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All the best,
Grace

http://graceywatson.wordpress.com/

My Insatiable Hunger for Romance

A couple of years ago, I started reading more young adult lit as an opportunity to connect with my current sixth grader. She wanted to read The Hunger Games trilogy in fourth grade, but I was concerned that the violence would be too much for her active imagination. I finally decided to vet it myself last year. I was so engrossed that I read all three books in three days. One night, my husband found me perched on a stool in the corner of the bathroom at 4 a.m., unable to put down the final book. He simply gave me a feigned look of disapproval and went back to bed. Our daughter did get to read the trilogy and she loved it. I had a repeat experience with the Divergent trilogy this past Christmas. Three books, three days, and a jacked up circadian rhythm. The themes of government corruption run amok, courage and strength in the face of injustice and adversity, self-discovery and identity, etc, are compelling, to be sure, but I've had to come to terms with the fact that I'm a total sap. Far and away, the plot line that keeps me absolutely riveted is falling in love.

Hello, my name is Grace. I am a romance junkie.

I technically "dated" a boy in the sixth grade, oh, for about 96 hours. Somehow, I don't think that counts. I met my first real boyfriend around sophomore year in high school, in a church youth group of all places. In fact, he was the main reason why I even committed to the group. You see, the only reason why I visited Teen Fellowship in the first place was because my mom guilted me into it. I hadn't attended church willingly since the fourth grade. Since then, I went once a month, tops, just to appease her. A church youth group was the last association I wanted to have by the time I was a teenager. It's embarrassing to confess that, at the time, I felt much cooler than the youth group kids who seemed so naive and nerdy compared to the goth kids I'd hung out with at school my entire freshman year. I felt so wise to the world (hah!) because of my involvement in a crowd which took pride in rebelling against everything representing popular culture, dressing eccentrically, experimenting with drugs and alcohol and listening to angsty alternative and punk rock music. On one hand, the relatively innocent and genuinely kind youth group kids made me feel welcome and accepted. On the other hand, the edgy goths made me feel unique and audacious whilst feeling like an imposter all the more. What would I choose on Friday nights? A bong at a house party or a Bible lesson at Teen Fellowship? Hmm...

Ulterior Motives and Excruciating Insecurities Met By Extravagance

Of course, a BOY was the deciding factor. Jon appeared at Teen Fellowship on a night I happened to show up. He was tall, athletic and very attractive to my 15-year old self. We exchanged more stolen glances than actual sentences over the next several months, and started dating by summer. We were together for over two years and broke up shortly after going off to college on opposite coasts. We've remained friends over the years, and it's been fun to see each other grow up, each finding wonderful spouses and starting/raising families.

I shared in my last post how, for most of my childhood, I was convinced I was completely unattractive and unlovable. In my mind, it would be impossible for anyone to love or care about me romantically. What brought this to the fore was a girl confiding in me that she had a crush on Jon, too. Oh, no! Had she claimed him simply by declaring her feelings before I did? Well, it didn't matter anyway. Of course, he would choose her over me. She was more winsome, more classically beautiful, more worthwhile, more EVERYTHING than I could ever be. My distorted perspective was all-encompassing. Everyone else was more valuable, more special, than ordinary, worthless little me. I tried to subjugate my feelings in anticipation of defeat. So, you can imagine my shock and delight when, one fateful summer night on a crowded volleyball court, he boldly marched up to me and declared, "I don't care what you think, but I like you." This changed my life. It sounds a bit childish (because it kind of was), and it's hard to explain, but the fact that he chose me at a point of such fragility was tremendously healing.

Senior prom, 1990

It's hilariously ironic that I can say this now, but THANK GOD his mother was utterly controlling. Jon lived a forty-five minute drive away, so we only ever got to see each other at youth group on Fridays and at church on Sundays. Her strict rule that we could only talk on the phone for a total of thirty minutes per week--with no exceptions whatsoever--felt cruel and sadistic. It forced us to write a lot of letters, so we got to know each other in a relatively healthy way for a couple our age. Most importantly, it protected a girl with a huge gaping hole in her heart from indulging the irresistible compulsion to allow another human being to become the meaning of her existence, her everything, her all in all. It forced us to maintain and build other friendships and to keep up with our school work. So, although I utterly resented her overbearing rules at the time, in hindsight, Jon's mom was a genius. To be realistic, this approach could have backfired devastatingly with different teens, but it was quite effective with basically compliant and reasonable kids like us.

As a result, I was able to grow, mature and begin a desperately needed healing process with God as an individual without becoming enmeshed with my boyfriend. I'm grateful that, though I initially started going to Teen Fellowship with ulterior motives, God honored and blessed the choice anyway. God didn't give me any sort of disapproving reprimand. Rather, I met my first love, made precious and lasting friendships, and most profoundly, embarked on the amazing journey of letting God love and heal me. Love is truly transformative.

Finding My Soul Mate 

Wedding day, 1996

My husband Steve and I met in college. He was a sophomore and I was a junior (yes, a younger man!). We had an inexplicably deep soul connection  from the start and became close friends almost instantly. When we realized we had feelings for each other, we decided to take things very slowly, since we both had come off of recent break-ups. Somehow we both knew there was something uniquely special about this relationship, so we were committed to giving it our best go. Once we made it official, we dated for about two years, broke up for nine months, and were engaged for another nine months. That's a whole story in and of itself. We've now been married for over seventeen years and have three amazing children. It's been a terrific, challenging, unpredictable and thrilling ride. We remain best friends and full partners in life. Of course, we have our arguments and struggles, just like any other couple, but we still love each other more than ever. Using modern day vernacular, l'll just say our marriage is still "pretty dang hot," too.

Newlyweds

Marriage counselors and researchers attest to the fact that healthy long-term, committed relationships need to mature beyond a state of infatuation, beyond romance, which I will define as "enthralled wanting and beckoning." Romance is such a powerful and exhilarating experience in and of itself, no wonder it can be addictive. However, the thrill of falling in love is meant to progress toward growing mutual respect, commitment, shared purpose, and shared lives. It's simply impossible for a long-term relationship to sustain a perpetual state of enthralled wanting and beckoning.  On a human level, romance is intended to be a catalyst by which humans are compelled toward, not only deeper emotional and physical intimacy, but unwavering devotion, mutual self-sacrifice and partnership as well. Unfortunately, in most cultures, married life tends to be portrayed as painfully dull and boring if not fraught with insurmountable difficulty and increasingly discordant wants/needs that are doomed to meet a devastating end. Of course, marriage takes hard work. I'd be a fool and a liar to claim otherwise. Yet, the fact that my husband continues to forsake all others to remain devoted to me year after year, is super sexy! When we choose to accommodate one another's needs above our own, it essentially communicates, "I get you. You matter to me. Your needs are important to me. I will give of myself for you. You're worth it." What a turn-on! Of course flowers, chocolates, love notes and date nights make a huge difference, too, but we've got to recalibrate our perceptions.

Still a Romance Junkie

So, since I'm happily married, why am I still such a sucker for romantic stories? Shouldn't I be done with all of that nonsense by now?!?! If this isn't an indication that my marriage is on the verge of spiraling into crisis, what does it mean? What's going on for me?

Well, there's a common pattern among all of my favorite romance stories. Some that have captured my imagination recently are Katniss and Peeta in The Hunger Games and Tris and Tobias in Divergent. All-time favorites include Margaret and John in North and South (British classic), Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice and Anne and Gilbert in Anne of Green Gables (all of these have film adaptations in case you don't feel like reading). As beguiling as make-out scenes can be, those don't ultimately do much for me. Most of my favorite stories barely have hand-holding, let alone kissing or anything else. What captivates me most is the unfolding process of enthralled longing and beckoning within the relationship. One character becomes smitten, suddenly aware of undeniably alluring qualities of the other. Negative first impressions give way to admiration. Undeclared affection is betrayed by a subtle facial expression, a vulnerable comment or a loving gesture. The lover finally declares his/her love to the beloved and awaits a response with breathless anticipation. Finally, the moment of mutual relief and delight at the revelation that love is indeed requited. Sigh.

Steve and I share unforgettable memories of an ardent courtship which still make me smile at their recollection, and I would only ever want to experience romantic love on a human level with him and no other. So, I've come to realize that my ongoing fascination with romance reveals my innate hunger for a boundless, mystical love that only the God of the universe can satisfy fully. God takes pleasure in offering this love freely and abundantly while passionately beckoning and wooing me with patient anticipation. I welcome it wholeheartedly with open arms, for it transcends the limits of human imagination, emotion and experience. Infinitely better than anything I'll find in a YA novel.

Jeremiah 31:3 (NIV)
"I have loved you with an everlasting love;
    I have drawn you with unfailing kindness."

Part 1: Confessions of a Former Poseur & How Bagels and Lox Saved My Life

I’m sitting here typing at the dinner table while “The Smiths” station plays on Pandora. “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out” has been stuck in my head for the past week. It’s a ridiculously ironic song. Even though I haven’t listened regularly in over 20 years, I'm tickled that I can still sing along with the virtuosic twists and turns of Morrissey’s haunting voice, as I did at the top of my lungs on my drive home from work this afternoon. The song still makes me feel uncannily cheerful and upbeat despite the disturbingly morbid and angsty lyrics, just as it did in high school.

Take me out tonight

Oh take me anywhere, I don't care

I don't care, I don't care

Driving in your car

I never never want to go home

Because I haven't got one

No, I haven't got one

And if a double-decker bus

Crashes in to us

To die by your side

Is such a heavenly way to die

And if a ten ton truck

Kills the both of us

To die by your side

Well the pleasure, the privilege is mine

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how much I’ve changed since the 9th grade. Probably because I recently finished reading the Divergent trilogy, a popular and quite good YA dystopian series by Veronica Roth. Members of the Dauntless faction are styled after Goths. In my first year of high school, I took on the identity of a “Freak,” as we called them back in the day. I guess the current equivalent would be Goths. At the start of freshman year, there wasn't a social group I felt a particular affinity for, but my best friends from junior high were attracted to the Freaks. So, the gravitational pull of loyalty drew me toward this group of kids who dressed in black most of the time, weren't above experimenting with drugs and were deeply invested in the punk rock and alternative music scene. I got both ears triple pierced and tinted my hair blue. Unfortunately, the color was mostly visible under fluorescent lights because of my black hair, but I was too chicken to go all the way to bleach, then dye it blue. My parents would've flipped out anyway. I dressed mostly in black, proudly donning my wingtip Doc Martens and Army/Navy Store flight jacket. My favorite article of clothing was a long irridescent trench coat from the Garment District which sort of became my signature accessory among people who knew me. I became obsessed with New Order, The Cure, Echo and The Bunnymen, Tears for Fears and most especially The Smiths (FYI, they broke up and Morrissey went solo). We often loitered around Harvard Square or the steps of the Copley Library, and I still remember the distinct smell of sidewalk residue mixed with musty clothes and cigarettes. For what reason we did this, I never fully understood. Maybe that was the beginning of my demise.

Even though I loved the music and sense of style, by definition I was a complete and utter POSEUR. I knew some kids who did, but I certainly didn't have the guts to drop acid. Marijuana did absolutely nothing for me the couple of times I folded under peer pressure and tried it. To make matters worse, I had a full on asthma attack, rescue inhaler and all, each time. The ultimate in coolness, right? I also couldn’t stand the taste of beer, and was too reserved, insecure and just plain awkward to let loose at house parties. I liked a lot of the kids we hung out with personally, but I was never going to become a full initiate, and it was obvious to me. I was basically okay with that, though, because I'd mainly hung around to stay with my close friends, not so much to fit in or belong. My graceful exit came when two of my three best friends moved to different schools soon after ninth grade. I decided to hang out with anyone I wanted to at school. I became kind of a floater--friends with a few of Freaks here, a couple of jocks there, nerds elsewhere, etc. It was much more natural for me.

About Bagels and Lox

My best friends in junior high were a group of amazingly mature and precocious girls with a remarkable zest for life. I’ll call them Sandra, Lisa and Ava. In seventh grade, they wholeheartedly welcomed me into their BFF circle without reservation. Even though they'd already been a trio for a while, one day, they decided to embrace me as one of their own. We became an instant quad. All of a sudden there were countless sleepovers and after-school hangouts. We snacked on homemade guacamole and tortilla chips, bagels and lox, and watched tons of Woody Allen movies (long before the scandals).

Sandra, Lisa and Ava had no idea that such an extravagant act of hospitality would literally change my life. In fact, it was my very first experience of unconditional love. Just like that, they gave me a sense of loyalty, acceptance and belonging I'd never dreamed would be accessible to me. By the time they befriended me around age 12, I was completely shutdown emotionally. I might have conveyed a different public persona, but I was a shell of a person on the inside by the time I reached middle school. I lived with a pervasive sense that I was unlovable, unattractive and basically worthless. I won’t get into detail here, but my childhood was quite painful in a lot of ways. 

One specific event that shaped me profoundly was the day I was born. Starting from a very young age, I was keenly aware that my birth had caused a great deal of turmoil among my extended family, simply because I was born a girl. Not only that, I was the third girl out of three children born to my parents. Both my mom and dad originated from extremely traditional Chinese families from an extraordinarily misogynistic region in Guangdong, China. My paternal grandmother was livid that her son still had no male children. She held my mother responsible and actively tried to drive a wedge between them for years. 

My sisters revealed to me several years ago that my paternal grandmother despised my existence so much that she sought excuses to spank and yell at me whenever we visited with her. Apparently, my dad, usually the dutiful and filial son, had uncharacteristically stood up to her on my behalf, insisting that she never touch me, his own child, ever again. Undeterred by all the drama, my father’s heart had been endeared to me in a powerful way, going against the tide of cultural sensibilities. This left an indelible mark on me, perhaps even provided a building block toward resilience, which I only came to recognize and treasure later on in my adult years. I believe God compelled my dad to love me despite a cultural and familial context where he could have easily chosen otherwise. Evidence to me that God had had my back since birth.

It may sound strange, but I also believe God was instrumental in bringing Sandra, Lisa and Ava into my life, just in the nick of time. I had been so unhappy and lonely, convinced I was utterly unlovable and worthless, that I'd just about given up hope. If I could watch a movie playback of what my life was like before befriending those three remarkable girls, my memories would be in black and white. Drab gray would be more accurate. Thankfully, I never reached the point of suicidal ideation. However, I'm fairly certain that if this had gone on much longer, I would have ended up there eventually. Although I don't recall ever having wanted to die, I'd often had thoughts that it might be better if I were dead or had never been born. I was treading a thin line where these nihilistic song lyrics could have taken on more literal meaning and appeal. 

And if a double-decker bus

Crashes in to us

To die by your side

Is such a heavenly way to die

And if a ten ton truck

Kills the both of us

To die by your side

Well the pleasure, the privilege is mine

Because of those transformational friendships, the angst-ridden music I came to love didn't feed my depression. Rather, the songs tapped into and put me in touch with familiar, powerful emotions I needed to face. This particular song was also able to snap me out of my moments of deep melancholy with its ironical, comically over-the-top images. When I listen to this music now, I'm powerfully reminded of where I once was and how far I've come. My internal world has experienced such a profound shift toward healing and wholeness in the intervening 25+ years since meeting Sandra, Lisa and Ava. They may not know it, but they were agents of grace to me. Free, lavish gifts that came to me without any effort of my own. No strings attached and no repayment required. The unconditional love of three 12-year old girls opened the door to a life in color.

Why The Heck Am I Blogging?

Hi! Recently, I've been feeling a strong nudge to start writing down some of my thoughts and reflections whenever I feel like it. My posts may or may not be very frequent (my goal is at least once a month), but here goes...

Years ago in college, journaling was a wonderfully cathartic and meaningful medium through which I processed all the goings on in my mind, heart and soul. I loved it so much that I wrote an entry just about every day, and more often than not, found reward in a visceral sense of clarity and peace that hadn't existed before the ink hit the page. 

Journaling doesn't quite do it for me anymore. Not since becoming a mom almost twelve years ago. Of course, it's been such a privilege to be able to invest nearly a decade focused on raising my kids (albeit while working on and finally completing an MA in Counseling in 2008). I've grown and learned more than I knew was possible, and every phase has come with its own incredible blessings to outweigh the real challenges. That said, at first, I gave up on journaling due to the constant exhaustion that came from either being pregnant or breastfeeding nearly nonstop for over five years, with ever increasing kids in tow. More significantly, no longer being able to take meaningful periods of solitude for granted had a profound effect on me for some reason. Furthermore, spending long periods of time alone with little children, all three born within four years, magnified my introverted nature in ways I'm only recognizing now. All the while, my hunger for meaningful friendship and community intensified. So, I've realized that my internal world has not been as orderly and sorted out as my felt needs prefer.

Back in the day, before motherhood, I often received feedback from people around me that I was a pretty good communicator and public speaker. For the reasons above, I became rusty over time, not only in my ability to speak out my ideas clearly and concisely, but more importantly, in processing and formulating my thoughts, simply for my own benefit. I guess writing here is an attempt to actively get those atrophied muscles back into shape.

I don't know about you, but I'm a horrible multitasker to the point where more than 2-3 stimuli coming at me at once literally makes my head spin. You'd think that having managed a household of five for several years would bring about improvements. To be honest, I've probably gotten worse. It's pretty unusual for our family to go a day without some chaotic, noisy flare up in our house. It could be the kids erupting into a loud, goofy medley that just won't end, a wrestling match that gets out of hand or a huge argument over who got the biggest bowl of ice cream for dessert. Whenever I experience sensory overload, my "fight or flight" instinct automatically kicks in. I get the strong urge either to lock myself in the bathroom for ten minutes or yell, "Stop it now!" You better believe I've acted on those impulses more than once. Of course, I'm not proud of it, but there you have it. I often jokingly use the phrase, "Calgon, take me away!" when I'm feeling sensory overload. Surprisingly, a lot of people my age or above don't even know the commercials I'm referencing. How's that even possible?!?! So, here's one version for your viewing pleasure. My husband and kids got a good belly laugh out of it. You're welcome.

The quality's bad, so watch it full screen.

Fair warning: since I'll be sharing some of my inmost thoughts, ranging from ruminations of my inner psyche to arbitrary free-associative ramblings, my worldview is bound to peek through on occasion. Beware that I may go a little spiritual on you once in a while. The intention won't ever be to preach at, indoctrinate or assert that my perspective is the best. Rather, it's a personal gift from me to you. A little window into how I derive meaning amidst my own personal brand of crazy. Spirituality is a big part of my life, so it will inevitably come out in my thoughts sometimes. You might be pretty surprised by my take on things, though. I've never been a person who's easily boxed-in, and I like it that way. I've refused to be a lemming for just about my entire life. Some of it's attributable to my strong will. It's also a reflection of the opportunity I had to grow up in an extremely liberal town with a progressive educational bent. I learned to question authority and to think critically. I liked that, which is why I went to Brandeis University, an institution of higher education with a similar reputation. So, I invite you to read on without preconceived notions.

A humble request for mutual respect: I believe that pluralism is one of the best ideals of our country. True pluralism affords all points of view a fair hearing with a baseline level of mutual respect, even in the face of inevitable disagreement. I thrive on engaging with other points of view, no matter how much they differ from my own. On the off chance (hopefully not!) that you find what I say offensive or unsavory, feel free to move onto more palatable fare. Please just be aware that I'm choosing to take what feels like a big risk here. So, I'd greatly appreciate a baseline level of respect. I offer the same to you. If you disagree with me on something, I'd love to hear from you personally, preferably with an amicable spirit of dialogue. I also enjoy a hearty, thoughtful and friendly debate. Like I said, here goes...

Peace,
Grace