A farewell to arms

New Year’s Resolution 2010.

The idea of having a new year’s resolution was always appealing to me. Everyone has little nuances, oddities, or perversions that they would like to change, but the only time of the year that really allows you to put an end to the past and start anew in a literal way is January 1^st. Of course, this doesn’t ultimately have a huge affect if you’re not entirely committed. Every since my pudgy preteens I have used January 1^st as the first day of my new diet or exercise regiment – and it’s clear where that got me.

While at risk of challenging my status as “classy” I will share with you a successful resolution – in fact, my first successful resolution. January 1^st, 2008 and was the first day of my new underwear routine in which I decided I would wear underwear every day. To most, this seems like an easy feat, but in fact I had become so accustomed to not wearing underwear to avoid VPL that it became a habit.

For those who do not know, VPL stands for Visible Panty Line. Of course, this typically does not occur among women who wear appropriately sized clothing, but the horrors I had witnessed out in the world had caused this to affect my daily routine.

To reboot, my 2008 was a success. Not one day did I break my resolution and in fact, it is something that has stuck with me until this day. Unfortunately, I didn’t want to curse myself in 2009 so I didn’t make any resolutions, but here goes for 2010:

My resolution is to be more like my dog.

I want to enjoy the little things – this may not mean wafting in the scent of dirty socks, but green grass, nice weather, a warm and comfortable home are all things that I take for granted.

I want my desires to occasionally overtake me. We live in such a structured world that the fear of “doing something wrong” ultimately guides our every decision. This isn’t wrong, but it also isn’t living. My dog knows that she shouldn’t rummage through the trash. In fact, 59 days out of 60 she can control herself – but sometimes her desire causes her to lose all sense of consequences.

I want to play. Being stifled in an office doesn’t give anybody much of an opportunity to play around. I’m lucky that I have a boyfriend who promotes play and encourages me to let loose and laugh and spin – but this year I will be the one that tickles once in awhile, instead of the one being tickled.

I want to be less judgmental. Fortunately, and unfortunately, I have really high standards in most parts of life. How I have to look, behave what have you. But, after thinking about it, I realized that my dog could care less if I pick my nose, or eat a tub or ice cream, or how I behave. What makes her love me is the compassion I show her and my good intentions.

I want to wear my emotions on my sleeve. The biggest personal problem I have is I’m a bottler. Nothing more than a survival technique, I often will force myself to get over things, move things along, and not delve into great big messes. This has helped me be successful in love and in life because I am able to pick my battles, but it is nice for people to know where they stand with me. Rather than being hurt and moving on, I, much like my dog, plan to put my ears down and tell those when I’m hurt.

In return for teaching me life’s lessons, I aspire to walk my dog for just an hour a week in the New Year. It may not sound like a lot, and most of the time I tend to spend much more time with her, but even in the cold and rain I can endure an hour a week.

A letter to my family

I am thankful to have such a supportive family. Sometimes, I am amazed at the credit they give me: suggesting I should run for president (even if according to some I am a flaming communist), establish world order, or that I could single-handedly turn the tides at the shake of my wand. I have a built-in, well-established, eternally-loving support system – and that is not something everyone can say.

Of course, the reality is I will never become president, nor will I establish world order, and I do not have a magic wand, all though should I ever have the means that would be the first endeavor I would invest in.

It’s funny, because with all of the credit and support my family gives me they sometimes belittle a few of the everyday decisions that I make and discuss the flaws amongst themselves. Oddly, it is those little decisions that reflect my true nature. This is evident because I don’t have to ponder “what would my family think” when I make career decisions. When I make a personal decision, however, it plagues me to think how my family might perceive it. I make lists of pros and cons, I try to assess how each decision will ultimately play into my life’s plan and often times forget about what my opinion is for the sake of upholding my “image” in the family.

Well, after I graduated from college, I felt I had some flexibility. After weighing for months on what my family would think, I ultimately decided I was going to go against the grain and move in with my boyfriend. I’m sure this is something that you are all aware of already.

Few family members fully comprehend how I grew up and those who can even partially grasp it have disappeared and I haven’t spoken to them in years. When I contemplate why they left the family it saddens me because I understand it – it is not infrequent that in the family’s attempt to help and support it comes off as gossipy or judgemental.

I was fortunate enough to have the world’s most loving parents. Even when they completely screw up in ways almost unfathomable to me, they continue to teach me and I become wiser through their mistakes. While I hope to never repeat some of their missteps, I will ultimately screw up as well and I only hope that it will allow my children to be as independent and thoughtful as I have tried to become. With that being said, I thank my family for their relentless (and I mean relentless) dedication towards making me the best I can be. I strive, as I grow older and wiser, to make my own mistakes without the fear that my family has disapproved all along. I hope that my family will accept and embrace my passions, loves, boyfriends, and whatever/whoever else. But most importantly, I hope my family knows that they are stuck with me – I, too, will be undoubtedly stubborn and opinionated.

I am glad to be an unruly fabric woven into our eclectic mess of a family.

Merry Christmas

I Take you Bellydancing into the Night

At the age of 13 Europe was something to be marveled at. Medieval, fairy-tale, love affairs. Some of that, most notably the latter, was definitely true; but truthfully, I landed in Spain and was immediately appalled. The city had an eau-du-sewage, there was a common misinterpretation of how frequently deodorant should be applied and as a curvy brown-haired blue-eyed American, 13 years old seemed to be much closer to 25 than to 12.
Of course, I now work for a non-profit travel organization. I have traveled to 41 countries, lived and worked abroad, and spend most of my days dreaming of those same sewage-filled streets that I have traveled for many moons.
I’m reminded of this because today is the first day of my belly-dancing class. No, not my first ever. I haphazardly “joined” a Brazilian troupe sometime between the age of 12 and 14 and stuck through it on and off through high-school. I use the term “joined” loosely because my best friend and I mostly tagged along out of boredom. I love the art, and lord knows my mother passed on the hips for it, but I have extreme commitment issues – the euphemism for this being that I’m an air sign. This became evident when I was fired from my post as 7th grade president due to my lack of commitment to the position. This subsequently became a trend as I gained leadership roles in high school and college in various Spanish societies and Marketing Groups. After socializing over free chips and queso at the initial getting-to-know-you socials, I would bust out of there like a father from a one-night-stand. My thoughts were clouded by the adventure, but when the responsibility was ultimately born I was nowhere to be found.
Anyhow, after touring Spain and the Riviera, my mother and my 13-year-old self landed in Istanbul. This was not where my discovery of the belly dancing world began, but rather where I discovered fellatian sculpture and, more importantly, the grand bizarre. The Grand Bizarre was filled with wares, carpets, candies and a honey-like smells. It was built in layers so by the time you followed the mazes you lost all touch with fresh air and only could inhale its wonders. It was in one of these dark corners of the bizarre that I discovered the Turkish world of belly dancing. Rather than being filled with the voluptuous women twisting and turning their bodies that I had become accustomed to, it was filled with older, rounder, Turkish men. These men pounced on the opportunity to pursue my mother and me. Whispers spread behind the counters of “the American Sisters” who were shopping for belly dancing wares. I was anxious about our titles and our innate inability to create beads of sweat on the foreheads of the shopkeepers. Losing control as he pulled out the rattling coin belt, he pulled my mother and told her that he wanted to take her belly dancing into the night.
As quickly as we had been devoured into the bizarre, overcome with all the new sensations, I was swept out onto the streets by my mother never to return to Turkey again.