Uphill, uphill

Life is an uphill battle. 

Or so I've been told.

I don't even remember the first time I actually heard that expression. Those words may be lyrics from a song, or maybe just an expression popularized by Pop Culture. I really couldn't tell you. But in any case, for most of my life, that warning was never really taken seriously. Instead, it hung out in a stupid box that I constructed using old cheese and corn, clumped and tangled together with the other Shoot for the Moon; even if you miss you'll land among the stars and Life is not about the number of breaths you took, but the number of moments that took your breath away crap. (I actually just gagged a little while typing those out). I figured that if I wasn't going to contemplate those words of wisdom, then maybe I could just put them together and then they could contemplate each other.

But lately, I've been thinking about this one. Mostly because lately, the truth of this one has dawned on me. It wasn't a welcomed dawn, either. It didn't feel anything like a warm, gentle glow of morning slowly rising into the cool sky, spreading its rays across my face as the peaceful symphony of the chirping birds began its chorus. (Ugh). No, it actually felt like being woken up by getting slapped across the face and wet willy'ed at the same time by someone you find annoying in your bedroom- who you did not invite into, by the way- and now you're pissed because things were so much less crappy when you were still sleeping. Yeah, picture that.

And then, after the terrible awakening, it's like you go downstairs to the kitchen to make yourself some french toast and coffee and while you're sitting there gnawing away at your burnt bread crust, suddenly your eyes get all wide and you smack both hands onto the table and you're like, "OH SHOOT LIFE IS AN UPHILL BATTLE!"  

And then, suddenly, you realize it and you can't un-realize it. You start thinking about all the ways that that expression has proven itself to be true in your life thus far. You're thinking about that one time you worked out vigorously and ate only fresh fruits and vegetables for a three-week stretch, and then on the twenty second day of the month, you decided to sit on the couch and read a book (since your calves were super sore from your daily treadmill routine) and eat like, six french fries (since your stomach was looking nicely concave from the starvation), and then you ruined everything. You woke up the next day with a dozen pimples and a beer gut, even though you didn't even drink any beer!

And then, you're thinking about how you were in college and you got like pretty much straight-A's in all of your classes, but no one would ever think that since your GPA was permanently made ugly by the one calculus class you took your first semester of freshman year (and you're also thinking at this point that they should probably stop letting freshmen take that class).

You look down at your breakfast and push it aside; you've lost your appetite. You think on how quickly an athlete can fall out of shape, or how quickly a relationship can be destroyed. You imagine all the ways that life demands an uphill crawl, and how far you can fall the moment you let up. There is no time for rest. You work hard, always, day after day in hopes that you can continue pulling against gravity the next day. One hand in front of the other, one foot after the other. The daily grind demands the rhythm of right, left, right. And now you are aware that at any given moment, your uphill battle can be disrupted or completely brought to ruin. If you climb carefully, you can be healthy for years. But one swift accident can mean that you'll be climbing the rest of your days without any legs. Your hard, meticulous work over a period of years may result in an impressive portfolio, but one mistake is the low cost of being jobless and blacklisted. You finally understand how uphill affects you; it means that your movements always require intentional effort, and there will be times when it feels like you're being pushed backwards.

So, you wonder to yourself, what does this leave us with?

Well, I certainly can't tell you. But maybe I can tickle you.

So maybe life is an uphill battle. But maybe it doesn't have to be one we're guaranteed to lose. Maybe all your hard work and perseverance isn't worth it; maybe it is. Maybe you have to fight to keep fighting to find out. Maybe knowing this means you should take more risks, and have more fun. Maybe it means nothing, changes nothing. Maybe it just means that the next time you step on the scale after a weekend of  "eating terribly," you won't be so upset because you know that you'll get to try this all over again.

Up and up and up we go.

Soldier on,
bcl.

Being's seven children

Dear Blogosphere,

For those of you who haven't already heard the news (how behind are you?), I have now been jobless in Detroit for about a month.

Yes, it's true.

When my year-long fellowship with Challenge Detroit drew to an end at the end of August, I quit my job at Valassis, and have been full-time unemployed since September 4, 2013.

Because of my new-found 9 to 5 freedom, I have had a lot of time to sit with my thoughts lately. To sit with them, play with them, drink tea with them; giggle with some, and throw others away. Most of these thoughts have been born of the same family- the Being family.

I suppose the truth is that I've been flirting with this family for some time now. As I've taken a pause recently to look carefully back at the last several years, I can't say that I'm surprised by how many of my past decisions, dreams, wants, and trials have come about under the indirect (or direct) influence of the Beings. Their seven children, named Passion, Talent, Purpose, Direction, Wisdom, Conviction, and Adventure are the ones that I have spent the most time with. In fact, even my most recent big decision to leave Valassis is directly related to my growing intimacy with these very loud, loud friends. With the passage of time, they have only gotten louder.

You see, I have spent enough time with the seven of them that I've become pretty familiar with their individual voices and techniques. Passion and Adventure are the most beautiful of the children; they are seductive in their appearances, and their sultry voices whisper to me daily the promises of a radical, vibrant life if I follow them. They tell me stories of faraway places and people; they tease me with pictures of higher heights, deeper depths, and culture, food, and music. They write songs about beautiful things. They tell me that I can have it all.

Purpose and Conviction are the twins who know what they want. My relationship with the two of them is admittedly a slightly unhealthy one. They have been leading me on for some time now. They weave in and out of my thoughts, twisting their long, supple bodies around my limbs feigning closeness with me. Then, when they've got me wrapped tightly, kneeling quietly with my hands folded together and head bowed low, they inch their mouths closer and closer to my ear. Just as I think that they are finally going to whisper their secrets to me, they inhale sharply, and snap back. Just like that. I've been the losing player in this game for years.

Talent is the bi-polar middle child. One moment, he is charismatic and outgoing-- brilliant, really. And in the next moment, he is shy and deeply insecure. He talks to himself, you know. And sometimes, when he's not paying attention, I can even inch close enough to him to hear what he's muttering so quietly under his breath. "You are uniquely hand crafted, you know. Beautifully gifted, designed.. but you're not that special after all. Look at you. Look at him. Look at her. There's no comparison. You never stood a chance. But you are God's beloved child. A creation of the King. Your skills were deposited one by one. You could never really be that blessed.." It's eerie, really, to listen to Talent speak truths and lies to himself day after day after day.

Direction is the eldest brother. His hair- which was, not too long ago, thick and a rich, chocolatey brown- has appeared increasingly thin and grey the last few times that I've seen him. Over our last coffee house date, he told me that he feels lost and tired. He shared with me about the pressure that the rest of the family has laid on him. He told me that he constantly feels stressed out because his younger siblings all look to him for guidance. They tell him that they're too scared to take any steps unless he leads them first. I took a long, slow drag of my vanilla latte as he stared deeply into his hot, heavy black coffee with the saddest, most tired eyes I've seen in a long time.

Wisdom is the most mature of them all. At least that's what she wants people to think. Her outfits are always nice- clean and well pressed. She sits up tall, and stands up taller. She appears well put-together to the untrained eye, but to me- someone who has watched her closely for years, debated with her, played with her- it is obvious that her shiny shoes are scuffed on the bottom, her blouses all have moth-eaten holes, and the threads on her jackets are snagged. The truth is, she doesn't have it all together. She's trying to figure it out as she goes, but she is bitter and resentful about how slowly she seems to be growing up. She tries to dress and speak as if she were an old, wise woman with the wrinkled forehead and deep age lines etched around her jaws.. but, you know, she's only twenty-three. Her act is tired.

Despite all of the vast differences between the Beings, there still appear to be a few things that they all agree on. Quitting Valassis was one of them. When I began considering leaving the Fortune 700 corporation, they all encouraged me enthusiastically. They assured me that I had to be made for something more than a Monday-through-Friday-9-to-5-corporate-desk-job that didn't challenge me, or leave me feeling fulfilled in any way. Plus, it was making me fat. They assured me that this wasn't what I wanted at this moment in my life, and they also cautioned me that if I didn't leave at the benchmarked year's end, I would become comfortable (lazy) and only struggle harder to leave at a later date. When I finally announced my last day at Valassis to them, I was greeted with the most glorious seven-part chorus.

And so, for the past month, I have had lots of time to hang out with the Beings. Lately, we've gotten into wrestling. Which is significant because I actually think wrestling is disgusting. But since I have been guaranteed immunity from broccoli ear and worm fungus, I figure that it's okay this time. Anyway, I can hear them yelling for me from the basement now.. (I promised them that I'd watch "Wreck it Ralph" with them today after church).

Talk soon.

- bcl.

By Scott Gerber

Be afraid to have never failed.

Be afraid of living with regrets for the rest of your life. Be afraid of letting others dictate what you should be afraid of.

Be afraid of never earning what you're worth, or losing your entire livelihood in an instant without any say in the matter.

Be afraid of waking up at 50 and realizing that your career has been nothing more than a patchwork of dead-end "real" jobs with nothing to show for it.

Finally, be afraid to live out the rest of your life as a mere dreamer rather than a doer who dreams up what's next.

Reading time is now over. You've got lots to do - and you're already behind.

- Scott Gerber

Goodbye, our sweet baby girl

"You can get a dog when you're twelve years old, and not one year sooner, because you are too young to take care of one now," mom said sternly.

When I was ten, she changed her mind.

I remember that I was taking private violin lessons at the time, and I hated them. Mrs. Ko was the meanest of ladies and had no tolerance for fingernails or poor posture, both of which I was fond of. Seeing as how I haven't touched my violin in years and years, one could say that my time there was for naught. But I would have to disagree.

One afternoon, as our car pulled into Mrs. Ko's driveway, the student whose lessons took place right before mine each week came out of the house. She was with her mom, who was also holding a small white puppy. I ran to play with the pup, and its owner told me that her two toy poodles at home had just had a litter of puppies, and that they were for sale. I asked my mom immediately if we could get one. She said no.

I did not perform well at violin lessons that afternoon.

Over the next week, I asked my parents daily about getting a dog. I showed them my Scholastic Book Fair purchase-- a picture book titled "Dogs" and read to them the excerpt about poodles:

"Poodles are the smartest dogs in the world. They are friendly and good with kids. They often win dog shows because of their obedience and are highly trainable. They do not shed, but need to be groomed. Poodles come in many different colors and sizes-- full, miniature, toy, and teacup."

As I'm sure you've guessed by now, mom and dad eventually okay'ed my request for a dog. We went to the owners' home to pick out a puppy. I remember that when we arrived, there were three puppies. Two of them were completely white, and very excited to see me. They jumped around in their cage, tails wagging. But the one I chose was slightly apricot colored, and she sat in the middle of the cage looking all cutesy. She was the smallest, and so I picked her. She cost me $100 Canadian.

And she was well-worth every penny.

Once home, I carried my new baby pup gingerly into our split-level home in Strongsville, Ohio. Mom kept telling me, "Let her outside to go pee," and I said something like, "No, she doesn't have to go right now." I placed her ever so gently onto the carpet smack dab in the middle of our living room. She peed instantly.

We spent a few days trying out different names on her-- Blossom, Violet, Daisy... we knew she loved them all since she responded to all of them with equal enthusiasm. In the end, we chose the name Findora (courtesy of Felix Lee, really).

I can say too little about how amazing Findora was. She had the best personality I have ever found in a dog, and she was the cutest. She was so sweet and friendly and happy-- and that's how we will always remember her, I'm sure. She inspired several families to get dogs of their own, and was even beloved by people who were scared of dogs ("I'm terrified of dogs.. except for Finny. She's alright.")

I never thought that she would be taken away in such a violent, terrible, scary way. But I hope you didn't hurt for long. I also never thought that this would affect me like this..

The family loved you, baby girl. Even though Felix always pretended that he thought you were annoying, he liked it when you would snuggle with him. And even though dad always claimed he "doesn't even like dogs," we all knew he always liked you best. Mom was your favorite. You were mine.

Thank you for always knowing when I was sad. Thanks for taking naps with me, and for going on walks and car rides. Thanks for always being happy, even when no one else was. I miss you already, sweet girl. Thanks for being the best for all of these years. You were so, so special.

From September of 2000 until the very last moment on May 28, 2013, you've been so incredible. And I can say nothing less for everyone who knows you.

Goodbye, Finny.

Love,
bcl.

The Chronicles of "Bithiah" (Part I)

Growing up with a name as strange and unique as mine has, I think, significantly affected much of my childhood and many of my experiences growing up. I dealt with the strangest name-related things as a child, and remained unaware of their eccentricity for a long time.

For instance, here is a brief list of things that happened to me only because my name is Bithiah:

1) Whenever there was a substitute teacher in class for the day, attendance always sounded like this-- "Andrew, Ryan, Kelly, Amanda, (long pause)... (brings attendance sheet very close to face, narrows eyes).. Hmm.. uh.. I apologize in advance if I'm about to totally butcher this... (totally butchers it)"

2) Whenever I met someone for the first time, regardless of the situation or surrounding or time of day, the introduction would always be the same--
Me: Hi, I'm Bithiah.
Stranger: What?

Me: Bithiah

Stranger: ... how do you spell that?

Me: B-I-T-H-I-A-H

Stranger: What?

3) Whenever I tell the barista at Starbucks what my name is so they can write it on my grande cup (grande. Always a grande!), I stand off to the side near the counter waiting for this exact scenario to happen--

Barista: Latte for Jennifer! Sam, I have your coffee right here! I have a tall iced passion tea for Greg! Two hot chocolates for Andrea! I have a grande decaf hazelnut latte with soy, light whip!

Me: Is that... mine? Maybe someone else who didn't bother to tell the cashier their name ordered the exact same thing as me just now. I'll just wait a few minutes to see if someone else goes up to get it... Okay, it's mine. It's probably mine. Definitely is. I've waited 4 minutes. The latte is probably cold by now. I guess there's a pretty high chance that it's mine. Should I just take it? Oh my goodness, I hope I didn't accidentally take someone else's grande decaf hazelnut latte with soy and light whip.. I'd feel so awful!

4) Whenever I met someone just one time, and then we separated for years and years, and then we reunited somewhere else, I would have to prepare to feel like an inconsiderate, selfish ass with a bad memory.
Me: Hey, my name is Bithiah Lee.

Stranger: Oh! Bithiah! Your name sounds so familiar! We must have met before! 

Me: Oh yeah? 

Stranger: Yeah, I'm sure of it! I recognize your name!

Me: Haha

Stranger: I'm JOHN. Do you remember meeting me?!

Me: ... I'm an ass.

5) Various situations might bring about this conversation--
Me: Sorry, how do you pronounce your name?
Jackie: Jack- E.
Me: Okay, Jack-E! 
Jackie: Your name?
Me: Bith- EYE- ah.
Jackie: Okay, Bith-E-Ah!
Me: It's actually, Bith-EYE-ah
Jackie: Yeah, Bith-eeee-ah. That's what I said!

6) Whenever I am involved in an e-mail exchange, this will definitely, always happen-- 

Me: Hey everyone, wedged sneakers will never be cool. Kindly, Bithiah

Recipient 1: Dear Bithia,

Recipient 2: Yeah, Bithia..

Me: Because they're a stupid idea. Love, Bithiah

Recipient 3: Hey Bithra..

Me: Yes, I do think you could get hurt walking in them. Sincerely, Bithiah

Recipient 2: Oh, Bithyana!

Recipient 3: Hey Papaya, 

Recipient 2: Messiah? 

Recipient 4: Yo Mathia..

Me: I will not buy them for you. Patiently, BithiaH

Recipient 1: Ok, Bithia

Now, in the name of progress and making improvements based on lessons learned, I am pretty happy to announce that I no longer live in shame in the classroom or in Starbucks! Daily I am making changes. After several years of trial and error, I have come up with my current, most recent, up-to-date list of ways that I have achieved victory over the brief list of things that happened to me only because my name is Bithiah (see list above):

1) Sub: Andrew.. 

Andrew: Here!

Sub: Ryan.. 

Ryan: Here!

Sub: Kelly..

Kelly: Here!

Sub: Amanda..

Amanda: Here!

Sub: (short pause)

Me: Here!

2) Now, whenever I meet someone for the first time--

Me: Hi, I'm Bithiah.

Stranger: (shakes hand)

Me: Bithiah. B-I-T-H-I-A-H.. Bithiah. Bithiah! I can write it down somewhere for you if you want.

3) Now, when I'm in Starbucks-- 

Barista: Can I get something started for you?

Me: Yes, can I please get a grande decaf hazelnut latte with soy milk and light whip?

Barista: Certainly! And your name?

Me: Sara.

4) Now, whenever someone looks kind of familiar, but also like they probably wouldn't remember me unless I told him my name--

Stranger: Hey, I'm John. What's your--

Me: Hi John! Nice to meet you. I'm so sorry to cut this short, but I have to go! I'm late for work! 

And then I run away.

5) Now, whenever someone asks me to explain the proper pronunciation of my name more than twice, I am prepared--
Jackie: So, how do you pronounce Bithiah?
Me: Bith-EYE-ah.
Jackie: Bith-eee-ah?
Me: You can call me B.

6) This item is unfortunately, one that I have not yet found a solution to. I may just have to prepare to admit defeat and accept the less-than-ideal hypothesis that the combination of the letters B, I, T, H, and A in the particular number and order in which they appear in my name causes instant dyslexia and loss of hearing. It's unavoidable. 

But in all honesty, I am not without grace. I am very understanding of the difficulties that my name causes on the everyday, and the havoc that Bithiah wreaks on the average conversation. Bithiah is tough, and a little bit rude. Storming into a crowded room jam-packed with Dan's and Ann's, she announces her arrival with three hideously awkward, blundering and unsubtle syllables. And people do stare. The Dan's, especially. The Muriel's and Henrietta's in the room tend to recover quicker and sometimes they even manage to pick up their jaws, though slightly bruised from when they first hit the ground, before I can catch them.

Bithiah sucks in other ways too! Like, whenever someone sees my name before they see me, it really is unfair to him or her, because my name poses a major obstacle in their normally very sharp deduction skills. They stare and stare at my name that is scrawled on the small place setting card sitting on the table next to them in the auditorium. They wonder to themselves, Is Bithiah a boy or a girl? Is she.. white, Asian, or Armenian? Oh my god. Bithiah has to be a guy. A German one. Probably huge. He sounds like a bully. And I'm going to have to sit next to him for this whole semester? Worst.

And then, when I finally arrive, this individual watches as I approach my assigned seat. Closer and closer I walk, and my new seatmate's face begins to change. It's hard to describe the exact change that takes place on his face. Maybe it's relief. Relief as he realizes that I can't actually destroy him using nothing but the stench of my manly armpits, which I'm sure he imagined would be both hairy and sweaty. And when I finally arrive to my seat, I often get a response somewhere along the lines of  "Oh wow! You look nothing like what I imagined you to look like," and I'm all like, "What did you expect me to look like!" 

Because, when I see your name, I don't just immediately think, "Oh, this person probably looks like a milk maid or cricket player from Greece. She sounds just like she should have auburn hair and probably definitely brown eyes." (Except for people with the names Precious or Stu. I do have images of you). But by this point in the conversation, my new seatmate's relief and surprise has pretty much reached the point of hysteria as he sputters out-- between gasps of laughter-- "You're a Chinese girl and you're so small." 

I know he would not have laughed at me for being Chinese or for being small if my name card had read Grace or MiMi or Wen-Chi instead.

But don't worry. If you were one of those people who admits that you saw the same hairy German man in your head at the first sight of Bithiah, I have grace enough to forgive you as well. I so get it. When the average person who has only ever been surrounded by Dan's and Ann's sees Bithiah for the first time, it is very common to also think of such names as Goliath and Bohemith and Bunyan and, if you're Chinese, a nickname, "Big Thigh Ah!" I am a realist. 

This concludes the first chapter of the Chronicles of "Bithiah." However, I find that this is the appropriate place to add these last two bullet points. 

• The Chronicles of "Bithiah" actually begins in the Bible. 1 Chronicles 4:18! You have no idea who Bithiah is, but you kind of do. She is Pharoah's daughter who found Moses in the basket in the river. She is his adopted Egyptian mom! WHO KNEW, EH?
• The name Bithiah actually means "Daughter of God" in Hebrew. Not quite "Goliath," eh?

Sincerely,

bcl. 

The travel bug

I've been bitten hard.

I think that it might be this time of year, because around this time every year (since 2008), I seem to find myself suffering from the same itch to travel. To take a break from the cold weather and the cycle that has settled into my everyday. The drain of a repetitive schedule is boring me-- aging me, really-- and is less than inspiring.

I think I need a nice, focused vacation time. To Australia. Or, just mayhaps, I could be convinced to go back to the Bahamas for a week.

Lusting for Adventure,
bcl.

*Open casting call for the role of "travel mate" begins today!

The Perks

I just finished Stephen Chbosky's the perks of being a wallflower.. 

And it put me in quite a funk. I really, really enjoyed this book, and I am amazed at Chbosky's words. Not even his thoughts, because that's what's so cool about this book-- the thoughts he described are ones that we've all had ourselves, but he's somehow managed to put them into words.

"He looked like all old pictures look. Old pictures look very rugged and young, and the people in the photographs always seem a lot happier than you are...

I just hope I remember to tell my kids that they are as happy as I look in my old photographs. And I hope that they believe me."

"Dear friend, Wow. Wow. I can paint the picture for you if you like... it was like we were somewhere else. Like we were someplace better."

"And in that moment, I swear we were infinite." 

He's such a genius.

I can't wait to watch:

Love,
bcl.