Midlife Natalie

Recently, I was asked what type of person I could see myself with in 10 years.  I hadn’t really thought much about specifications up to that point, I just had a standard.  My standard has evolved over the last 5 years as my marriage ended and I started dating.  I’ve only dated two women, but there are three in my past.  I look at each of them and see what worked and what didn’t.  How we complimented each other and how we drove each other crazy.  I also use my ex-husband as a standard.  I don’t expect anyone to be like him, but there are qualities he had that were really attractive.  Things that I want in a future mate.  And there are things that I haven’t experienced with anyone I’ve been with that sound like something I would enjoy.  As I’ve contemplated all of this, and believe me I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time on this subject lately, there is only one thing I can say with certainty.  I will not be dating around.  I have no desire to go looking for this person.  I have no problem sitting back and waiting until God brings her into my life.  He knows the desires of my heart and will do a much better job than I could choosing the right person for me.  Will it be my first love or someone else entirely?  I have no idea.  All I know is that I’ve spent the last two relationships trying to make them something they weren’t.  I think both of those women would agree with me.  Years ago when I was contemplating coming out, I was asked to imagine a front porch with two rocking chairs on it.  One of those chairs was mine and the other belonged to the one I wanted to grow old with.  I’ve tried to imagine certain people in that rocking chair, but those images were fleeting.  And while I can’t see the face of the one I’ll call mine, my heart knows what she looks like.  And for today, that is enough.

I was reminded of my grandparents’ farm this morning, and I’ve been feeling quite nostalgic.  So much so that I started to write a post about it.  And for some reason the only words I could think of were words I’d already written many years ago.  I figured I would just put them here and let that be it.

I remember every summer
down on my grandpa’s farm.
Finding fun to fill our days
wasn’t very hard.
Learning to drive that old red truck
when we were just kids
Filling jars with lightning bugs
and poking holes in the lids
Walking on the rocks ’round that big oak tree
Going to town to buy ice cream
Cutting pictures out of magazines
Remember

I remember every morning
eating biscuits, bacon and eggs.
Grandma would sneak back to our rooms
and make up all the beds.
We’d take a walk across the fields
and drink from the natural spring.
On the way back we’d stop for awhile
to play on the tire swing.
Sliding down the hay bales in the barn
Playing in the dirt with matchbox cars
Watermelon feasts out in the yard
Remember

I remember eating cornbread
and shelling purple hull peas.
We’d shuck corn and we’d snap beans
and put them in the big deep freeze.
Going with grandpa to see the pigs
and give them something to eat.
We rode on the tailgate of the truck
and let the grass tickle our feet.
Drawing pictures on butcher paper
Then hanging them on the refrigerator
Oh the games that we would play there
Remember

We would make pea-shooters out of sticks and rubber bands
Drive the tractor in the fields to give grandpa a hand
Going to pick blackberries
and ending up with poison ivy
Watching Andy Griffith on tv
Remember

Playing Dukes of Hazzard in the truck
Roscoe was always out of luck
’cause we were never giving up
Remember

Eating lots of chocolate pie
Papa played his fiddle most every night
We were tired and we’d sleep tight
Remember

Throwback Thursday

In 2006, Anna Grace gave me this lovely, purple, hand-decorated bag for Mother’s Day.  I carried it to lunch that day with a smile on my face.  It’s almost like she knew!  And just in case you are wondering…FAG stands for From Anna Grace.  It’s one of my treasures!

I was talking with a friend the other day about France.  She and her family are planning a trip and she mentioned having only high school French to get by on.  I told her that I hadn’t even had that when I was there, and I managed just fine.  And then I told her this story…which is so much better live and in person because I totally act it out!

In 2007, while living in Turkey, I visited a friend who lived in France.  One night, we were planning to have a French meal so I offered to go buy the baguette we would be eating.  I asked for specific directions to the bakery knowing how easily I get lost if I’m not paying attention.  My direction sensors were already working because when she told me it was a 10 minute walk close to where we walked two days before, I knew exactly how to get there.  After a little scribble of a map was made, I set out.  I didn’t take the map with me though, knowing I knew where to go.

I know, I know…most of you are thinking I got extremely lost…I’ve set it up that way.  The reality is that I found the shop with no problems whatsoever.  What happened next is what flustered me!

I walked into the shop, confident in my bonjour, and saw the baguettes in a basket behind the counter.  In every store I’d seen them in up to that point, they’d been in baskets close to the door so that customers could just help themselves.  I realized that I had no idea how to say one baguette in French.  The nice lady at the store said something to me, but I had no idea what.  I held up one finger, my pointer finger, then quickly switched to my thumb.  I had a dim memory from my last trip to France, 2 years and 9 months earlier, of my friend telling me that in France, the thumb was one.  I said “baguette” and gave the lady the thumbs up sigh.  Which I now know isn’t exactly accurate.  It’s more of a thumb to the side gesture!  I’m sure she was thinking that I was a crazy foreigner, but she handed me a baguette.  She told me how much it cost, and even though I didn’t understand her, I knew that it would be less than a Euro according to my friend.  I took a Euro out of my pocket, put it on the counter, and watched the lady try to figure out what to do with it.  She stared at the coin with a confused look on her face.  I looked down at the coin and realized that I had given her a Turkish lira.  I didn’t even realize I had any lira in my pockets!  I pulled out another coin and again, Ataturk, the father of modern Turkey, stared proudly ahead.  Uh oh.  Did I even have any Euro on me?  Thankfully, I found a 2 Euro coin and paid with that.  By that point, the five French words I did know had escaped me.  I couldn’t remember how to say thank you or goodbye in French if my life depended on it!  The nice lady said something else to me so I just smiled, turned Asian on her, and backed out of the door bowing several times.  I walked back to my friend’s house giggling the whole way.  I’m sure that several people I passed and the lady waiting at the crosswalk with me wondered what was funny and if I was in my right mind!

Fun times.  Good memories!

These are my eyes.  I grew up in a family of light-eyed people.  All greens and blues.  My best friend in elementary school had these dark chocolate brown eyes.  I loved them!

 Later, I married a brown-eyed boy.  When we started having children, I figured they would all be brown-eyed since it’s dominant.  I was so excited! 

I am an avid reader and internet surfer.  I read books, blogs, op ed pieces, the news, and even things that I never thought I’d be interested in.   I can choose what to read and ignore the stuff I don’t care a thing about.  It works well for me and I’ve learned a lot.  I often walk away from what I’ve read feeling like I’m supposed to do something, be something, or understand something.

Once upon a time about 7 years ago, I  decided that I would read all of the Newberry Award winning books for children’s literature.  I also committed to reading the honor books from them as well.  They started giving the award in 1922 and as of 2006, there were 365 books on the list.  Every year more books are added to the list, so it was a pretty lofty goal.  I printed off the list and was pleasantly surprised to see that I had already read several of the books.  In the 1930s and 40s, several of the Little House books by Laura Ingalls Wilder made the list.  I read those several times as a kid.  There were also books by Beverly Cleary and some that were required reading in school.  My kids were in an international school in Turkey at the time, so I went to their library with list in hand to see which books could be found there.   I checked out several and started reading.  Over the next several years, I read many books on that list.  I learned so much about so many different subjects that I would’ve never purposely read about before.  There were powerful stories of slavery, sickness, love, overcoming adversity, and so many other subjects that touched my heart and changed me.  After coming back to the states and getting a job, I didn’t stick with that goal as faithfully as before.  There are now 400 books on that list and I’ve read 216 of them.  Last year I read 31 new books, but none of them were on that list.  I’ve fallen behind!

Once upon a time about a year ago, I read about a group called The Listserve.  They send out a daily email from a randomly chosen member to all their subscribers.  The email can be about whatever the writer chooses to share.  It reminded me of that book list.  Random topics written by anyone.  I decided to sign up.  I wondered what I would write about if I ever had the chance to speak to the over 25,000 members, but I’ve never won the Listserve lottery and been able to write an email myself.  I have loved reading the stories, the recipes, the advice, the quotes, and the prayers from people all over the world and from so many different perspectives though.  Amazing really.  

While writing this post, the email from The Listserve chimed in my inbox.  Today’s email was one of the most profound.  The subject line said Ennui Go.  I wasn’t sure how to pronounce that first word or exactly what it meant.  I’ve seen it before, but it never mattered I guess.  So I looked it up.  According to Websters, Ennui, pronounced On We, means a feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of occupation or excitement.

Interesting.

And the email…it was one sentence.  One.

Why keep searching for what you’ve already found?

I can’t even tell you how much that sentence said to me or what went through my head when I read it.  It felt like a message from God, and all I can say is I’m listening.

I’ve said it time and time again.  I love meeting new people.  I love talking with people and finding a commonality that connects us.  I can usually find at least one thing that we share.  We’re both moms with kids, dog owners, shop at the same grocery store, or obsessed with The Bachelor.  We share a common language even though it might be small.

I was born in New Orleans.  I lived in that general area for the first 10 years of my life.  I don’t have an accent like a local since my parents weren’t from there originally, but I can pick out even a slight New Orleans accent when I hear it.  My ears perk up, my eyebrows raise and I look to see who is talking because someone is speaking one of my languages.  I love that.

And teachers.  We have our own language!  We say and do things that others might not understand.  If I walked into a room filled with plumbers, teachers, basketball players, and doctors, I would be most comfortable talking with the other teachers, because they speak my language.  We could talk about common core and standardized testing.  We could use acronyms that the others wouldn’t know and use the word specials as a noun.  It’s what we do.

The same thing happens when I hear someone speaking Turkish.  I lived in Turkey for 7 years so I was immersed in the Turkish language and culture.  I miss it.  Several years ago when I was working at Panera, a Turkish woman came in and we had a conversation in Turkish.  It flowed fairly seamlessly from English to Turkish back then.  I didn’t think much about it while I was talking, but my coworkers wanted to know what in the hell that was when the woman left.  It was one of my languages.  Another time, I  followed a Turkish family around in the grocery store pretending to shop just to hear them talk to each other.  It had been 2  years since I’d heard Turkish spoken by a real live Turk, and I couldn’t help it.

I also speak Christian vernacular quite fluently.  I’ve spoken it my whole life so it is part of me.   And while I can tone it down or turn it off so as not to sound like an offensive, self-righteous prick, I like talking to people who get it.  As long as they aren’t offensive, self-righteous pricks that is.  Because I lived it and breathed it for so long, it is a heart language.  One I enjoy speaking.

There’s also the lgbtq language.  Learning this language made me the most nervous.  I wondered if I would ever be fluent.  I learned it slowly online at first, and then with one or two people in person.  The first time I was ever in a group of gay people I realized that there were many dialects within the community, and I didn’t have to completely understand them all.   I’ve loved going to the gay campground close by, because I hear various dialects of my language spoken there.  I always learn something new.

My favorite thing about all the different languages I speak is when two or more of them intersect.  I love talking to gay teachers.  Christian Turks are a delight.  Having a NOLA native sub at my school is great!

But the most significant connection for me is meeting and knowing gay Christians.  When I went to the screening of the documentary Through My Eyes in April of 2009, I knew I had walked into a room full of my people.  I talked to one guy for a long time.  He told me about how God was working in his life.  What he felt like God was calling him to do.  I listened to him and could tell he meant every word he said.  When he talked about laying it all out before the Lord and seeking His face, I knew he meant it.  He was genuine.  Authentic.  And gay.  It was refreshing to my heart to hear someone speaking the two languages I had the hardest time connecting at that point.  And since they were both languages of my heart, I needed to connect them.

The thing about languages is this.  We all move fairly fluidly through the different languages we speak on a daily basis.  I don’t speak Teacher or Turkish or Social Media all the time nor do I want to.  And even though Gay Christian is a heart language for me, I don’t even want to speak it all the time.  I just love connecting with people who can easily speak the language of my heart and then tell me a dirty joke to make me laugh.

(I don’t really speak The Bachelor, but I threw it in as an example.)

(Other languages I used to speak fairly fluently but don’t anymore…Scrapbooking, Ladies Luncheon, and Baby Products.)

What languages do you speak?

Recently an ELL student asked me what the word boast meant. Of course that made me think. I told him it meant bragging, but it is so much more than that. Self-praise or claiming superiority is something that I can hardly stand. But it’s not just talking about the accomplishments or possessions of an individual or family that drives me crazy. It’s the attitude. I get that cities and schools and companies need to boast about their attractions, scores, and products. That’s normal. Fine. It’s when the boasting comes at the expense of others that I am completely turned off.

There is a radio station in town. It used to be my favorite. Now I can hardly stand to listen to it. Between songs they continually make comments about another rival station. They list how many commercials the other station plays every hour. How few songs they play. They put the the other station down and boast about their own. I know it’s just a radio station, but I wouldn’t choose to remain good friends with someone like that and I’m certainly not going to listen to it when I can easily change the station.

Some people are that way as well. They might not directly talk about others and their lack of whatever, but their body language speaks volumes! The way they look at others and the backhanded compliments they utter makes me ill! Their constant need to self-praise is more of a turn off than anything. I am especially annoyed by those who try to act humble while boasting. I want to yell, GET OVER YOURSELF! Everyone else has! I have stopped spending time with people who are this way, but I don’t completely delete them from my life. And when I am around them, I do a lot of smiling and nodding and daydreaming while they blab away. Sad really!

And there you have my rant for the day! But at least I’m not talking about coming out or being gay! I know you’re probably happy about that!

“What we find in a soulmate is not something wild to tame but something wild to run with.” – Robert Brault

I read this quote tonight and loved it!  It reminds me of that Natasha Bedingfield song, Wild Horses.  When I was living overseas and dealing with the knowledge that I was gay but unable to do anything about it at the time, I heard that song for the first time and could so relate to the words.

I feel these 4 walls closing in
My face up against the glass
I’m looking out… hmm
Is this my life I’m wondering
It happened so fast
How do I turn this thing around
Is this the bed I chose to make
Its greener pastures I’m thinking about hmm
Wide open spaces far away

All I want is the wind in my hair
To face the fear but, not feel scared

[Chorus:]
Wild horses I wanna be like you
Throwing caution to the wind
I’ll run free too
Wish I could recklessly love, like I’m longing to
Run with the wild horses, run with the wild horses!
Oh yeah yea

I see the girl I wanna be
Riding bare back, care free along the shore
If only that someone was me
Jumping head first headlong without a thought
To act and damn the consequence
How I wish it could be that easy
But fear surrounds me like a fence
I wanna break free

All the words were relatable.  I was scared, but I didn’t want to be.  My fear had to do with my faith.  Every friend I had at the time was faith-based.  Church, work, life…it all centered around my Christian faith.  And from everything that I knew about my faith, everything that I’d been taught said I couldn’t be gay.  I was living in another country being paid to do a job that was faith related, and I was gay.  The two didn’t mesh.  They couldn’t coexist.  So I had a major crisis of faith.  If I couldn’t be gay and be a Christian, then I must need to stop being a Christian.  I had already tried to stop being gay and despite many prayers and seeking the answers in God’s word, it didn’t happen.  But I didn’t know how to stop being a Christian either.  It was impossible.   I felt completely torn and useless and crazy.  And then I realized something.  It is MY faith.  I don’t have to live by anyone else’s definition for it.  It was the most freeing moment.  I get to decide how my faith is going to look.

And it’s wild and reckless!