I got to see many of the skaters who are still competing - Irina Slutskaya, Yevgeny Plushenko, and, of course, Michelle Kwan. I cried then, too, when she did her signature spiral. I (cried as I) watched her get her spark back and skate incredibly at Nationals. I thought maybe there would be a hope for the 2006 Olympics. As they approached, though, I knew I didn’t really want to see her skate at another Olympics, because I knew that the sport had changed, and that her injuries meant that she couldn’t skate her best. When she won the spot on the team, Mike sent me an email link to the article, and I sent him back a message that simply said: .

We watched the opening ceremony on Friday night, and before they got to the ceremony, NBC showed this thing about Turin and its history and the history of Olympic competition that reduced me, yet again, to a blubbering mess. I tried to play it off, but I love the thrill of the Olympics, the tension of the competition. Mike knows that, has learned so much about me since 2002, knows me so well, that on Sunday morning he approached me cautiously and said, “I have some good news and some bad news, and they’re the same thing.” He watched my face carefully as he said, “Michelle Kwan dropped out of the Olympics.” I felt a sense of relief, that I wouldn’t have to be on pins and needles as I watched the program, and for most of the day it was stronger than my sense of regret. But that night, as I watched the Olympic coverage, they did a tribute to Michelle Kwan’s career, and I saw so many of the moments I remembered - her first Nationals, different routines I saw her skate so many times, costumes I remembered, the two Olympics that she skated in. And I was sad. It was time to move on, but the changing of the guard is always hard to watch.

I know all of this sounds silly, but, like I said, the Olympics - especially figure skating - really capture my heart. For over a decade, I’ve been a Michelle Kwan fan. I’m both disappointed for her and ready to move on. And so, when I watch figure skating this year, I will be cheering for Sasha Cohen, who is always exciting to watch (I was going to cheer for her anyway, to win the gold, and just hope for Michelle Kwan to do her best, but now I can watch with an undivided heart). I didn’t like her much before the 2002 Olympics, but she seems to have grown up a lot (I think coming in fourth did her some good), and she’s so strong and graceful. No matter what happens, I’ll probably get a little teary that night, thinking about what might have been. But that’s okay. In the end, that’s why I love the Olympics.

I went outside this afternoon to run. As I was running, I actually saw snowflakes falling. They were the kind of snowflakes that evaporate before they hit the ground, but I was still running while snowflakes were falling. And I decided that we should get a treadmill, because running in the snow is ridiculous. I do think it upped my street cred, though. “Kari is awesome! She even runs in the rain and the snow!”

We aren’t going to get one, but if we did have a treadmill, I think I would use it. I grew up in a treadmill family, and I wasn’t the most consistent user of it, but college and grad school really cemented my treadmill love. Some people don’t like it, but any exercise I can do while reading or watching TV is good exercise as far as I am concerned.

Now I am drinking tea (my lungs do not like running in the cold, so drinking tea also means breathing in lots of warm tea air) and getting ready to work on some laundry issues. Mike is actually in his pajamas (he wasn’t kidding), I finished a book today, and we’re just full of nothing. It’s a good feeling.

There must be something going around, because this morning, Mike rolled over and pulled something awful in his neck. He did the usual, “No, I don’t want any Advil. No, I don’t want a heating pad,” until he realized that he always shoots down my ideas, and the ideas of heat and pain relievers are not bad ones. He even let me rub it for a while, but I don’t know that any of it really helped. He walked out of the house with his head still tilted to the side. Poor guy. Is this contagious? Did he catch it from Alisa, who caught it from Jeff Holland? Can neck pain travel through the internet?

I’ve just read The Friendship Test by Elizabeth Noble, and, even though it’s about four women who became friends in college and their friendship over the next fourteen years, it hasn’t inspired the usual feelings of melancholy that I get when reading about female friendships. I think that’s because the relationships are so much more realistic than relationships in books often are. When the girls get married, there’s a little bit of jealousy, their relationships make the day a little stressful for each other. How many times have I seen or heard about petty girl jealousies disrupting the peace on a wedding day? How many times have I read about perfect wedding days? Or at least perfect girlfriend relationships on wedding days, where everyone’s smiling and completely delighted for the pictures? It plays out a little later on, too - when the first one has kids, no one knows how to act, and there are some awkward moments there, too. That seems real to me, like what I experienced in my relationships with women, what I observed in other women’s relationships. The reality isn’t always picture-perfect, and that’s okay. It’s nice to celebrate that, to celebrate friendships that survive those changes, even if they don’t survive completely unscathed.

In this book, one of the main characters, Reagan, is a bit standoffish to the others, doesn’t have a lot of relationships outside the group, and I found her especially realistic. As much as I didn’t want to relate to her, I definitely did. I know what it’s like to be unable to express to your friends how much they mean to you. I know about pushing them away because you are worried they will reject you first. I didn’t like Reagan’s character all that much - she was too prickly. But I could understand her. She didn’t mean to make things so difficult on her friends. She just didn’t know what else to do.

And, just as Reagan started working through those issues by the end of the book, I feel like I’ve gotten better, more secure in who I am, more secure in sharing myself with my friends. I don’t always realize how much more until I see a pretty clear picture of how things used to be.

In the end, The Friendship Test, like The Reading Group (Elizabeth Noble’s other book) is a fairly light book about relationships, and how they play out over a period of time in slightly messy ways. But Elizabeth Noble has a gift for characters, and the characters in this book drew me in.

NPR: Currently there’s light snow in Jefferson.

KARI: I wish we had some light snow.

GOD: Okay. *snows*

My car said it was 34 outside, and I know it’s not going to come to anything, but it sure was fun to see it coming down. Yay snow!

The other day, my mom and I were talking about how things changed around these parts after 1991. Before 1991, it was rare to see a Duke fan. People cared about State and Carolina, and there was some support for Wake, but the Duke fans were very outnumbered. And then came 1991, when Duke won the national championship. Suddenly, there were Duke fans everywhere. Duke sweatshirts, Duke bumper stickers. Where did they all come from? Why were these people suddenly so interested in being Duke fans? It couldn’t possibly be because they were trying to associate themselves with a winning team, could it? Could it?

Yeah, it could.

So, there’s a very simple test. If you were a Duke fan before 1991, you get a pass. You’re legit. My dad falls under this exemption. He switched allegiances, but he did it before 1991, so I can’t fault him. I don’t agree, but I can’t fault him. But if you were born before 1991 and became a Duke fan after 1991, you are a bandwagon fan. Period. The worst possible kind of fan. A fan who feels the need to associate him or herself with a team just to elevate his or her own importance. And so, after 1991, you saw Duke fans popping up all across the country after 1991. I have no use for bandwagon fans of any team. But of all the ones I’ve met, the Duke bandwagon fans are the worst.

The game on Tuesday night was a pretty good one. I enjoyed watching it, actually. I wasn’t counting on Carolina winning - I was just proud that they hung in. But it sure is interesting to see how many bandwagon fans (they’re easy to spot) feel the need to taunt me about it. I’m way past pinning my happiness on a bunch of 20-year olds. I got over that in high school. I am happy when they do well, but it doesn’t get me down if they lose. But you bandwagon fans, you go ahead and taunt as much as you want. I’m not all that impressed with your opinions to begin with.

The way I remember it, I was buying grad school supplies and grabbed a pack of Bic Atlantis pens for no reason at all. Just because they were there, or they were on sale. I honestly don’t put a lot of thought into pen-buying. Or, well, I didn’t used to put a lot of thought into pen buying. The Atlantis has changed all that.

(Now, if that’s wrong, Mike will correct me, I’m sure. But I think I did buy the Atlantis pens for myself.)

What’s so great about the Atlantis? The rubber grip is nice, and when you retract the pen, it doesn’t make a noise. So I could sit in class and click it back and forth (as is my wont) without annoying anyone. And the writing! So smooth! The Atlantis is truly my favorite pen.

The problem is that, somewhere along the line, Mike figured out the greatness of the Atlantis, and he was always trying to steal them from me. The Atlantis turned me into someone who cared so much about her pens that she would hide them from her husband. Just so you don’t think that I’m the epitome of evil, I want you to know that Mike bought Atlantis pens for himself when he started college, so now he tries to hide his from me.

It also turned me into the kind of person who was really hesitant to lend out pens in grad school. I mean, we were in grad school! People should have had their own pens! And not asked to borrow mine! Not my Atlantis pens, anyway! I should have started carrying crap pens to lend out, and keeping the sweet, sweet Atlantis pens for myself.

Yesterday I did a presentation for the library at a local church, but before it was my turn to go up, they passed around a signup sheet for a trip to Mt. Airy (aka Mayberry). As I passed the sheet on, the woman next to me turned and said, “Can I borrow your pen?” I didn’t want to lend it to her, but how could I possibly say no? Besides, she’s going to give it back to me . . . And then I watched in horror as my pen, my favorite pen, got passed along two tables. I watched carefully to make sure no one slipped it into their purse. I watched to make sure no one dropped it and then stepped on it. And then, finally, I watched it come to a final resting place at the front of the room. “How,” I thought, “can I get my pen without looking like I am the pen-stealer here?” I finally decided I didn’t care if I looked like a pen-stealer - I was getting my pen back. So when I went up to make my presentation, I grabbed the pen. And when I was done, I stuck it in my purse so that the lady next to me couldn’t wrench it from me again. I’d like to see her try!

As I watched my pen circulate around the room, I thought maybe I had a problem. But now, now that my pen is back in my possession, I am thinking much clearer. I know that the woman next to me was the one with the problem. She should have brought her own pen, and she never should have presumed to pass my pen around the room. She is the pen-stealer, not me. She’s the problem. I see her at the library from time to time, and now that I know what kind of woman she is, I’m going to keep my pens safely hidden in my purse. When she comes to the desk wanting to “borrow” something to write with, all I will have to offer her is one of those little golf pencils. We’ll see how she likes that!

Well, I know I did such a good job last week of convincing you all that Luke and Lorelai are going to be fine that today’s post is barely necessary, but a promise is a promise.

By the way, I went back and watched last week’s promo after the end of this week’s episode (as is the tradition in our house), and, dang, it was the best one ever! I totally thought Rory was pregnant, and I had already seen the episode!

Today’s reasons why Luke and Lorelai are going to be fine:

1. They seemed more normal this week - the banter, the flirting, him helping around the inn, fewer sad longing looks from Lorelai. In fact, when April and Anna came up at the very end, Lorelai seemed . . . okay. Obviously things are not 100% better, but they are slightly better. (They are going to be fine.)

2. Even Richard and Emily (and Michel) recognize that Luke is here to stay. They’re not fighting it anymore. They’re just accepting it. Luke was drinking a beer! Emily let him drink nitwit juice without demeaning him! They’re even accepting the Long Lost Daughter. (Everything will be fine.)

3. Christopher doesn’t strike fear into my heart like he used to. Lorelai was telling Rory to reach out to Christopher, and even though it bugged me (my hatred of Christopher knows no bounds), I wasn’t scared that he was going to make her change her mind about Luke. By the end of the episode, I decided that she feels sorry for him, that she cares about him because of their shared past, but that the serious threat is gone. We are so over Christopher. (You know the drill.)

4. The way that the whole conversation about June 3 went - Mike and I were both expecting Emily to bring out those save-the-date cards, Luke to blow up, and there to be a big fight in front of the Grandparents, ending badly and putting everyone [read: Theresa] into a tailspin. But that didn’t happen, which was interesting. I think it’s a good sign that they didn’t take things into that direction. It means that, even though Lorelai hasn’t told him the truth about her feelings about the wedding, we don’t need to be worried about their relationship. I don’t think they’re going to have a relationship-threatening fight. I think they’re going to have the conversation they’ve been needing to have.

In other news: I’m proud of Rory for making editor, Paris kicking her out was classic Paris, I thought Richard and Emily’s insurance speech was one of the most boring scenes ever (though I liked the payoff with Luke saying, “What is this feeling of anxiety mixed with despair?” Or whatever it was he said). hehe. I knew Alisa would like that Emily and Richard were encouraging Luke to get a second DNA test, and I enjoyed the, “He was standing next to a microscope” line. I would be mad at this point if she wasn’t really his daughter - I hate the storyline, but I do like April. I liked WantingToSpendTimeWithLorelai!Michel. But I really did think that maybe he had a secret crush on the former handyman. hehe.

I don’t like Christopher, I never liked Christopher, and now I know why I don’t like Logan. They’re exactly the same person. Rory needs to get out now, because she knows what her dad is like. Not. A. Quality. Individual. And I couldn’t believe that Christopher ratted Rory out to Lorelai. Typical.

Overall, the episode was just okay for me, but I did appreciate the lack of tension between Luke and Lorelai. We stopped the recording just as EPG was saying, “Next week on a special Valentine’s Day episode . . .” Can’t wait.

When I was reading some articles about Millions to help Mike write questions for the discussion, I ran across a few that said that the writer, Frank Cottrell Boyce, was influenced by an interview in which Martin Scorsese said that a book that had inspired him was Six O’Clock Saints by Joan Windham. During one of my many viewings of the movie, I noticed that Damian reads it, too. I decided that I wanted to read it, too, so I checked the library catalog. Nada. Then I checked Amazon. Out of print. I checked Abebooks, at which time I realized that if I wanted to own a copy of the book, it would cost almost $200 (which made me really lament the copy that Damian was carrying around). I did an ILL. $1.51, baby, straight from UNCW. I read it last night, and I can definitely see why they found it inspiring. The way that it’s written would be very exciting to a kid like Damian. I didn’t necessarily agree with the way that everything was presented, but the writing style was very engaging, and the stories were accessible and real. I wanted to read bits of it to Mike, but he was studying, so I didn’t get to share all of it with him. I wouldn’t mind owning a copy . . . maybe it’ll be reprinted one day.

I was thinking about saints over the weekend, too. When I was at Susan’s house, I got to hold baby Madeleine, and as I was doing that I thought about another interview I read for Millions in which Danny Boyle was talking about kids and belief:

Wordsworth, in one of his poems he talks about childbirth. You’re born from the sea, and as you walk up the shore, you know where you’ve come from, and you can see your Creator. But once language (your ability to describe things) arrives, you’ve just come over the brow of the hill. And you look back and you can’t see it anymore.

Before the point of language arriving, you’re still in touch with your source. When you look at babies, there’s something in their eyes sometimes. They look over your shoulder sometimes, and they’re looking at something. And you look back, but you’ve lost it. And you think, “What are they looking at?” So I think there is something in that.

Madeleine kept looking at things we couldn’t see, and we were talking about what she could possibly be looking at, and I thought, “She sees the saints! I bet St. Peter was telling her something!” hehe.

Seriously, though, I think that he might be right, that there’s something in that. I talked a few days ago about losing unself-consciousness as we age, and I think there are lots of areas where we trade innocence for the “sophistication” of the world. I thought about that as I was holding Madeleine, and even though I don’t know her or her mom very well, I prayed that as she grows up, she won’t lose the ability to see with eyes of faith.

Yesterday at the Male Bakeoff we decided that any presidential candidate who ran on a platform of making the day after the SuperBowl a national holiday would win handily. Why hasn’t someone done this yet? I would vote for that person. You know you would, too.

Last night’s SuperBowl party was fun, even though the game was less than stellar as far as I was concerned. When the Rolling Stones came on at halftime, I turned to Mike and said, “Remember that time I went to a SuperBowl party and . . . ” and he was like, “I was just thinking of that.” So, here’s the story for your enjoyment.

A few years ago, Mike went to watch the game with a friend in Charlotte, and I decided to go to a SuperBowl party with some friends from church. It was at the house of some other friends. Or “friends.” I didn’t know them very well. It was a little bit awkward, but I would have to say that it was at least a defining moment for me with Brian and Sarah, because neither of them watch football, and I hadn’t yet caught the hang of the game. So we were there for the commercials. We also enjoyed the Matrix-Cam that the SuperBowl was sporting that year. We had a good time chatting and discussing our favorite commercials (this was the year of Bob Dole’s Pepsi commercial about his “little blue friend”).

At halftime, our host got up, turned off the TV, and said, “I thought we could just have a few minutes of prayer during halftime.” Cue the dead silence and stunned faces. Now, it wasn’t that I particularly cared about seeing Britney Spears (and her thong) and Aerosmith, I just . . . it’s the halftime show. I know it’s hardly ever good. But I sat through the game, and I’d like to see the show. To his credit, he didn’t push it much past, “You guys really want to see the show?” before he turned the TV back on. But . . . it was very strange to me. I like praying, I do. I just thought, you know, SuperBowl. There’s no way to spin this without looking like a big pagan for not wanting to pray, is there? hehe. Because of that, every year at that special time we call the SuperBowl halftime show, I force Mike to sit through this story. Since he didn’t let me tell it last night, I’m sharing it with you, my readers.

Anyway, at last night’s party, there was no praying. We watched the halftime show, we ate lots of food, we dissected commercials, and we had a grand old time. And the best part about not having a SuperBowl party at your own house . . . no cleanup!

After last year’s Male Bakeoff, Mike figured out that the real glory lay in giving your creation a title. He came up with a name for his entry almost a year ago, so he’s been planning the best way to put it all together for quite some time. Whenever anyone from church asked what he was going to do, he’d get a silly grin and say that he couldn’t tell them. Now that the contest is over, though, I can reveal his plans: He decided to make a chocolate cheesecake and to put some whipped peanut butter topping on it and then chocolate shavings on top of that, and use the verse Joshua 5:3 “So Joshua made stone knives and circumcised the People of Israel at Foreskins Hill.” Yes, that’s right, Mike made a Foreskins Hill cheesecake.

The only problem was that, well, we don’t have sons, so we weren’t exactly sure what a circumcized foreskin would look like. Mike tried Googling it, but that did not go so well. We thought about calling someone to ask, but who would we call? We didn’t want to call my parents or his sister, because who wants to talk about foreskins with a relative? My closest friends have girls, not boys. We do have friends who have two boys, but we don’t talk to them regularly, so we couldn’t exactly call them out of the blue and say, “When your sons were circumcized, what did the foreskin look like?” You can see the problem there. Ultimately, I did the only thing I could do: I called Susan, who can now claim that I have actually run her out of the state by calling her on a Saturday morning and asking her what a circumcized foreskin looks like, and whether it would be better to use shavings or chocolate chips to represent it. She said that shavings would be our best bet. She was very helpful. I’m just passing that on to the rest of you in case you find yourselves in that same position.

Yesterday afternoon, I hung out with Susan and Andrea and Susan’s friends Brenna and Ari. We watched chick flicks and did crafty things like scrapbooking and knitting. While I was gone, Mike made his cheesecake. He also made a side cheesecake so we could taste it, which was good for me because it meant I could bow out of actually eating the one with the “foreskins” on it. I love Mike, but, EW. I thought it was really good, especially with the peanut butter topping. This morning he got up and did the shavings, and then it was off to church.

In Sunday School, we talked about the Male Bakeoff, and Mike’s entry was discussed with horrified/disgusted looks. Just as we expected. When we got into the sanctuary, one of our friends who is known for always entering something disgusting actually came up to Mike and said, “You are a sick man.” From him, that is high praise indeed.

After the service, we all went downstairs into the fellowship hall, where I got to see some of the other entries. After lunch and dessert, we finally got to the awards. We knew that Mike had a chance at three: the Weirdness Cup, Most Biblical, or Muy Macho. When our friend Seth got Muy Macho for his “Death of Herod” cake, I felt sure that he would win something. And, indeed, Mike did win Most Biblical.

Even better than the trophy, Mike’s dessert was completely eaten. We weren’t sure if anyone would eat something like Foreskins Hill Cheesecake. I’m not sure what it says about our church that no one seemed to care.

Once again, this was a great event, and it was so fun to see everyone from the little boys up to the older men contributing and getting awards. Some of the guys who are a little older than us do get really competitive, so there was a lot of shaking trophies at one another that went on. It’s fun to see men competing over baking, and it’s fun to see some of the guys who are obviously very skilled try to duke it out for the top spots each year. Now Mike just has to think of something to top this year’s entry.

And, as Mike said on the way home, “I’ve never heard people say ‘foreskins’ as many times in my whole life as they did today.”

Who went running in the rain this morning? That’s right, I did. I actually enjoyed it much better than earlier this week - the weather was in the 50s, so it was cool but not cold by any means, and it wasn’t as if it was pouring or anything. I kept my iPod up my sweatshirt sleeve so it stayed safe and I could listen to Kelly Clarkson (today’s running music of choice - you try slowing down while listening to “Since U Been Gone”). The only bad thing about running in the rain is that I finally have to face the fact that my tennis shoes have given up the ghost. They got water in the front of them from where the sole is pulled away from the rest of the shoe. By the time I got back home, I was sloshing around. It was not raining hard enough for me to be sloshing around.

To be honest, I think I got these tennis shoes when I was a freshman in college. That would have been Christmas of 1997. Maybe it was Christmas of 1998, I’m not sure. I know I had them in college, and I’ve been out of college for four-and-a-half years. I remember in my jogging class that I learned that you’re only supposed to run a certain number of miles before you get new shoes. I hate, though, having to spend money on tennis shoes. They’re so expensive, and I can’t wear them to work. And, the truth is, I hate exercising, so why would I want to spend money on shoes made especially for that? If I have to buy shoes, I want them to be cute shoes. Tennis shoes aren’t cute. However, these shoes are quite possibly older than my relationship with Mike, so I think I’m going to need to let them go. They have lasted through many different styles of jeans, through rain and snow and sun. I wore them in Canada and in Florida, on IV retreats, in my aforementioned jogging class, through grad school, and to the grocery store. They’re the ones I pull out when it’s raining, my go-to shoes for a Saturday afternoon. They look appalling at this point, they’re probably out of style (I haven’t shopped for tennis shoes, so I’m not really sure) and I’m sure they don’t give me the support I need, but . . . I like to stick with the comfortable, known quantity. My New Balance (are New Balance even popular anymore? Maybe I can get some for cheap, because these obviously lasted for a long time) are worn in to my specifications, and I like them.

In thinking about all the places I’ve worn them, I realized that the only shoes I’ve had as long as my tennis shoes are my Birkenstocks, and I had them resoled. It’s probably a sign that I need to move on. I guess I’d better start looking for tennis shoe sales.

(When I was a kid, one year my aunt bought me pink Reeboks. Remember those? Maybe I could find some of those.)

Today marks the start of a new section on my blog. Since we can’t watch Gilmore Girls together, and because she needs me to talk her down from the ledge that the Luke and Lorelai storyline has her on these days, my friend Theresa has asked me to post encouraging thoughts about the latest episode each week. Until the wedding. Which is going to happen. You can find these entries under the category “For Theresa.” (I promised her that’s what it would be called.) Today’s entry discusses the episode “Friday Night’s Alright for Fighting.”

I would like to reiterate that the first part of this season was about Lorelai learning how to let Luke into her problems with Rory, and this second half of the season is obviously Luke learning the same lesson with his own daughter. And he is going to learn it, don’t worry. What’s so interesting is that, yeah, Luke has always kind of compartmentalized his life, but after he and Lorelai started dating, he was pretty open with her, until this April nonsense. But Lorelai has always been the queen of compartmentalization, not letting the guys she dates into her life with the town, not letting Luke into her relationship with Rory, keeping her parents out of as much of her life as possible. And now she’s really grown, and the tables have turned. Luke’s the one who’s struggling with compartmentalizing.

Here are the reasons that this episode proved to me that they are going to be fine.

1. Despite the fact that Luke is being a big stupidhead (and I love him more than any sane person should, but he’s still being a stupidhead), he kind of seemed to know he had messed up in that very first scene. He tried to hug her, and it got all awkward, which I think is pretty normal. Even then, she was saying things that were indicating they’d be together 100 years from now. Meaning, they are going to be together.

2. That “New and Improved Lorelai” stuff from the season premiere? That’s no joke. The Lorelai who was standing in front of Sookie at the flower market is a different person than the person who ran away from Max. She is in this relationship. And, really, do you doubt Luke’s affection for Lorelai? He’s being a big stupidhead, but he still loves her. They are going to be fine.

3. The wedding isn’t actually postponed. Now, sure, Luke’s going to find out about that and get mad, but he’ll cool off and understand that postponing the wedding was more upsetting to her than he’d realized. Again I say - there will be a wedding. They will be fine.

4. Luke was talking to Lorelai about April. That is a good sign! I get that she feels like she’s already offered to help, so she doesn’t want to be too pushy, but he’s being a big stupidhead, so she may need to actually say that she wants to be involved. Luke is going to figure this stuff out one way or another and (say it with me) they are going to be fine.

As much as I hate the Long Lost Daughter storyline, I think we have passed the point where we have to worry that they are going to break up. Now we’re just watching them learn how to really be together. And so, I swear, they are going to be okay.

Other than that, the Friday Night Dinner was amazing, my cold dead heart warmed to Logan just a little bit (if he was always like that I wouldn’t hate him, but he was so mean to Jess! I can’t forget that), and I loved Rory taking charge at the paper. Oh, and Sookie is the worst friend in the world. “What did you do?” Booo, Sookie.

The other day, Melissa was talking about her daughter River, and how she can accept compliments, how she is so much more free than the rest of us. I notice that at work sometimes, too: the girls who aren’t old enough to be self-conscious, who don’t care about eyebrows or holding their stomach in, whose hair is beautiful without trying. There’s such a beauty to them, something I have lost in my quest for magazine perfection. When I see them, it always reminds me of something from Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies (which I know I quote too much):

Iguanas watched with unblinking eyes from boulders that lined the walkway, and the three girls were fearless, unself-conscious and so lovely. At nine or ten, girls still get to be fine. They’ve still got a couple of years before they totally forget what they do have and start obsessing about what they don’t. These girls had legs like baby egrets, probably not much changed when they were seven and eight. They were still of an age when they could play without wearing the glasses of puberty that would make them see all their flaws. Not yet measuring, not yet comparing, still able to get caught up in crabs, in iguanas and currents, lost in what is right in front of them.

I always watch for that in little girls, seeing how free they are. I think that I was pretty unself-conscious about some things even on into college, but it got worse after that. And my friends seem to be similar - some worse, some better, but we’re all afflicted with it. I wish there was a way to go back, but maybe, as Anne Lamott says later on in that chapter, it’s one of those things that just comes with time. We’ll stop caring quite so much and be more comfortable in our own skin.

There’s a scene in The Divine Secrets of the YaYa Sisterhood movie (which was not very good, read the book instead) in which a woman takes off her lipstick, hears the doorbell ring, and puts her lipstick back on before she goes downstairs. I’m a bit like that myself, and I came by it honestly. There are women in my life who are not like that, though, and they often seem like foreign creatures to me - I can hear what they are saying, but I can’t really understand it. As much as fixing myself up is ingrained in me, they’ve started rubbing off on me just a little bit. I’ve been a bit more relaxed about some of those things. As it is, Mike’s probably the only one who regularly catches me in my most unself-conscious moments. And he’s sworn to secrecy. Having him around has helped, too, someone who’s on my team. It’s definitely made me feel more secure, which is ultimately what being unself-conscious is about.

I just googled “self-consciousness is the enemy of,” and a lot of things came up: art, inspiration, creativity, love. I remember a book or a sermon that talked about how self-consciousness is an enemy of the Christian life, of faith and prayer belief, because all you are doing is focusing on yourself, not on God or what he is doing. I am pretty sure it was a sermon, because I remember hearing it when I was in a phase in which I really struggled with what people thought, so much so that I was easily distracted during church by those around me, what they must be thinking of me. Obviously it was a much-needed message. I think it also resonated because it’s a message in many of Madeleine L’Engle’s books (Anne Lamott and Madeleine L’Engle in one post!) - that we need to get out of the way in order to pray. And that art and music and poetry are the same way - they’re so much better if we’ll just get out of the way.

It’s interesting that we come into this world so unself-conscious and we develop those tendencies as we are growing up, then spend the rest of our lives trying to get rid of them. The sermon, the people, the books that encourage unself-consciousness - all those things have combined to give me the confidence to say no, not to put myself in situations where I feel so worried about everyone else, and have combined to give me the confidence to deal with those situations better when they do arise. At least some of the time.