RIBS OF GLASS

I had so much positivity and forward momentum, and then I hit a wall. 

A commercial on Animal Planet, that I saw the other day, encouraged pet owners to spend at least ten minutes a day playing with their furry friend.  In my mind I couldn’t help but think that was asking too little of humans. How enriched can a dog feel if their human only spends a few minutes actually interacting? Unfortunately, there really are too many people out there who take in an animal only to give it the bare minimum of care. 

Juni (my love) and I feel like the grandparents to the dachshund puppy in our household. We are the ones who bring home the healthy treats and toys, who do the research on proper care, and bring her on long walks and adventures. She is not our financial responsibility but we are definitely willing to scoop her up for hours on end. Her life would be fairly limited if not for us.

Her daily life, while we are at work, consists of sulking in a crate while her true owner sleeps into the afternoon. Upon her release she is able to run around the small patch of yard while her owner smokes a cigarette, and then carries her back into the  two-bedroom condo. For the rest of the day she sleeps or wanders around while the only person around watches tv. Feeding her or changing her water is often forgotten, and usually she has accidents in the house because she has no other choice when hours have passed.

In the evening when we get home we enter to messes on the floor and an excited puppy. We walk her, and run with her, make sure she is fed, and spend the rest of the evening playing and cuddling in our bed. And I can’t help but feel anger that without us she would be neglected. Dachshunds are difficult and stubborn dogs, and hard to train as puppies. We have done everything we can to provide the experiences she needs in puppyhood. After a month of struggle we got her to accept a leash and learn to walk, because she was used to being off-leash near a busy parking lot. It’s too bad so many opportunities are missed for walks during the day.

When the time comes that we are on our own there is the temptation to take her on as ours. She still needs to be spayed, something the owner refuses in hopes of making money off of puppies. An irresponsible and greedy desire. But we will probably have to leave with the guilt of knowing how her life will continue without our presence. 

As more of life passes I think more and more about the reality of karma. I have strived to be a role model for most of my life and the values came from what I gathered about the world. Shedding negativity is a battle that can be lost but the struggle makes achievements satisfying.

There are too many who say nice guys finish last, that it isn’t about how hard you work but I will stick with the core. Patience is a virtue. Growth is possible while taking humble steps.

Today, there is a set time I should be receiving news that finally adds security to life. As a twenty-seven year old that means I can breathe once more. The air has been in my lungs for four years while my heart has missed beats.

This is the time of every year where those are shown a shocking side to my person. It is the time of year I join the masses who are enthralled by sporting events and sit in sports bars or living rooms and partake in the ritual of yelling at the television. I was born and raised in Michigan until age twenty, and Michigan worships Hockeytown and the soldiers it puts forth. From a young age I could listen to the fuzzy voices on the radio calling the game while in the car with my dad. The Detroit Red Wings were a staple in the house. In middle school I missed nearly a week while attending the training camp practices, scrimmages, and waiting around for a chance to meet the legends. My pre-teen body was shrouded in a giant jersey, red and white ribbons were tied in my hair, and a gold team logo charm (a gift from my father) was around my neck. 

Outside of Michigan I encounter those who have an interest in the sport of hockey. When I tell them I am a Wings fan they crunch up their noses. “Why?” they ask, and I can only respond, “I was born a fan, there was no other option, it’s in my blood.”  While as an art student, and someone who is “earthy,” and interested in independent thinking, it is surprising for others to see this side of my person. There has been many an argument I have had to bear with those who are opposed to all sports and everything associated with them. But I like the sound of skates on the ice, the idea of the coldness, the energy, and the grit of the game. Those players make a lot of money, but they work harder for much less than other pro-athletes. They come from lands where the sport is ingrained in their culture, and I feel a pureness. Hundreds of years ago individuals slid around on the ice of frozen ponds in frigid northern air. A pick-up game of hockey has a beauty that pick-up games of any other sport lack. The Stanley Cup is the oldest trophy in professional sports and every year I hope the Wings are inscribed on its historic surface.

I’m typing this on my new over-sized smart phone. A world I have had a vague interest in since it was birthed. The other day I picked up my marred and tiny smart phone and ended up flinging it full force into the ground. The phone was a survivor in the past, braving impacts that made crowds gasp. This time it met its fate. Perhaps, the teasing from others drove the phone to its demise, but it was timed as many had applied pressure on me to find a replacement. I was fine with my outdated little guy, I could still text, check mail, and make calls, what else did I need? Now, I feel a bit like an imposter. New and shiny pieces of technology do not fit into my landscape. Downloading popular games to play with others, who sit at lunch with their equally pretty phones, makes me wish I had held onto the cracked and sad looking phone of which I had bonded. There are far more important items in life that I could put the money toward.

It’s hard when you can pinpoint a behavior in yourself and realize that it might come off the wrong way at times, but still be in such a habit of it that you can’t stop. As I have grown more and more comfortable in my work place I have also opened my mouth with greater frequency. My entire first 6months there could be characterized as a ghost in the corners who rarely made a ripple, but as my familiarity with everyone and confidence has risen so has my boldness. Now, there are so many times that I want to fade back, because when you are quiet you are rarely noticed, and if you are rarely noticed then how can someone have a problem with you? I put too much emphasis on being like by all and perceived as a good person.

The behavior that I wrestle is caring too much. I put myself into everything and think about how I would want to be informed, treated, or noticed, and enact that on everyone around me. If someone is feeling ill and wanting to go home on time but they don’t tell a supervisor, I worry about them, and I find the supervisor and let them know out of concern. If a change is made in the schedule but I don’t see it communicated to those it involves, then I can’t help but find those people and let them know. When I use a piece of equipment that is not functioning properly I take the time to explain to the next person to use it what is wrong. None of those situations are my responsibility. For the most part others stay out of what isn’t their business, but I can’t help but run around trying to make sure everyone is receiving the information they need. 

In all of my running around accompanied by a franticness, that only a few people pick up on, I stop and feel annoying. I want to take all of the worrying and caring back and hide inside. I don’t want to impose on lives that are not mine or butt into events that have nothing to do with me, but when I see a chain of events that could unfold in a negative way I can’t let it happen. This evening I’m trying to fall asleep but in my head I see myself tromping through the sandy beach at work annoying my coworkers as I try to make everything harmonious. 

 Being forward to another person does not come natural to me. Taking part in social rituals is also something I regard with distaste. Verbal greetings and exercises of small talk seem forced, from my point of view. An act that has become an issue in socialization, as I have grown older, is the hug in greeting or saying farewell to someone.

I never know when it is ok, who to hug, how to hug them, when to reach out, etc. For the most part I let others approach and it helps when someone has attacked me on numerous occasions because I begin to know they are huggable on my own approach. But the are still numerous acquaintances out there who linger in that zone where I know I’ll have to awkwardly work in the hug. And beyond that, I am around Spanish households who don’t simply embrace, but add a peck on the cheek.  When I don’t add a peck back I feel like I botched the interaction, that I did something unacceptable.

There are times I cleverly try to do a double hand wave as I fade out of the scene. But that usually does not end the stress as I watch others embrace and wonder if I’m snubbing them in some way. I like hugs, just not feeling obligated to participate to fulfill some kind of proper end or beginning to an interaction. 

There are very few females on this Earth I ever connect with, I often joke with single guys that we are in the same boat. And maybe here and there we really have been on the same hunt. I can talk to any guy but at times I’ll end up flustered and blushing in the presence of a woman. I don’t know how to socialize as a female, or how to be girly. But since I’m pretty happy with who I am, until I am pressured into some awkward all-girl situation, I don’t see much reason to change. The biggest group of ladies I have truly felt comfortable with, since slumber parties in early elementary school, was going out with a group of lesbian friends I had at work. And unfortunately they all kind wandered off on their own awesome paths to pursue film, music, and construction.

As a child I sometimes expressed the sentiment that I would have rather been a boy. Occasionally after a really rough day of forced socialization I’ll angrily wish I wasn’t female. But I do like dresses, and cupcakes, and having long red hair, so I’d probably have to become male only to be drag queen as well. This whole thought isn’t just light-hearted banter from my mind, I have actually thought out if that is my true path. But now, I think I’m meant to be a female who from time-to-time can’t handle the way society expects my gender to behave. I’m glad to have a man in my life who jokes that he makes a better “female” and I make a better “male.” Except he does worry I’d rather find a woman, but truthfully, it’s about the person not the gender. 

The females who fit best with me are always pretty down-to-earth, quirky, accepting, quiet, and awkward, reflections of myself. I’m thinking of this because one of the few of my own gender, who I am not terrified to be left alone with, is on her way down this way. Really, if you want to see me have a breakdown, hand me a baby, or put me alone in a room with a unknown female. Which unfortunately, was my freshman year of college in a dorm room. How does one interact with a girl who cries and yells at her mom, over the phone, that she needs real Ugg boots and a Burberry scarf or she will get kicked out of her sorority?

I wish I could remember the article I was reading but the point it made is that working class/low income Americans are not willing to concern themselves with policies to better their own financial situations. That many are opposed to equally taxing the rich because everyone walks around believing that will be them some day. The author said we are a country of people who believe they are at the moment “inconvenienced millionaires.” And that statement really rang clear in my head. Everyday so many people wake up with this belief that they simply have to “make do” until they strike it rich, and then everything will be fine.

Looking at my own life I know there have been many nights staring at the ceiling and wishing the perfect job would come along, some way that my BFA would be applicable in the way I would enjoy. But I also spend the majority of my life feeling very objective, disciplined, and realistic. I read studies in college that said it is nearly impossible to climb out of the income bracket of your parents, and at that time I realized it was probably only a dream to be even reach “middle class” status. My thoughts are that if I can live my life being the best person I can, and doing something I enjoy even if I am poor, at least I have something. 

What I want in life is not a stockpile of goods. I really do not care about the latest technology, large televisions, shiny cars, enormous houses, or designer clothing. But maybe feeling so helpless and lost financially leads to lower expectations. Right now, I only ask to elevate my financial status to one that can afford an apartment. What is my five year plan for happiness? To have my own apartment, my own space that I know I provide. And If I am going to play the game of what wealth I would strive for while currently “inconvenienced” it is that I would be able to travel. My home can be small, my personal goods can be limited, but it I can actually manage to leave this country and experience other places, I’d be one happy woman.

I always wonder about “reality” tv stars, or other individuals who go through their fifteen minutes of fame. Once their faces drop from the radar how do they go back to everyday life? And not only the people who come from that manipulated world, but also athletes who compete in the olympics, astronauts who walked on the moon, survivors of catastrophic events, and anyone who has gone through a life-changing moment on a grand scale. How do you fit back into the world?

Because I genuinely care about others and wish everyone can have happy, warm, lives, I probably wonder about this too often. There is a reason so many “washed up” stars are drug addicts who never pull their life back together. What motivation do they have, to feel like the peak of your life has passed? To feel so momentarily engaged in every way to then end up searching for any feeling to fill the void.

My only way of relating comes from experiences working a seasonal job in Alaska. For a window of 4-6 months a group of young people come together and live in a commune-like setting. Life is simpler, life is amazing, life is an adventure, and life is rewarding in Alaska. I lived in a tiny place nicknamed “shantytown” by some of the inhabitants. The whole setting really is like a reality show, minus the cameras and ratings stunts.

Roughly thirty people are dropped off on property, mostly American, but some from Ireland, Turkey, Bulgaria…wherever the boss decides to recruit. Paired off into tiny “dry cabins” (no running water) we bunk up for the summer. I am guilty of bring two different loves for the years I lived and worked in the North. The quirky cabins are dotted around the few acres in an awkward semi-circle. Some cabins have loft-like areas, others are patched up with boards, there are green, blue, red, and brown painted ones, some with designs inside and out. Remnants from past inhabitants remain tacked to the walls or hidden in drawers. The main house and shower house have a central location. Everyone uses the main house to cook and hang out in a common area, it’s a log cabin-style structure that has seen better days. We are responsible for living together in harmony and there are moments where humanity shines, and moments where humanity exposes its ugly insides. 

What I enjoyed was being surrounded by some of the most amazing people I have ever met. I don’t have to search out these characters because Alaska draws them. There is something in the minds of those who escape the lower 48 that lends to acceptance and open-arms.

They also were summers of hard work, of tapping the rawness of what it means to exist and survive, something most Alaskans do on a far greater scale their whole lives. But it is also a summer that bathes in the warm glow of the midnight sun. You wake up at 3am and on the way to the bathrooms you can hear laughter of those who are sitting on their porches in the pink light.

Everything that binds you in the “real world,” in the structured existence of the lower 48, is gone. Even working in a gift shop has a knack for being a spiritual exercise. I folded t-shirts in the shadow of a mountain and felt so clearly a physical “great beyond” existed outside. It’s those moments that are hard to describe.

When the day was done the van rolled up, we piled in and headed home to laughter and juggling the kitchen space while everyone made dinner. We concocted silly games and entertainment, we used our imaginations and creativity to have fun. There were no movie theaters, no video games, it was us, nature, and our minds. 

When the seasons ended the days grew shorter. The sun no longer spread its energy into the nights. We huddled in the main cabin and thought about the return to normal life, finding jobs, apartments, needing cars. Coldness crept in and the flash of autumn was brief before the world turned brown. Alaska has bid me farewell a few times, it reserves the true grit for the locals, something I wish to become when the world allows.

Returning to the lower 48 is maddening. The cars, the people, the hum of everything all rushes back. Seeing humans in full-makeup, in business attire, sandals, and summery gear, it is a shock to the system. You forget what “normal” people look like, because you are still in your raggedy jeans and muddy hiking boots. Six months without billboards and road rage. 

Adjusting is something that never fully happens. I return to “real life” and I participate with an emptiness. I spend most days wishing that I could walk outside my door and take off for hours on foot. I wish that I could find an ATV trail and follow it without any knowledge of where I’ll end up. But unfortunately there is no vastness, no freedom, only this feeling of being trapped. And I wonder if that is how some of those individuals feel, that they once had an outlet to another plane, no matter how tacky it may have been, and they are now shut out from having what they once did. That feeling meaningful has now ceased and they must find a way to live with a void.