it is what it is

welcome to reality.
if you lived here, you’d be home now.

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testing…autoshutoff comments

From Agnostic Mom, Leaving the Church, Part 2:

Extreme Cognitive Dissonance.

I began my own effort to receive an answer from God that The Church was true. I didn’t realize at that time that it was too late. My paradigm had shifted. For the first time ever I had already peeked through Door #2, the door marked “It’s Not True!!!” Once you’ve looked through that door, going back is like trying to pretend that Santa is real once you know he’s not.

Reading this, I feel much as if someone has dipped into my own head. When I began this blog, it was with a “seeker’s” mentality — that I wanted to find The Truth. Thing is, I was comfortable that “truth” would somehow involve the religious beliefs from my childhood. They might have been morphed, perhaps (into a more *genuinely* compassionate and bleeding-heart Jesus-was-a-Liberal variety), but they’d still be there.

I read. And I thought. And the whole time, I buried my head in the sand about what was happening inside of my head and heart. I was becoming — if not atheist — most definitely agnostic. Then came a question from Arwen, one that woke me up. As I wrote an answer, I started to ask myself, Am I Christian at All? After that initial moment of questioning, I quickly resumed convincing myself that I was still a Believer. Whew! Dodged that bullet, didn’t I?

But the thing is, I’d peeked behind the door.

I’d looked behind the Wizard’s curtain to see the old man.

Or maybe I’d opened Pandora’s box. (How fun to use mythology to discuss my losing a belief in religion, no?)

Whatever the label, I’d opened my mind to a train of thought that relied less on fear and tradition and more on what I saw — and what I truly believed. I was on the path to resolving my own cognitive dissonance. I can’t tell you exactly when it happened. This was not a sudden “ah-ha!” moment. Slowly, gradually, I started to realize that when my mouth spoke words about God, I felt like a liar in my head — because I didn’t believe what I was saying. At some point, I finally admitted to myself…I’m not Christian.

There. I said it.

Do you have any idea how difficult that is to write, especially knowing the friends (and family) who read my words here, and for whom this will seem a blow? In part, I think this is why I’ve avoided writing much of late…because this is such a huge shift (yet one that happened over time) in my thinking, that it fundamentally changes who I am, my identity.

The one thing I ask of you, my friends and readers, is this. Feel free to leave comments to this post. Mourn the eternal fate that you believe I’m choosing. If you’re convinced of God’s/Jesus’ work, pray for me at will, if that helps you to feel better. But don’t try to “reconvert” me. Please respect something that isn’t so much a decision I made, but a reality that I’m finally admitting.

So, addressing this post’s title — perhaps the blog name will still apply. It just may be only in the rolling-my-eyes sense…not to be taken literally. But, most likely, to align my blog with my own thoughts, I’ll re-christen (ha!) it, complete with a new subdomain name.

Update: I wrote the contents of this post on December 7, and with the passing of time, I’ve found that the words hold true. I’m no longer Christian — or any other religion, for that matter. This quote tidily sums up my thoughts on the subject:

For me, it is far better to grasp the Universe as it really is than to persist in delusion, however satisfying and reassuring.

– Carl Sagan

As a part of what has already existed in my heart and mind for sometime — but I am only now admitting even to myself — this blog will retire. Its mission was one of seeking, whether in respect to dating/love, politics and answers or spirituality and religion. I still will always seek improvement to my life, but not in the way this blog typified.

My new online home is still somewhat under construction (okay, it’s extremely under construction — I somehow thought that I’d have time to finish the theme after returning from my honeymoon in Costa Rica), but it’s open for visitors. Drop in and have a cup of joe, or a beer, or a glass of wine. I’ll be glad to see you, even if (when!) we disagree on some fundamental issues of life.

My new online home:

It is what it is.

Welcome to Reality.
If you lived here, you’d be home now.

Be prepared. About two weeks after the wedding, it will finally sink in, and you will wonder, Oh My God. What Have I Done? This is normal. Just be warned that it will happen.

That’s a paraphrase of some advice my mother-in-law gave me on Thanksgiving (day before the wedding). She had married my father-in-law at the end of October. It still hit her, too — even thought they have been together for seventeen years.

There’s a sense of mourning, of lost freedom, and the clunking sound of expectations falling into line with reality rather than floating up in the air with hopes. It is hard. In some respects, the shell-shock that being newly-married provides is not unlike the first weeks of parenthood. You can be warned. You can intellectually think you know what you’re in for. But nothing, nothing, nothing prepares you for the first month. Did I mention that it’s hard?

When I gave birth to my daughter, I knew that I didn’t know her. I’ve been able to watch her without preconceived notions of the person she’s becoming. In marriage, you’re hitching your future to a person who largely already is who s/he will become. The catch is that no matter how much you know, you never fully know another adult. (My father says that after 41-1/2 years of marriage, my mother still surprises him on a regular basis.) For me, the “getting to know my husband more” phase has largely involved letting go of hopes for who I thought he was — adjusting my expectations with reality. For him, it seems that he’s working it the other direction. Immediately after I moved to Santa Fe, he started to have a series of fears (some justified, mostly not) of who I might become — fears triggered by past relationships, memories of his childhood, etc. So, he’s not as good as I’d hoped he’d be. And I’m not as bad as he feared I would be (at least I hope not).

It’s growth. Growing pains suck.

We’re heading out of town tomorrow for the honeymoon. I’m both anticipating and dreading nine days and eight nights of getting to know my husband more.

In the meantime, talk amongst yourselves. I’m hopeful that my new blog home will be up by the first of the year. Right now, I’m painting the walls and hanging pictures. I’ll move all the boxes (ie, these posts!) after we return.

…but I reserve the right to post bullshit like this!

hi·a·tus /haɪˈeɪtəs
–noun, plural -tus·es, -tus.

1. a break or interruption in the continuity of a work, series, action, etc.
2. a missing part; gap or lacuna: Scholars attempted to account for the hiatus in the medieval manuscript.
3. any gap or opening.
4. Grammar, Prosody. the coming together, with or without break or slight pause, and without contraction, of two vowels in successive words or syllables, as in see easily.
5. Anatomy. a natural fissure, cleft, or foramen in a bone or other structure.

6. What I’m on for the time being.

I anticipate resuming blogging (for real y’all) sometime in January, after the honeymoon. Expect a little remodeling around here at that time.

A new book by one of my favorite bloggers is now available on Amazon.

Motherhood is Not for Wimps: No Answers, Just Stories

After a couple of years’ reading Liz’s stories about Mary, the baralicious pregnancy, then the wonder that is Renny-Roo, I feel like I know these folks. They help me feel sane AND make me laugh. What more could a girl want?

Via Bitch PhD. At least I’ll have some great company in Gitmo.

Pardon me while my eyes roll to the back of my head. Email forwarded today…

The month before Christmas!

Twas the month before Christmas
When all through our land,
Not a Christian was praying
Nor taking a stand.

Why the PC Police had taken away,
The reason for Christmas - no one could say.
The children were told by their schools not to sing,
About Shepherds and Wise Men and Angels and things.

It might hurt people’s feelings; the teachers would say
December 25th is just a “Holiday”.
Yet the shoppers were ready with cash, checks and credit
Pushing folks down to the floor just to get it!

CDs from Madonna, an X BOX, an I-pod
Something was changing, something quite odd!
Retailers promoted Ramadan and Kwanzaa
In hopes to sell books by Franken & Fonda.

As Targets are hanging their trees upside down
At Lowe’s the word Christmas - was no where to be found.
At K-Mart and Staples and Penny’s and Sears
You won’t hear the word Christmas; it won’t touch your ears.

Inclusive, sensitive, Di-ver-si-ty
Are words that were used to intimidate me.
Now Daschle, Now Darden, Now Sharpton, Wolf Blitzen
On Boxer, on Rather, on Kerry, on Clinton!

At the top of the Senate, there arose such a clatter
To eliminate Jesus, in all public matter.
And we spoke not a word, as they took away our faith
Forbidden to speak of salvation and grace

The true Gift of Christmas was exchanged and discarded
The reason for the season, stopped before it started.
So as you celebrate “Winter Break” under your “Dream Tree”
Sipping your Starbucks, listen to me.

Choose your words carefully, choose what you say
Shout MERRY CHRISTMAS, not Happy Holiday!

Whatever. Happy holidays, y’all — whatever holiday you celebrate.

Allison & Mike
November 24, 2006

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Why yes…we did go through with it!

Thanks a million to everyone who came to celebrate with us — you made it quite a memorable evening!

To those who actually know me and call me — I have a new cell phone number. If you need/want it, drop me a line via email: meanderwithme (at) gmail (dot) com.

No time to navel-gaze today, but do take a look at Andrew Solomon’s column from today’s New York Times:

Our Great Depression

Following this model, the National Institute of Mental Health should coordinate and subsidize a national network of depression centers, ideally based at research universities with good hospitals and departments devoted to the subject.

The University of Michigan, host to the country’s first national depression center, which opened its doors last month, has been a pioneer in this regard. More than 135 experts on depression and bipolar disorder will collaborate there, about half of them psychiatrists. The center has a large clinical treatment program and a genetic database that will house samples from tens of thousands of depressed and bipolar patients. It is sponsoring social and biological research and pressing for policy initiatives related to mental illness.

I’d love to find a way to be involved.

If you’ve stopped by much at all lately, you know my blogging has dwindled down to pretty much nil — especially since I moved to Santa Fe.

While I *could* blame this on the upcoming wedding, that’s not it. I’ve realized something — I have no time to myself.

What? Wait a second, don’t you normally grouse about having no adult company ever because of working from home? Sure, that’s true. I’m alone all day. But that time is filled with other obligations: work (first and foremost), daily house-stuff, duties that require business hours, etc. If I spend time during the day contemplating my navel, a severe case of guilt ensues. So, I work, but not nearly as well/efficiently as I should. Then the afternoon arrives, and I feel a sense of relief (no more guilt at half-assed work; the day’s over!) as I go to pick up Maya. From there, I’m distracted by a 2-year-old (great distraction tool) from my own thoughts. With that particular cute distraction hanging from my legs, I strain to get some dinnerish food together while keeping her from feeling ignored — after all, she’s been away from me all day.

By the time Mike comes in, I’m fairly desperate for something. It could be some time with Maya when I don’t need to be doing something else (dinner, for instance). It could be that I need some time to myself to simply think and work out what’s going on in my head. The problem is, we (as a couple) also need time together — but I find that I’m there, but with issues. Because I haven’t taken the time to figure out what’s going on in my own head, they (the issues and thoughts I’ve ignored day after day) bubble to the surface and color every interaction we have.

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Added: This should have been fairly obvious to me, but hey…remember, I’m not giving myself time to introspect much these days. By the time Mike comes home, my immediate need (extrovert that I am) is for time around another adult. That trumps my need for time with myself. Since he’s an introvert (and has been around people, if not interacting with them) all day, he doesn’t necessarily need the same. On top of that, as much as his 45 minutes each way commute is a pain, it does give him some time for thinking. And I wonder why it seems like every night turns into a Conversation?

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This, invariably leads to a “capital-C” Conversation. You know, these are the ones where we’re supposed to be actively listening to each other and improving our relationshiop. The problem is, because I don’t get (or take) the time to get inside my own head, I’m pretty inept about explaining my needs, since I don’t even know them myself.

Maybe I only felt so emotionally healthy before moving simply because I had at least an hour or so every night/day in which I could yank thoughts out of my head and turn them into concepts. These days, I’m feeling somewhat like a feather in the wind, and it’s frustrating, because I know how I *normally* am, and how I should be.

I’ve got to find a way to make my life sustainable. This ain’t it.