shout outs.

Maybe there's something I've forgotten to clarify in my 1.5 years of regular blogging:

I became very isolated and lonely when I was married. As much as I naturally love to talk, most of my thoughts never reached my lips because my life had become something I had to hide from everyone.

The happiest and most glorious moment of my life was when I was driving away from my marriage. I humored so many thoughts of reconnecting with others. I imagined myself being Whitney's roommate. I imagined sitting for hours speaking with my mother. It felt like I was flying.

I called this blog socialexplosion because I'd been pent up and held back for so long that the inertia of my desire to socialize felt like a breaking dam or a bomb.

There are a few people in particular who withstood the power of my social force with love, patience, and strength:

The first is my mother. She received me with open arms and fulfilled all of the dreams I carried of reconnecting with her. I am late to school most mornings but it is not because I am dawdling. I am talking with her. It's a routine I just can't give up. I tell her all about my life as she's preparing my lunch and we always get a bit carried away. There's a lot of love in the mornings at our house.

The second is Whitney. Whitney guided me back into the world of singles with grace and confidence. I needed her and she knew it. I've never had a happier summer than the one I spent with Whitney.

The third is Mike Alger. I met Mike at midnight at an ihop for a Kohler's co-worker gathering that Whitney took me to. He said he was interested in film so I whipped out my foreign film knowledge. Mike doesn't even watch foreign films. But he listened and listened and somehow we exchanged numbers. He's been listening graciously ever since.

The last and certainly not least are my siblings. Although most of them don't live around here, their gestures of forgiveness and love have been some of the most tender. There's been Spanish help at midnight, long letters illustrated with cartoons, nail-painting, long phone calls, and g-chatting from the middle-east in a war zone about my latest dating news. My siblings fortify and lift me.

exploder.

I blame it in part on the close relationship I had with my brother, Carl, when I was growing up. We were inseparable, close, connected, bonded. We had all the same friends for the first 17 years of my life. I felt that life was meant to be experienced with someone. I grew accustomed to the comfortability of recapping daily details and speaking aloud whatever happened to be on my mind. I like to think of this sort of connection between siblings as rare. I think it really might be. Carl was my very first and very dearest friend.

I guess all of this, this sort of openness and sharing in lives, still equals love to me. I guess I think that's fine, except for I can't quite seem to reconcile the fact that for most people, I talk too much. I keep hoping that somehow I'll change. I keep wishing for some paradigm shift to wash over me that will leave me contentedly and quietly within my own head. But other times, I feel it's an innate desire, an integral component of who I am and that I may just have to search out more people who are okay and even welcoming of it.

These days, when Carl visits with his wife and son, I get excited. I speak voraciously and he welcomes it and accepts it and enthusiastically responds. It feels wonderful.

reading.

The sad truth is that I actually don't read very much. Not books, anyway. I used to read entire issues of National Geographic in one sitting, but novels are a different story. "Readers" in my mind read novels, and I've always struggled with finding fiction interesting. As soon as a plot gets too clean, too fantastical, too predictable, I find myself losing interest.

Because Jared is great, he suggested that we start "couple book club" and read something together. This has been one of my secret romantic dreams, to read a book the same time as a boy, so I was willing to give fiction another chance. He chose "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" by Betty Smith.

I was relieved to find that the main character feels the same way I do about fictional plots:

"Growing up spoiled the theater for Francie...she found she was becoming dissatisfied with the way things happened in just the nick of time...Francie couldn't understand why the heroine didn't marry the villain...surely a man who loved her so much that he was willing to go through all kinds of fuss because she wouldn't have him wasn't a man to ignore. At least, he was around while the hero was off on a wild-goose chase."

I identify so much with this book that it makes me a little uneasy to know that Jared has already read it all before me. (He's about 200 pages ahead of me.) It's got me thinking so much, so intensely about aspects of my life that I don't always consider with much depth. I've laughed and cried. I think about it all the time.

I guess this is what I've been missing out on by not "reading."

My enjoyment in reading this book reminded me when I was around 14 years old and Carl had just finished reading "A Separate Peace." He was crying as he read the end of the book and Tom said, "What are you crying for? I think you're crying because you finally finished a book." I remember thinking that it was so mean of him to say that, but maybe he was right. Maybe "readers" are used to viewing their lives from all angles and dealing with the range of emotions that books provoke.

2 of my most precious.

I cannot explain the depth of my love for these two. My brother Carl was my very first friend and has managed to stick with me through thick & thin to remain one of my most valued confidants. Now he's 28! I am so grateful that he was born.

jealous.

(in my inbox this morning)
Wish you were here!
Love, mimCarl, Hilary, Miriam, and Jude are all in Mexico. Imagine the Spanish I could be learning...

who does she think she is?

I will never forget when I announced to my former mother-in-law that I was going to start working at the temple.
"I think it's great, but can you really do it all? I think you've got to give something else up."
She was almost right. My schedule was fully loaded. I was working full-time in the garment manufacturing plant, volunteering teaching NAMI classes once a week, teaching in Relief Society, taking a class at BYU, and struggling for survival in a demanding and unhealthy marriage.
I'm not sure if I ever said it out loud to anyone, but this repeated silently in my head all of the time:
I am absolutely convinced that I can do everything.

And I was right. I accomplished and balanced that whole list with great success. Taking care of myself catalyzed the courage to leave and insist on divorce. It was like catching a glimpse of my true identity made me see how necessary is was to get myself back.

I've been a little weird lately, just the past couple of weeks. Lonely, self-conscious; lacking energy to accomplish my many obligations.

Tonight in the seminar class that I TA for, we watched a documentary called "Who Does She Think She Is?" It's about women artists who attempt to do it all: marriage, mothering, art. Somehow it struck such a chord with me that I had to hold back tears. I was reminded of my propensity to give myself up in order to please others and how I must fight it.

It's inspired me to make this public manifesto: I am not holding back. I am going to be the type of women I think I should and can be. And I am still absolutely convinced that I can do everything.

It's vague enough that nobody will know what that really means excepting for myself, but that doesn't matter. It's got to be public lest I forget.

The documentary also reminded me of how elusive my dreams of romance can be. There is a Mormon woman highlighted in the film who maintains her marriage, but the majority of the others are/get divorced.

My brother read this poem aloud to my family the first time we gathered to see his new child. He wrote it for his wife while she was in labor. I can't think of a better way to describe what am looking for in a marriage other than to just post it:

Summation

When, I, as a child, to earth did come

The number to which I belonged, was One

--One King of The Mountain, alone I would be

--One winner of all things I wanted for me

--One boy to be cared for—my needs to sustain

--One boy to be heard—all my joy and my pain

And what’er the problems of others might be

The real ones counting—they added to me

For when weighing the listings of tasks to be done

Important ones seemingly upheld my ONE

And all was quite perfect, for shouldn’t it be

That that which was worthwhile supported my Me?

And life, I had figured, was fantastic and fun

As long as it nurtured the concept of One

And then came the day that I flew into you

My One bursting into a beautiful Two

For two on life’s lakes far outshines the one

Bearing twice the joy with a bigger sun

And ideas of One: so soon surpassed

By the wholeness of us two, at last

And blessed with your love I’ve grown stone sure

That I’ll return to One no more

For like a weak broth has One become

Next the banquet of Two—its joy and its sun

--The best part of me I’ve now offered to you

As I’ve happily rambled this world of Two

For even in moments when wand’ring apart

I now beat for Two, within my heart

And my anthem become something much richer and true

By embracing the treasure of living for Two

And to this moment we’ve come at last

When our love of two has been surpassed

Like a conqu’ring sea against the shore

Our family’s love now beats for more

So to us, my love, no wonder it be

That the marvel of Two now blossoms to Three

And like the castle on bulwarks stands

The pow’r of three it takes command

O’er an accounting of life’s most important of parts

And affixes them, soundly, within our hearts

No longer partakers alone will we be

But Creators and Stewards to care for our Three

And I wonder—though trav’ling lands mystic and tall

If this won’t be our greatest adventure of all?

--One to out-do the luster of life’s former shines?

--One to forge a foundation outlasting mere time?

Yes, a symphony much more complete will life be

In tending our priceless garden of Three

And so now, with hands held, and hearts free to soar

We shall nurture our Three, God’s entrustment of More

And to you—my love—all respect do I give

The purpose and reason I now choose to live

For life’s greatest treasures I attribute to you

My perfect, miraculous treasure of Two

For what’er life’s torrents might possibly be

With you at my side, we’ll now revel in Three.

hey jude.

Today was my newest nephew, Jude's, baby blessing. I got to draw him right after he was carried back to the pews.
I think it's a fantastic beginning for my new sketchbook; I can't imagine what would be better.

I also posted a new etsy item that I feel pretty good about:

hopeful.

I often declare out loud how happy I am to be divorced. I have never regretted it.
But there are those rare occasions when I remember how heartbreaking the demise of my marriage really was.

It is sometimes difficult to remember because it happened steadily and surely, day after day as even the smallest marital exchanges seemed to malfunction; each malfunction triggering steady doses of pain.

Watching my brother parent his one-day-old son somehow brought those painful emotions forward. The love for his wife and son felt so evident and natural as a reverent feeling of peace permeated their small apartment.

It reminded me that there is nothing that I crave more in this world than to enjoy a happy marriage and to be a mother.

I desperately hope that my future attempts will not be so futile as those in my past.

digo contigo.

On Friday night I went alone to a book signing in Salt Lake. The solitude of the evening felt more like liberation than loneliness. I played my music loudly and reveled in all of the songs that I would've been embarrassed to listen to if I'd brought a friend along.
I heard about the book signing for Exodus on Radiowest's Thursday program. This image on the front cover is what compelled me to drive up and attend:
"It's acres and acres of desert, covered with thrown away panties, braziers, trousers, blouses, day packs, shoes, cosmetics, and empty food cans. And what you see is what you call a dump site; a drop point. (This) picture is taken 40 mi. north of the border. Mexicans have walked several days to get there. They're met by vans that have clothing bought at a Walmart. When they strip naked and get in this new clothing, they get in the van. Then they're taken to a stash house ... then they're shipped around the United States. What you're looking at there, is a Statue of Liberty. What you're looking at is Ellis Island. What you're looking at is where millions of Americans enter the United States."
- Charles Bowden (photo by Julian Cardona)

Afterward I drove to my brother Carl's apartment so he could help me with Spanish. He taught me how to say "I am _____-ing" and " I am going to ______."
I love studying Spanish with Carl. We get all tired and giggly. We laughed ourselves to tears once when I mistakenly used the word for "pig" (cochina) in place of the word for "kitchen" (cocina.) It always feels a little bit like it did when we were best friends as kids.