20 weeks.
Choosing something to write about once a week is really the only tough thing about my time off of work. On a weekly basis, the only other hard decision I have to make is whether to travel or relax at the time-off house. And honestly, it's never hard to decide to hop in Blanca and roll.
When it comes to writing, though, there are a handful of goals I aim to meet. I want to be able to process the past week. I want to be able to share my experiences with the people I love the most. I want to be able to look back on my week with a positive and fresh perspective, so I can tackle the coming week. I want to be able to laugh and make you laugh a little. I want to be vulnerable and honest.
So...my dear readers. Where to begin?
I could start with a recap of the week. I could tell you about the mini-riot my boys had on Sunday. I could tell you how many times my life was threatened. I could tell you how many times I heard a boy fart, curse, burp, how many times I asked someone to pull their pants up. I could tell you about the conversations I had about God and life and love. I could tell you about the inappropriate conversations I tried to stop by talking about my favorite cereal or what types of clouds were in the sky.
I could then divert to the way I'm feeling about my pending transfer to Georgia. I could tell you how torn I feel. Torn between fulfilling a commitment to this camp and to the kids whom I've given my heart and fulfilling a need to be where I want to be, doing what I want to do, and feeling good about myself, the program I work for, and the kids I work with. I could write about the differences between the two camps, the similarities, the reasons why I want to go, the reasons why I think I shouldn't, the reasons why I think I should. I could write about my frustrations, my sadness, my hope for a better experience, my disappointment in my current situation, my inability to make a decision.
For some reason, though, I feel the need to talk about love. I hesitate to do this--given the medium on which I write, but this is how the big whigs get their book deals, right? Maybe if I add a little spice to the writing, I'll get my ticket to fame. Ahh. I kid. I kid. But here goes anyways--maybe it'll help.
Using a term from my training buddies, "Chiefin' ain't easy." I feel that I've already illustrated to you that being a chief in the woods is one of the toughest things I will probably ever do in my life. This job is quite literally a sacrifice of all things normal in your life. I work 5 days a week, 24 hours a day. Do the math. That's 120 hours of my life each week in the woods with teenage boys.
120 hours!
That leaves me 48 hours to do laundry, peel the woods off of me, turn back into a female, and do something that makes me feel refreshed, energized, normal, loved, and part of something great. Usually that involves going to the beach, to the city, to a new place, eating good food, shopping, watching movies, hiking, swimming, lounging, vegging, drinking, goofing around. All good memories, right? What it doesn't involve? Love.
Now, I've never been much of a relationship girl. I've been in 2 real relationships in my lifetime. It's just never been a big focus of mine. I've dated here and there, but it's never been enough of a priority to compromise the life I wanted to live for the love I wanted to have. Even now, it's not enough of a priority to compromise this adventure, and at this point, with this path I've chosen, it's practically impossible to imagine being in a relationship. At the end of my shift, I have nothing left to give anyone and even if I did, I don't have the proper amount of time to invest in someone.
But man...after 5 days of no physical affection. Scratch that. After 5 days of physical aggression, constant verbal abuse, miles of walking, hours of feeling ugly and dirty, I wish I had someone around who could take my hand, tell me I'm beautiful, put his arm around me, kiss my forehead and just be with me. There. I said it.
....now where's that book deal?
Friday, May 28, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
the art of self deprecation
19 weeks.
Shower time is my favorite time of the day. The boys like to shower. They know they stink, and they know they need a shower. One of the only times of the day where we are all on the same page. The guys take their shoes off, line up, and one-by-one disappear into the shower house, leaving me twenty-five glorious minutes of quiet and alone time in my own personal shower house.
It's good to be a female chief for these twenty-five minutes.
About eighteen minutes in, I'm usually done with my shower, and I'll mosey out to the benches and lay down to watch the clouds roll by or play with my phone.
A few days ago, I heard a fellow Chief walking down trails, singing, as he headed to meet up with his group at the shower house. Much to my amusement, he entered the mud room (read: waiting room outside the showers) singing, and his campers said, "that sounded like shit." He responded immediately, "I know! It was terrible, wasn't it?"
About three times a week (at least), I'll find myself thinking, "Self, what does it take to be a good chief in the woods?" Normally, one might answer that question with words like consistency, dedication, patience. Chiefs who are honest might say that crazy is a requirement. My answer: the art of self-deprecation.
Self-deprecation is a key tool in deflecting camper attacks and redirecting their negative attention to a situation in which you have total control.
"Chief, your armpits are sweaty! You sweat like a man."
Yeah, I know. If you come within 4 feet of me, I can actually spray you down. Tread softly, child.
"Chief, you have a beard. You need to shave that thing."
Once I start shaving my legs, then I'll consider shaving my beard. Want to see how long my leg hairs are??
(Mom--don't worry. I still shave my legs. I haven't fallen off my rocker completely.)
"Chief, you're fat."
The better to body slam you with, my child.
"Chief, you've got problems."
Dude, tell me about it. Which one are you talking about?
"Chief, you're lame."
God, I know. I think I'm starting to get used to it, though. Sorry that you're just now having to adjust.
I will walk away from this camp one day grateful because I've learned how to love my imperfections or abnormalities (or whatever you'd prefer to call them), however extreme they may seem when they come from the mouth of a teenager. They are caviar for turning tables and regaining control just when you think you might lose it.
I hesitated to break the news to all of you that I'm fat, ugly, hairy, lame and weighed down with loads of baggage, but there it is. I know it may come as a shock to some of you. Do your best to deal. I have.
Shower time is my favorite time of the day. The boys like to shower. They know they stink, and they know they need a shower. One of the only times of the day where we are all on the same page. The guys take their shoes off, line up, and one-by-one disappear into the shower house, leaving me twenty-five glorious minutes of quiet and alone time in my own personal shower house.
It's good to be a female chief for these twenty-five minutes.
About eighteen minutes in, I'm usually done with my shower, and I'll mosey out to the benches and lay down to watch the clouds roll by or play with my phone.
A few days ago, I heard a fellow Chief walking down trails, singing, as he headed to meet up with his group at the shower house. Much to my amusement, he entered the mud room (read: waiting room outside the showers) singing, and his campers said, "that sounded like shit." He responded immediately, "I know! It was terrible, wasn't it?"
About three times a week (at least), I'll find myself thinking, "Self, what does it take to be a good chief in the woods?" Normally, one might answer that question with words like consistency, dedication, patience. Chiefs who are honest might say that crazy is a requirement. My answer: the art of self-deprecation.
Self-deprecation is a key tool in deflecting camper attacks and redirecting their negative attention to a situation in which you have total control.
"Chief, your armpits are sweaty! You sweat like a man."
Yeah, I know. If you come within 4 feet of me, I can actually spray you down. Tread softly, child.
"Chief, you have a beard. You need to shave that thing."
Once I start shaving my legs, then I'll consider shaving my beard. Want to see how long my leg hairs are??
(Mom--don't worry. I still shave my legs. I haven't fallen off my rocker completely.)
"Chief, you're fat."
The better to body slam you with, my child.
"Chief, you've got problems."
Dude, tell me about it. Which one are you talking about?
"Chief, you're lame."
God, I know. I think I'm starting to get used to it, though. Sorry that you're just now having to adjust.
I will walk away from this camp one day grateful because I've learned how to love my imperfections or abnormalities (or whatever you'd prefer to call them), however extreme they may seem when they come from the mouth of a teenager. They are caviar for turning tables and regaining control just when you think you might lose it.
I hesitated to break the news to all of you that I'm fat, ugly, hairy, lame and weighed down with loads of baggage, but there it is. I know it may come as a shock to some of you. Do your best to deal. I have.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
georgia on my mind
18 weeks.
I say Georgia, Georgia,
a song of you
comes as sweet and clear
as moonlight through the pines
Other arms reach out to me
Other smiles smile tenderly
Still in peaceful dreams I see
The road leads back to you
Nearly a year ago, I began thinking about making a transition from my current job as the Volunteer Coordinator of the North Texas Food Bank into a job that was more hands-on and that allowed me to be outdoors more often. I had been following the journey of a friend from college who had been working for Eckerd Youth Alternatives. Her job intrigued me, and it seemed that this was exactly what I was looking to do.
I applied online to work at one of three camps under EYA - one in Georgia, one in Tennessee, and the other in North Carolina--thinking that these three states were some of the most beautiful states in our country. The rest is history, and here I am in North Carolina.
To say that I am disappointed in my placement would be far from the truth. I love being within driving distance of big cities, beaches, and mountains. I love the kids in my group, and I love my colleagues. Just this weekend, 8 of us camped out on Carolina Beach, enjoying the company of the ocean, the stars, other (quite eccentric and inebriated) campers, and a lineup of local (fairly awful except for when I was able to play the bongo with them) bands.
However, an opportunity has come up to work at the camp in Georgia where I previously applied. This camp is a private camp (meaning the kids are sent there by schools and families rather than the courts) with more flexible hours (4 days on; 3 days off) and more opportunity for me professionally and personally.
So it looks like I may be moving to Georgia in the next month or so. Stay tuned...
Until then, let's take a moment to honor the great state of Texas. My flight is booked, and I'll be back in 1 month and 2 days!
I say Georgia, Georgia,
a song of you
comes as sweet and clear
as moonlight through the pines
Other arms reach out to me
Other smiles smile tenderly
Still in peaceful dreams I see
The road leads back to you
Nearly a year ago, I began thinking about making a transition from my current job as the Volunteer Coordinator of the North Texas Food Bank into a job that was more hands-on and that allowed me to be outdoors more often. I had been following the journey of a friend from college who had been working for Eckerd Youth Alternatives. Her job intrigued me, and it seemed that this was exactly what I was looking to do.
I applied online to work at one of three camps under EYA - one in Georgia, one in Tennessee, and the other in North Carolina--thinking that these three states were some of the most beautiful states in our country. The rest is history, and here I am in North Carolina.
To say that I am disappointed in my placement would be far from the truth. I love being within driving distance of big cities, beaches, and mountains. I love the kids in my group, and I love my colleagues. Just this weekend, 8 of us camped out on Carolina Beach, enjoying the company of the ocean, the stars, other (quite eccentric and inebriated) campers, and a lineup of local (fairly awful except for when I was able to play the bongo with them) bands.
However, an opportunity has come up to work at the camp in Georgia where I previously applied. This camp is a private camp (meaning the kids are sent there by schools and families rather than the courts) with more flexible hours (4 days on; 3 days off) and more opportunity for me professionally and personally.
So it looks like I may be moving to Georgia in the next month or so. Stay tuned...
Until then, let's take a moment to honor the great state of Texas. My flight is booked, and I'll be back in 1 month and 2 days!
Monday, May 10, 2010
pimento cheese and hippies.
I ordered pimento cheese grits for breakfast yesterday in honor of Mother's Day.
I grew up with my mom eating pimento cheese sandwiches. Every time, I'd be grossed out by the smell, the look, the idea of it all. It wasn't until I was out of college and living on my own in Dallas did I come to know the glory of pimento cheese.
This year, I didn't get to spend Mother's Day weekend with my mom, but I did get to spend it in Asheville, NC. Nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains, sprinkled with varieties of ethnic cuisines and organic stores, walked by hippies, and adored by its visitors, Asheville is a place I'd like to crawl up into and never leave its side.
As I'd walk down the sidewalks of the sloping streets of downtown, I'd turn to my co-worker and friend, Alison, and say, "Look at how cool everyone looks!" Asheville is a happy place, as any place should be that reeks of this type of perfection.
The foodie in me was satisfied. The musician in me, pleased. The hippie in me, welcomed. The soul of me, full. I will return to Asheville. As soon as possible, really.
I only wish I could have taken my mom there with me. She would have loved the pimento cheese grits. The fruit salad that accompanied them looked strikingly similar to her own. She is a woman who would fit in really well in Asheville (except she'd need to find a hotel as opposed to the number of hostels I intend to visit--the woman loves her privacy and comfy bed option).
So, to my mother on this Mother's Day--I missed you dearly, but I thought of you the entire time. Let's do Asheville together next.
Love you, Mom.
I grew up with my mom eating pimento cheese sandwiches. Every time, I'd be grossed out by the smell, the look, the idea of it all. It wasn't until I was out of college and living on my own in Dallas did I come to know the glory of pimento cheese.
This year, I didn't get to spend Mother's Day weekend with my mom, but I did get to spend it in Asheville, NC. Nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains, sprinkled with varieties of ethnic cuisines and organic stores, walked by hippies, and adored by its visitors, Asheville is a place I'd like to crawl up into and never leave its side.
As I'd walk down the sidewalks of the sloping streets of downtown, I'd turn to my co-worker and friend, Alison, and say, "Look at how cool everyone looks!" Asheville is a happy place, as any place should be that reeks of this type of perfection.
The foodie in me was satisfied. The musician in me, pleased. The hippie in me, welcomed. The soul of me, full. I will return to Asheville. As soon as possible, really.
I only wish I could have taken my mom there with me. She would have loved the pimento cheese grits. The fruit salad that accompanied them looked strikingly similar to her own. She is a woman who would fit in really well in Asheville (except she'd need to find a hotel as opposed to the number of hostels I intend to visit--the woman loves her privacy and comfy bed option).
So, to my mother on this Mother's Day--I missed you dearly, but I thought of you the entire time. Let's do Asheville together next.
Love you, Mom.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
the love that moves the sun and stars.
16 weeks.
As I approach my 4-month mark, I've decided to stop counting down the days until I've reached my two-year mark.
You might be asking yourself, "Self, why would Lydia stop counting down the days until she quits?"
Well, I'll tell you. I feel like over the last month or so, I've become a little sad about my current situation in the woods. The countdown made it feel more like a prison sentence rather than an opportunity, a certain amount of time I'm obligated to complete before I can move on with my life. I don't really want that as my perspective because I am exactly where I'm supposed to be doing exactly what I'm supposed to do--even if it is the gosh darn hardest thing I've ever done in my brief existence on this planet. Also, if I choose to shorten my term at camp, I don't want to feel as if I failed. In the end, if I choose to stay or go, that decision will not be taken lightly, and to leave will mean that I have exhausted all of what I'm able to give to these kids, and that, to me (and I sure hope, to you), is no failure. This camp is a stepping stone to more opportunities to serve kids and this world and, as the poet Dante describes, "the love that moves the sun and the other stars." (I'm currently reading Eat, Pray, Love where the author speaks of Dante's work. An honest note just so you don't start assuming that I'm now an expert on Italian poetry. Let's be real.)
I have returned from the great state of Texas, y'all. And it was good. So good.
Let's say that one more time, shall we?
It was so. so. so. so. dang. good.
You know? In four days time, I was able to be surrounded by a number of people who love me and who care about where I am and how I am, who took the time to pour into me if only for a few minutes. I am so humbled by the support I have back home. (Cheers to you, friends!) I even made a few new friends as we celebrated the joining of our dear Katy and Brad. These new friends even took the time (after knowing me for only a few hours) to pour into me and love on me. WHAT?! Who ever deserves such love and attention from practical strangers?! Apparently God is working overtime on making sure that I don't crater and fall before it's time.
Oh, and lots of Tex-Mex was eaten. Necessary to include, but not quite relevant. Let's move on.
Enter: Charles, the Economist from Chappell Hill. Southwest Flight 1067. Window seat.
A nerdy fella with his earphones in listening to Sigur Ros. Fast forward 2 hours and 55 minutes later. Charles has somehow kept me talking about my job, my life ambitions, my heart and soul, and has shared his opinions which were surprisingly optimistic and socially aware (as he says, most economists in the research field are shockingly similar to non-profit idealists). Charles will never ever know the impact this conversation had on me, but as I tapped my toe at the baggage claim, it hit me!
I have direction!
My mind was opened up just long enough to see what it is I want to do with all of this experience I'm racking up. God has always blessed me with incredible hindsight (aren't we all blessed with this type of 20/20 vision?!) where I can see his hands at work and how he had pushed me to be exactly where I should have been at the exact moment to bring me to the here and now. Is it possible that I now have a little foresight? This is exciting.
I'm not quite ready to share the direction, but I'm thinking that it will combine the best of both worlds that I've come to love--the wilderness and the city. Stay tuned.
As I transition back into camp, I'm clinging to some realizations I had at church this morning. I think that for the last few weeks, being in survival mode had distracted me from really loving my guys as God has loved me. I am here doing all of this because God first loved me, and the Gospel commands us to dedicate our lives to this type of work. Yes, I'm here for a change. Yes, I'm here to grow, but mostly, I'm here so that these kids can know a greater love. If I am distracted by my anger and sadness and disappointment that each day doesn't quite go as expected, I am not loving them as God loves me. He loves me with reckless abandon even when I run away. He sees me with forgiving eyes even when I spit in his face. He embraces me, even when I shove him away.
My friends. My family. Let me never, ever forget this.
I have a plan to take better care of myself on my time off--to do what I need to do and not get distracted by the ease of doing what others are doing.
I have a plan to do something with this life that has been given me, and right now, at 2:27 am on the last few moments of my vacation, I am excited about that.
And God has a plan to see me through to the very end (Philippians 1:6).
Heal my heart and make it clean.
Open up my eyes to the things unseen.
Show me how to love like you have loved me.
Break my heart for what breaks yours.
Everything I have for your kingdom's cause.
As I go from nothing to eternity.
-Hillsong United
As I approach my 4-month mark, I've decided to stop counting down the days until I've reached my two-year mark.
You might be asking yourself, "Self, why would Lydia stop counting down the days until she quits?"
Well, I'll tell you. I feel like over the last month or so, I've become a little sad about my current situation in the woods. The countdown made it feel more like a prison sentence rather than an opportunity, a certain amount of time I'm obligated to complete before I can move on with my life. I don't really want that as my perspective because I am exactly where I'm supposed to be doing exactly what I'm supposed to do--even if it is the gosh darn hardest thing I've ever done in my brief existence on this planet. Also, if I choose to shorten my term at camp, I don't want to feel as if I failed. In the end, if I choose to stay or go, that decision will not be taken lightly, and to leave will mean that I have exhausted all of what I'm able to give to these kids, and that, to me (and I sure hope, to you), is no failure. This camp is a stepping stone to more opportunities to serve kids and this world and, as the poet Dante describes, "the love that moves the sun and the other stars." (I'm currently reading Eat, Pray, Love where the author speaks of Dante's work. An honest note just so you don't start assuming that I'm now an expert on Italian poetry. Let's be real.)
I have returned from the great state of Texas, y'all. And it was good. So good.
Let's say that one more time, shall we?
It was so. so. so. so. dang. good.
You know? In four days time, I was able to be surrounded by a number of people who love me and who care about where I am and how I am, who took the time to pour into me if only for a few minutes. I am so humbled by the support I have back home. (Cheers to you, friends!) I even made a few new friends as we celebrated the joining of our dear Katy and Brad. These new friends even took the time (after knowing me for only a few hours) to pour into me and love on me. WHAT?! Who ever deserves such love and attention from practical strangers?! Apparently God is working overtime on making sure that I don't crater and fall before it's time.
Oh, and lots of Tex-Mex was eaten. Necessary to include, but not quite relevant. Let's move on.
Enter: Charles, the Economist from Chappell Hill. Southwest Flight 1067. Window seat.
A nerdy fella with his earphones in listening to Sigur Ros. Fast forward 2 hours and 55 minutes later. Charles has somehow kept me talking about my job, my life ambitions, my heart and soul, and has shared his opinions which were surprisingly optimistic and socially aware (as he says, most economists in the research field are shockingly similar to non-profit idealists). Charles will never ever know the impact this conversation had on me, but as I tapped my toe at the baggage claim, it hit me!
I have direction!
My mind was opened up just long enough to see what it is I want to do with all of this experience I'm racking up. God has always blessed me with incredible hindsight (aren't we all blessed with this type of 20/20 vision?!) where I can see his hands at work and how he had pushed me to be exactly where I should have been at the exact moment to bring me to the here and now. Is it possible that I now have a little foresight? This is exciting.
I'm not quite ready to share the direction, but I'm thinking that it will combine the best of both worlds that I've come to love--the wilderness and the city. Stay tuned.
As I transition back into camp, I'm clinging to some realizations I had at church this morning. I think that for the last few weeks, being in survival mode had distracted me from really loving my guys as God has loved me. I am here doing all of this because God first loved me, and the Gospel commands us to dedicate our lives to this type of work. Yes, I'm here for a change. Yes, I'm here to grow, but mostly, I'm here so that these kids can know a greater love. If I am distracted by my anger and sadness and disappointment that each day doesn't quite go as expected, I am not loving them as God loves me. He loves me with reckless abandon even when I run away. He sees me with forgiving eyes even when I spit in his face. He embraces me, even when I shove him away.
My friends. My family. Let me never, ever forget this.
I have a plan to take better care of myself on my time off--to do what I need to do and not get distracted by the ease of doing what others are doing.
I have a plan to do something with this life that has been given me, and right now, at 2:27 am on the last few moments of my vacation, I am excited about that.
And God has a plan to see me through to the very end (Philippians 1:6).
Heal my heart and make it clean.
Open up my eyes to the things unseen.
Show me how to love like you have loved me.
Break my heart for what breaks yours.
Everything I have for your kingdom's cause.
As I go from nothing to eternity.
-Hillsong United
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