3 Things To Consider About Your Friendships

I am an introvert of sorts.  Throughout my life, I have had very few friends, and it has always been a tender subject for me.  But even the most introverted of people would never say that they don't want friends; everyone wants, and arguably needs, at least one friend, and many introverts do have a lot of friends.  Most people in general, I would say, have many friends.  For years I was exceedingly hard on myself because I could never seem to make and maintain meaningful friendships.  It wasn't until recently that I had an epiphany and realized why.  It's because I am looking for meaningful friendships.  Any friendship won't do, and once I realized that's why I have so few friends, I became less hard on myself.

The purpose of this blog: to challenge you about your ideas on the whos, whats, and whys of friendship.
Audience for this blog: anyone who has or wants a friend.

So, without further adieu, here are my pointers on the subject of meaningful friendships:

1. Don't Ask How Many: Ask How Much!

It's cliché but true.  Would you rather have 100 friends who are never there for you, or a handful that will have your back in a way that transcends time and space?

I have friends that I don't talk to every day, or even every year, but no matter what I've been doing and what we've been
through as individuals as time passed, we can still rely on each other when we're between a rock and a hard place.  Or, even just to shoot the sheep (don't actually shoot sheep together.  That would be cruel...)  To me, this is a meaningful friendship.  At this time in my life, I would say I have nearly no friends in my immediate vicinity, and it took me until recently to realize that that's okay.  Thanks to technology and the internet, I can still keep in touch with my meaningful friends, but I don't have anyone to rely on around me right now. The reason I don't have any friends right now is because the soil is not fertile enough to let me grow as a person, which brings me to my second pointer...

2.  Choose Wisely.

I don't know how else to say it!  It's that simple!  Sometimes the soil isn't fertile because the quality of the soil is bad-- it means you're not supposed to plant seeds there, and that's okay!  You want to put your seeds where they will grow and flourish, not wither and die!  You want to always be a better version of you, and if you're around someone who talks down to others, gossips, and says hurtful things, either to hurt you or others if they were in the room, then you're not going to become a better version of yourself with that kind of influence.  These are the kinds of people that you keep at a distance-- it's not to say you can't be friendly towards them, but that's different than being their friend.  Kindness is always in fashion, but hurting others never is.   And let's face it-- if you have a friend that talks ill about others to you,  chances are they are doing the same to you when you're not around.

3.  Define "Friend."

No, really.  Please, define "friend!"  I'm begging you!  My advice to you, in this very moment, is to step back and clear your mind of all the ideas that you have about the semantics of the word friend as you would find it in the Oxford or Merriam-Webster Dictionary. Dissect what you think a friend actually is.  What qualities should a friend possess?  Is it casual?  Is it just someone to keep you company when you feel lonely?  Is it someone to share the "deep things" with?  Is it someone you want to take care of?  Is it someone you love?  And then, if so, what does it mean to love someone?  I know, I know: this is so deep.  Maybe even border-line cheeseball, but I'm not sorry for it.  I think it's a question that not many people ask themselves, but an important one nonetheless.  We kind of just exist in the same space with one another, and sometimes connections (friendships?) occur, and we get on with it, go with the flow without ever considering the purpose and significance of your relationship with others in the world.   We kind of just float through life without asking big questions.  So, in this moment, maybe you think you have a lot of friends, but "friends" is a very loose term, which in reality should be defined differently from person to person.  If you want to define "friends" as a casual term for people you are acquainted with, might spend time with, and may or may not trust, that is your prerogative and it's absolutely fine to have lots of friends.  If you define a "friend" as someone you trust, confide in, love, share life with without reserve, if that's your definition of a friendship, then good for you, too!  I hope you have many of those friendships!  But I urge you to consider, to think deeply about, what your definition of a friend is, and who and who doesn't fit in that category so you can start weeding out, ever so kindly, those people who don't make the cut.  It will also give you a chance to reflect on the qualities of friendship that are important to you and those which aren't.

Whether you have a few or a lot, having friends is one of those joys in life that can't be replicated.  Laughing so hard that you cry, sharing your most joyful and most sorrowful life moments, letting your heart out to each other, and whatever else it is that a friend is to you! The most amazing friendships I have are not the ones in which we speak every day necessarily, but the ones that would speak to me with all joy and pleasure and excitement without ever questioning why we haven't spoken in so long.  They are the friendships in which I have shared intimate moments with, the tears, the pain, the life chats: these are meaningful friendships to me, and to me, those are the only friendships.  My definition of a friend is someone I can be myself around, trust, enjoy, and feel free to share my life with, without fear of them judging me or thinking less of me, or even gossiping about me. My way is not the best way; I don't pretend like it is.  I only want you to question your friendships with all good intention and to question the purpose, quality, and extent of your friendships.

My Disease and Remedy

A sobering story about my life and my disease, my humanity and hope.  Purpose: to reach aching hearts who have been served a tough lot and may need a helping hand to get up.  Read on, if you may.

The air, cold, but yet beginning to warm in the midday sun, hit my pale, winter-worn face as I started for the door.  My dark hair, long and always in my face, I threw up hastily in a ponytail with that heavily used elastic always around my wrist as I jolted down the stairs from my second floor apartment to taste the fresh, cool air— I just couldn’t delay a moment to escape from my cramped habitation I had so long passed time in during a long, tumultuous winter, equal in might and vigor to nearly all New England winters.  I entered the outdoors.  No cars, no one in sight— just me, my beating heart, and the pavement as I hit the road on foot for a stroll in my peaceful neighborhood, mountains surrounding me, and buildings covered in white, here and there scattered throughout the town as if a winter fairy came sprinkling her magic dust over the valley.  It was just like any late winter day in my town, the air crisp and cool, yet invigorating. Really nothing extraordinary to be told.  But as I left for my much-desired and enjoyable walk that March day in 2011, I didn’t know I would return forever changed, forever different, but that is indeed what I became— different…or so I thought for years to come.

March, April, May, June, July, August, the months go on— Energy, excitement, exercise, adrenaline— all these joys and pleasures had swiftly become my enemy.  How could this be?  Why?  I walk, I hike, I exert myself, and I am altogether punished for it like a man gratuitously condemned to perpetual punishment simply for being human.  My favorite activity has always been hiking, but I said to myself:

 “Forget it!— no more.  Robbed.  You are robbed.  Don’t dream.” 

And so my thoughts plunged into the darkest recesses of my mind where the strangling and dominating demons lied in wait to tackle and destroy my hope.

Depression.

                       Hopelessness.

         "What is this?"

                         "Why is this happening to me?"

Image source: https://www.mentalhealthrehab.com/

"Life isn’t what I thought it was."

"Things like this don’t happen to me;  I’m innocent, blameless."

"Please someone remind me….

What is this life for?"

These thoughts were screeching in my mind and inundated my soul after I was plagued starting that March day with some…thing…that no doctor seems to understand.  Like an alien.  That’s what it felt like.  That’s what I felt like.  When my adrenaline got too high, or I exerted myself too much, the inside corners of my eyes would fill up with watery liquid, like tears. It looks like blisters…no, better yet, tumors, that ail me for hours and continue to remind me of my pitiful condition for days after by leaving me with baggy, puffy eyes after this ailment has come to attack me like a boa constrictor attacks its prey, coming in, squeezing, slowly, slowly, slowly taking it down.  My body, my soul, my spirit.  Down for the count.

If it couldn’t get worse, November 2012 happened.  At this point, I’ve overcome this affliction…sort of…I think I have.  A little, maybe.  At least I can cope at this point.  But then I’m playing laser tag with my bro and sis that cold November evening, the darkness hovering in the sky like a bat hovering over its insect prey.  Winter is coming; it was apparent by the frigid, biting air and this blackness that swooped in so early in the afternoon, and it would only get darker, and earlier.  Good thing we are inside and having a great time, and I think to myself “I can control this affliction!”  Lasers are being thrown.  Lights flashing.  Hiding.  Seeking.  Waiting.  Tagging.  Being tagged.  Adrenaline freely flowing from the anticipation of the next hit.  Game ends.  I exit the arena.  At first it seems that my eyes were not attacked, all seemed well. Maybe I defeated this like I defeated my siblings in the game!  But then…my body…what’s happening?  Itchy.  Everything.  My eyes, my skin, my ears, my stomach, my back, my arms!  My skin is crawling as if being consumed by fire!  Hives, a million itchy red bumps, have covered me from hips to head.  Life would never be the same…

Since that day, I had not been the same.  Depression overcame me, even worse than before.  As if the first affliction on my eyes were not enough, now my whole body had been taken over by some thing that seemed to take immense pleasure in depriving me of mine.  Could I live a full life while suffering from these bizarre afflictions?  

“I’m not normal.  How could this happen to me?”  

At the time, I was working at a busy restaurant at a ski resort.  I exerted myself a lot, and I reaped the consequences more than I had wanted to.  In front of the public eye, I had to cope with what I must have looked like to all my customers and coworkers with my blistered eyes and red, bumpy skin.  To say I was embarrassed would be deceptive in truly revealing what I felt inside; what I really felt was ostracized, even though it was only my own demons that convinced me of that.  Regardless, life had to go on, and this was my means of making a living.

For some time after the discovery of my unforgiving afflictions and unwillingly partaking in the sobering effects of this life, I took up a hobby that would not make my body break out into a million small itchy bumps and my eyes to swell like balloons— drinking.  Yes, I drank.  The bottle became my one companion that could be true to killing the pain and self-loathing I felt in my heart.  The first summer with this affliction, I stayed inside almost the entire season.  The sun was too hot, the beach was out of the question, so I stayed indoors, me and my bottle and my TV.  I was enveloped with self-pity.    

Image source: http://www.designknock.com/

Maybe it took me too long to figure this out, but I discovered that I was now living a selfish, defeated life.  I had allowed some mystery force to overcome my body, my soul, and my mind.  As my soul lay prostrate on the dirty ground, littered with fear and depression, a light shone on me from the darkness.  I don’t know whether it came from within me or beyond me, but I got up off the floor.  I brushed off my bruised soul, and I began to heal.  The first thing I brushed off me was self-pity—That had to be the first thing to go.  Then, within moments of deciding to take a stance agains that, I found the fortitude to dust off despair and fear.  When I could do this, hope was again able to grow in my heart, and this became my most effective weapon.  From there, I stopped drinking from the bottle and took up the fountain of life.  

Image source: http://facethemusicfoundation.org/blog-2/

This summer is the first since my affliction that I have truly been able to spread my wings and fly again; last year I started at it, but other circumstances kept me down, but at least it was a start.  Today, the symptoms still exist, but since I decided to not let it overcome me, I have noticed that I have been able to do more, get away with more, exercise more.  I test my limits, and I know now what I can get away with, which is much more than ever before. I’m not yet hiking up a mountain, but I think I will again someday, when I defeat the limitations of my mind. I believe this is a true testimony to the power of the mind and spirit.  If you allow yourself to be overcome, overcome you will be.  If you fight against the forces that try to pin you down, you will win, maybe not every time, but with every attack there is a battle; sometimes you win battles and sometimes you lose them.  But if you do not declare war, there are no battles, and by default you succumb to your enemy’s desires.  

I share this story not for pity or sympathy but because these past few years, I have been hiding behind a curtain of shame, and for what?  I am human, so are you.  All of us have struggles, however different they may be.  This account of my life is meant to give hope to those who are struggling.  Pick up your sword and find the strength to fight whatever it is you’re suffering from.  Do not succumb to your enemy, and if you feel depressed, I promise that hope is in you; just dig deep, and you’ll gather the strength to find it.  Do not live in shame; rather, overcome, and your story of victory could inspire the life of another. 

We aren’t so different. 

I'm Not American

I am human.  Others might say I am American, but that's not who I am: That's where I live.

One thing I refuse to accept is that my identity (who I am) is determined by the place I was born on the planet.  Truth is that where I was born does in fact play a part in molding me into who I am in a sense (the societal and cultural values of the U.S. society inevitably shape all who live here), but my thought is that I don't want my citizenship label (mine being "American") to change the way I see other people from other parts of the world.

What I'm trying to say is that the USA is not superior.  Neither is Japan or Kenya or Pakistan or any other country you could name.   Once we start seeing our own country and values as greater than another country's, we begin to form bigoted, ostentatious mindsets that allow us to look down and treat others with prejudice.  I'm not saying that you should not love and be proud of your nation or country.  I love where I come from, and I'm thankful for my liberties.  All I am saying is that we are humans first, then Americans.  Humans first, and then Japanese, or then Kenyans, or then Pakistanis, etc.  When I look at a person, I hope that I first see their humanity and not their race or the color of their skin.  I hope I first see our similarities in lieu of our differences.

Let's go back to the 1940s again.  Nazi Germany.  It was a time of unparalleled racism, ignorance, sorrow, and unspeakable horrors.  We know this.  But let me just bring something to remembrance.  Hitler was an anti-Semite, no?  He mass murdered people because of their religious creed.  He also believed in a perfect race.  Blond hair.  Blue eyes.  (A far cry from me).  He judged people by how they appeared and for what they believed.  He saw them for what they looked like.  They were not judged by their humanity; no, they were judged by their nationality and appearance, and their penalty was death.  Hitler did not see them as humans.  There's no way he could have.  If you've read even just one tragic story about the Holocaust then you know that he did not see them as humans.  I just finished reading a nonfiction book called Elly about a young teenage girl who survived the Holocaust.  At one part she said that they were treated lesser than animals.  Hitler did not see a human when he looked into the eyes of a Jew.

Hitler is a brutal and extreme case of radical nationalism.  I use it as an example that we all know, of a person going too far when he/she believes that his/her nation (and therefore values/customs) is superior to another. I just mean to say that we should see ourselves as humans...then our nationality.  Humans first...because if we don't see ourselves as humans first...we may see others only through the narrow scope of our own nation's values, which can lead to thoughts of superiority and ascendancy, leaving us with an incomplete view of the world we live in, which is shared by billions of uniquely beautiful people who are just being human.

Laugh in the Face of Danger

^^^^^^WATCH THIS VIDEO FIRST!^^^^^^

The Lion King.  My favorite Disney movie, hands down, of ALL TIMES!  (Yes, way better than Frozen.  It's not sacrilegious to say this.  Some of you may burn me at the stake for heresy, but I laugh in the face of danger. Hahaha.)  And oh, Simba.  What a young and juvenile lion.  He, too, laughed in the face of danger.  He was really just a curious cat.  Testing his bounds.  Stretching his limits.  Showing off, even.  Ignorance and courage caused this little lion cub to stumble, just like we, being humans, do too.  But really, knowledge and fear is no better.

http://everythingfunny.org/page/1157/

These days, "the world is at our finger tips," so to speak.  We learn so much every day on the news, the internet and books, and from each other (however accurate these sources may be...who knows?!).  Knowledge is a beautiful, priceless thing, and it is extremely powerful, but if we do not protect our hearts, we will be wide open to a contagious plague in the genetic makeup of knowledge, and that is that big, bold four-letter "F" word...you know what I'm talking about.  Think about it.  Ya, you know.  Wait.  No, no, people, I mean "f-e-a-r!"  Gosh.  Anyway...so fear.  We all know what it feels like.  If you were to peg it as a positive or negative emotion, what would you think?


I talked in my last post about hope.  Having hope in the worst of circumstances.  I'm always going to come back to hope because I think I'm obsessed with it.  When I think of people I've known that have had hope, I first think of my grandmother, Marie.  Grammy was 93 when she passed away.  She lived another good 20 years after the passing of her husband (I was a year old when he died).  My gram, she was a real fighter.  I remember in high school she was beginning to fade; she was sure that she would die soon.  But she told me, "Andrea, I will continue to live because I want to see you graduate from high school."  Do you think she died before I graduated?  No.  She didn't.  She had the will to fight another day.  I will never forget this.  This one act of love and courage will stick with me forever.  I was the last of three grandchildren from her son Don.  I lived right up the road from her.  She saw the other two through high school graduation, and she was determined by love to see me graduate, too.

http://drlej.wordpress.com/2011/02/10/toxic-fear-and-its-antidote-love/

Does it seem like I have two (or more), very disconnected thoughts going here? ,Talking about ignorance, courage, knowledge, fear, and hope? Gosh, it's very possible with my crazy brain. I had to backtrack myself.  I know there is a connecting point.  Ok, I got it.  Here it is, guys.  You ready?  Perfect love casts out fear.  Had my gram feared death, she could not have fought it.  But she laughed in the face of danger.  She was able to do this because of love.  She would have died long before had she not had a reason to carry on, had she not given herself a reason to fight and overcome.  Bless my grandma.  I wanna be like her when I grow up!  My gram fought death for me.  Wow.  What kind of fear have you fought, and why did you fight it?  Maybe there is a fear now that you need to fight.  Find a LOVE reason to fight it, and that fear cannot win because perfect love casts out all fear.

There is so much more I could blab about in regards to this subject.  I leave it incomplete.  Come back soon to see the continuum.

All Tatted Up

In October I went with my amazing middle sister to get a tattoo.  I spoke of experiencing physical pain in my last blog; this was definitely up there as some of the worst I've ever felt!  But self-inflicted pain is something I generally avoid, mind you.  Anyway, so this tattoo I designed.  Sort of.  I decided on the location, format, and then the languages really dictated the look.  "Hope" in 14 languages is now what is permanently inked in black on my pale skin on the left side of my back.

(A sample section of my tattoo)

After getting the tattoo, I thought it an ironic thing that I got a tattoo that would instill hope in me in a location where I can never see it.  Huh.  But then I thought, the location is actually symbolic in many ways and I didn't even realize it.  One, hope has always got my back!  So punny, I know.  Two, even though I can't see hope, it is always there somewhere inside of me (and now on me!).  Three, I tried to figure out why I instinctively wanted the tattoo on my left side and not my right.  I thought, maybe I'm cursed!  (I don't actually think I am, FYI). Biblically speaking, the left side of the body (or things "sent to the left") is cursed, while the right side is considered righteous or holy.  In the camps that Nazi Germany set up for the mass murdering of Jews (and others), if you were ordered to walk to the right, you would live (however temporarily).  If you were sent to the left, you would "disappear" forever.  An atrocity in history that will never be forgotten.

Hungarian Jews, marked with a Star of David, queue on their way into Auschwitz in 1944

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2518619/Winter-camps-Holocaust-survivor-died-Auschwitz-worked-concentration-camps-aged-just-13-recalls-bitterest-months-Nazi-persecution.html#ixzz3Kamc8b5V
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When I thought of this, I thought maybe choosing the left side of my back really was a mistake.  But I found a shimmer of light in this decision.  If the left side really is "cursed," biblically speaking, then that means there is hope even in the curse.  Furthermore, in speaking figuratively of the Nazi camps, there is hope even when things are looking so bad for you.  Even when you think you can't go on.  Even if you've been sentenced to emotional condemnation.  HOPE is there.  Hope will never leave.  In my case, it is tattooed on my back, so it really isn't going anywhere.  But in all of our cases, if you are breathing and reading these words, it is tattooed on your hearts.  Each human was born with hope.  Even when we can't see it or feel it, it is there.  Never lose heart.

I hope my tattooed enlightenment could inspire you like it did me.

Where's Humanity At?

I sit here.  Perplexed.  Amazed.  By the injustices that surround me.  Is there a reason to live?  A reason to strive?  So many things make me think "no."  But that stems from the pain that I feel in a very personal sense.  But again I think.  I think again of the pain that's felt by so many others that is so much deeper than the pain I feel.  I think I know pain, but I don't know it the way others do.  The pain of losing a child.  (I've never had a child).  The pain of going without.  (I've never been without).  The pain and sacrifice of fighting for my nation (I've never done this.)   The pain of losing a loved one.  (This is something I have not felt).  So again I think...I have felt a lot of pain, but it's mostly physical.  This is true.  But I know I have a greater reason to live because I have not even felt the greatest pain that there is to feel.  Sure, I've felt my share of physical pains and sufferings, of which I will not share in this blog.  But honestly, in comparison to what others have felt and experienced, I have nothing to share as far as pain goes.  I have not much to share except the pain that I have felt through the experience of others. Through reading the news.  Through talking to others from other countries.  Through talking to others who have lost sons and daughters, husbands and wives.  What do I have to bring to the table?

 I've been on mission trips.  I've seen how people live in third world countries.  People eating from trash cans.  People living without clean water.  People living without being able to feed themselves and their children.  But then I leave.  It's a temporary experience.  I go back to my cozy home.  It's 20 degrees F outside and I'm in a cozy home of 70 F degrees.   I have a fireplace, a couch, a wardrobe, a toothbrush, and the resources to buy so much more than I need.  Do I really know what pain is?  I'm sorry if this seems too front, but I've never been raped, my home hasn't been burned down for being a Christian, nobody has told me that I can't go out into public with jeans on.  I'm basically free to do as I wish.  These are not freedoms others possess.  What do I have to complain about?  But yet I find reasons to complain. I have no reason.  I have been given so many freedoms and yet I do nothing with them.  What is wrong with me?  How could I not do something with my freedoms?  I have the gift of literacy and education and political freedom, and yet I sit on it like a frog on a stool.  WHY?  Because it's so damn comfortable.  I don't want to move.  Why do something if it doesn't benefit me?  It's selfishness.  I could spend my life like this.  Like so many others.  But honestly, I've done the math.  If I live 90 years (which is generous), I will live 32, 850 days.  Every day that passes, I waste on my own pleasures and desires.  What do I do with my free time? I spend it on useless entertainment.  What if I spent this extra time on helping others?  How could I change the world?  I've determined in my mind that this is something I must do.  I have to.  What other purpose on the world do I have except to serve others?