Being Em
Some days I feel overcome by materialist thoughts. It isn't so much that I covet material objects, but rather I feel impatient to forge ahead and achieve milestones that are beyond my present reach. I want to be considered a somebody in both the international health/nutrition and lesbian worlds. In the past four months, I have had to come to terms with the fact that it is taking me longer to analyze the data that I collected while I was in Nepal than I anticipated. As a result, I have had to pass up opportunities to submit abstracts to two nutrition conferences that I believe would have been open to receiving my work. My inability to work faster frustrates me.
Additionally, I feel frustrated by the fact that I now live in a country where it is possible for me to be somewhat open about my sexuality, yet it almost feels harder to connect with other lesbians than it was when I was in Nepal. The news is filled with reports of gay couples flocking to San Francisco and other places to engage in civil marriage ceremonies. Will I ever have a chance to do this? Will the doors be closed if ever I am in a position at some point in the future to be ready to make such a commitment to another woman?
When I sit back and choose to disengage my competitive persona, I am able to recognize the gifts in front of me. Carrie Newcomer sings, "it isn't always getting what you want, but wanting what you get." My environment is bathed in love and encouragement from my family, friends, and colleagues. My boss has assumed the role of my guardian angel. I really have no complaints. Somehow I need to keep plugging along, following my vision and trusting that this process will yield results even if I can't see them now. The world is not ending. Even if future opportunities are different from present ones, they will emerge. When I feel consumed by a sense of urgency to act now, I need to remind myself to breathe. Breathe Emily.
When I am in my cave I listen to music. In the past three years, I have found female vocalists to be more soothing than male.
When I am in my cave I read about astrology and use tarot to work through the issues clouding my mind.
When I am in my cave I run. I carefully place my headphones into my ears, rewind my current running tape (I just made a new mix to replace the one I have been using since 2001), push play, and go. Listening to the same tracks while following a familiar route gives me an opportunity to relax and take in fully everything happening around me. I am most happy when I am able to connect with the people I pass along the way.
When I am in my cave I read for pleasure. Non-fiction stimulates me; however, fiction provides me with imagery for a world outside of my own, one in which I can escape.
When I am in my cave I bake. While I have almost perfected my gluten-free brownie recipe, I still have to figure out how to make cookies and breakfast breads using a mix of unfamiliar flours.
When I am in my cave I look at the sky on clear nights before I sleep. I watch the moon wax and wane and observe orion's position.
When I am in my cave I think, organize, plan, and dream.
I like being in my cave.
I can't remember whether I noticed the hot water in my shower this morning. I enjoyed its presence; however, I don't think this morning was one of those mornings that I actually contemplated my good fortune. Have I already begun to take for granted such a simple pleasure as hot water? At this time last year it took me over an hour to boil water for a warm bucket bath. Then, I was fortunate to have a heating rod. The majority of Nepalis do not have such a sophisticated tool. But, few Nepalis have the material possessions that I own and the resources available to me.
Although I am just a student living off a stipend, the disparity between my life and that of the average Nepali is enormous. Since I returned from Nepal, I have not known what to do with this reality. Instead of dwelling on the matter, I have buried it. It takes me weeks, if not months, to read articles about Nepal that people send me through the mail. My bosses and colleagues travel to and from the country every few months; however, I have few questions for them about their travels. When I think about Nepal, it is the violence associated with the civil insurgency and a tragic road accident that I witnessed last February that occupy my thoughts. It is rare that I allow myself to think about my former colleagues and close friends. Those thoughts are painful and are quick to bring tears. I suppose I feel as if I escaped from the nightmare and left everyone else behind to fend for themselves. I can only hope that they will continue to survive. Receiving news about them having trouble making ends meet and witnessing bombs blow up vehicles within meters of theirs sends me foraging deeper within my shell.
In the past seven days, five different messengers appeared to nudge me awake. On Monday a colleague handed me a container of lychee achar (Nepali delicacy) that the woman who serves tea and prepares lunch for our Kathmandu office made and carefully packaged for me. I have been savoring every mouthful. On Thursday I received email from a close friend in Uganda who found a posting on a sexual human rights list serve from a Nepali guy that she thought might interest me. Unbeknownst to her, I met this guy, Sunil Pant, through a friend and had an opportunity to get to know him during the summer of 2002. In a country that does not acknowledge the existence of homosexuals, Sunil started a non-governmental organization to provide a safe haven for gays, lesbians, bisexual, and transgendered individuals and to address the issue of HIV/AIDS. His email described the grotesque beating of two gay men who were accused of being seen wearing women's clothing in the Kathmandu Valley. Friday, a Nepali friend and colleague from Kathmandu called to reach out to me as I was driving to work. She traveled to the US last summer for what was supposed to be a brief trip, but is still here. She cannot bear to part from the clean and (what she perceives to be) environmentally conscious country that holds opportunities for her two college-aged children that are not available in Nepal. Sunday, I attended a celebration for a kind and talented Nepali man who was recently awarded political asylum status in the US. It will take him another 10 to 12 months to bring his wife and kids; however, he is well on his way to achieving his dream. Today (Monday), a woman at school with whom I shared some of my pictures from Nepal emailed me to ask for my permission to share one of the pictures with a class. Her request prompted me to open some of the picture files on my computer in which I have stored a slew of photos I scanned when I was in Nepal. I looked at a picture that was taken on my last day in my field site and started crying. My emotion is still raw.
The messages are clear. My friends have not forgotten me. As difficult as it is to communicate given the distance and language barrier (Nepali script is very difficult for me to read), we still manage to send signals that we care. Even my illiterate cook, with whom I only spoke Nepali when we were living together, has managed to find a way to send me letters in English. I was not aware of a single English speaker in her community. I am fairly certain that my friends know I have not forgotten them. While I was in Nepal, they told detailed stories of previous students they had not seen in over ten years. They will tell similar stories about me. Although I feel guilty for leaving, observing my friends' presence in the US makes me aware of the fact that many Nepalis would leave if they were given the opportunity. At present, Nepal is not hospitable. My co-workers and friends were traumatized by some of the same incidents I was. As a means of survival, they continue to forge ahead with their lives. Internalizing my stress wrecked such havoc on my gastro-intestinal system and mind that I recognize I will need to excavate my experiences in order to move forward and continue to grow.
Plopped from Nepal into this land of privilege, I feel a tremendous obligation to give back to the world everything within my power to give. I feel consumed by this mission and find myself analyzing both my skills and the world's needs. Over the past few months, as I have been healing and working on my dissertation, I have been generating ideas about how I might be most effective. Professionally, I will continue working to explain the relationship between infant nutrition and development. Personally, I plan to use my creative talents to assist in the battle for equality between homosexual and heterosexual individuals. I want to give gays and lesbians a voice. With respect to the latter, I feel a sense of urgency to act before too many more people are beaten, otherwise abused, and even killed for their sexual orientation. While I respect that laying the groundwork is an important part of the process, I feel impatient. There is so much work that needs to be done.
Connection -- it is what I seek most at the moment. In the same way that the sun's rays are filtering through my windows to touch my back as I sit and write, I long to find meaningful contact with the energy emanating from within me. When I first returned from Nepal, I heard over and over how different I am. "Emily, you are so strange!" "Why would anyone want to do that?" "Be like us," was the message I kept receiving. Why? I cannot remember a time that I was just like everyone else. My height and tomboyishness always made me feel different from the other girls. My gender distinguished me from the boys. In 1994, shortly before I left my job to travel around the world, my boss turned to me and proclaimed, "You march to a different drummer!" I do. It has taken me over 30 years to embrace my differences.
Only recently, have I begun to nurture the soil beneath my feet. I am slowly beginning to acknowledge that it might be possible for me to share something of myself with the world by just being myself instead of trying to mold myself into the person that I perceive will be pleasing to others. Only with a little perspective am I able to see how constrictive those molds were. They never fit. As a result, I felt squashed and defeated. While I am only at the beginning of this process of rebirth, I can already glimpse the open space and potential for growth. I feel like a seedling reaching for light and nourishment. I am reaching for color, for purity, for loving kindness. I appear to be shedding my dry skin. Sometimes it is uncomfortable. Sometimes I wonder how it will be perceived, but then I think about my ever-changing audience. With every passing day I feel as if my interactions with the people around me are becoming more meaningful.
In the past few months, I have managed to meet some amazing individuals, most of whom are women. On Saturday, as a friend and I were about to leave the restaurant where we were dining, I realized that we had been talking for hours about the subjects that had been floating around my head that week. WOW. At that moment, we stopped and acknowledged our connection. On Sunday, I went for coffee with a new friend and returned almost 4 hours later. I believe we could have continued talking all night. On Monday, as we were driving through the streets of Baltimore, another female friend revealed that she presently views me as her spiritual guide. Yesterday at work, a dear friend shared that my presence is a highlight of her day. Me -- the person who talks too much and is always distracting her with my thoughts? Maybe I had to dye my curtains orange to see that the yellow and red hues I so desperately seek are already present in my life. Life is so rich. I hope that I can continue to stay awake to experience it.
On Friday night I dyed my bedroom curtains sunshine orange. I had to go to 7 stores until I was able to gather enough boxes of the color for the project. Apparently, sunshine orange is not one of the most popular of the RIT dye colors. I love the finished product. The curtains are so vibrant and warm, especially when the morning and evening light filters through them.
Last weekend I blew up and tied different colored strings to 40 balloons for a new friend who was turning 40 and hosting her own birthday party. I stood in front of and later meditated next to the balloons and felt energized by their color, their soft warmth that spilled into the room. The powerful sensation extended to the drive across the city. I felt so happy with 40 balloons filling the inside of my car that I have actually contemplated doing it again for myself. It was a wonderful reminder of the beauty of life. I find it hard to remember my worries when I am surrounded by colored balloons.
It is getting late and I still have quite a lot of work to complete before I go to sleep. Recently, I have been making myself busy doing everything I can think of but my dissertation. People say that doctoral students often have the neatest, most organized homes because they focus their nervous energy on tending to the chores that couldn't possibly wait until tomorrow. I have been feeling frustrated by my apparent lack of progress with the three papers I am writing as a part of my dissertation. It isn't something I talk about often. Usually, I focus my conversation and the nervous chatter in my mind on relationships. This week I realized that my talk of and thoughts about emotional subjects such as relationships function as an escape. They are a screen that shield me from having to face and communicate my fear of failure.
[After writing the previous sentence, I find myself paralyzed. How to I proceed? Clearly, I am having trouble acknowledging some of my fears. Is this why it has taken me five months to read 47 pages of Pema Chodron's book entitled "The Places that Scare You: A Guide to Fearlessness in Difficult Times"? A meditation buddy and I had a good laugh last week after our sitting when we discussed the meditation/Buddhist books we are reading. Each of us revealed that we had at least 3 sitting on our bedside table. While Buddhist theory is quite straightforward, applying the theory into everyday practice has to be one of the biggest challenges I have ever experienced. It only takes a few pages of any of these books to be reminded of one's shortcomings. I suppose the ideas of basic goodness, compassion, unconditional loving kindness, faith, and fearlessness take more than a lifetime to practice and understand.]
While others have seen my passion as I talk about my work, I don't know that I have ever really admitted to myself how much I love what I am doing. It has taken me 9 years of graduate education to acknowledge how fortunate I am to be able to live this life that I am creating. As much as I would like to think of myself as a patient person, I recognize that I am most impatient. Creation takes time; however, I want instant gratification.
There is so much that I want to say. I would like to write for hours, sharing all the thoughts that are in my head. This isn't possible at the moment. As a means of introduction before I end this entry, I want to share a little about myself. Who am I? I am a marathon runner, lesbian, international traveler, scientist, friend, sister, and daughter. I meditate and do yoga. I love my cat Nora. I am a passionate person with a lot of energy and zest for life. Recently, I have felt a tremendous urge to give something back to the world. One of the ways that I believe I can be most effective in this endeavor is to live out loud. Because I am adaptable and a conditioned pleaser, I sometimes find it difficult just being me. My post-Nepal challenge is to embrace my many colors and their corresponding shades, to be Emily.
On Sunday I received an email from the LGBT group associated with the Johns Hopkins Medical Institution seeking single lesbians to share information for a gay publication on dating in Baltimore. I laughed. So, it isn't just me who is having trouble finding single lesbians! Validation feels good.
Saturday night as I was returning from a birthday party, I ran into my neighbor Anne. Since I moved into the building in June, we had only seen each other about five times. This is the US. The two of us share the second floor of a three story row house in Baltimore; however, our casual conversation that night marked our first meaningful interaction. Serendipidy? Maybe. By telling me about her blog, she introduced me to a world I never knew existed. For years I have been trying to find a venue for my descriptive writing. I write best when I know there are people on the other end reading, but I have found it difficult to find an audience. With this blog I now have an opportunity to download some of my meandering thoughts.
These are just some thoughts about life as I perceive it. In May 2003 I returned to Baltimore after spending over two years living in Nepal. As a result of all that I experienced while I was gone, I have spent most of the past 8.5 months healing both my mind and body. There is so much going through my head at the moment as I try to keep up with what has felt like constant change.
