On living honestly

"I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood." - Audre Lorde

I'm very tired. Partly because it's 3 a.m. and partly because this week, I've come to a very important (and scary) realization.

I'm still living in the closet.

I say this even though I told my parents that I'm a lesbian nearly a year ago. And I say it even though a quick glance at the tote bag I carry everywhere will tell you what my political views are; it's covered in buttons and pins.

Last year, I transferred to Wayne State from SVSU. And because my parents live about six miles from downtown Detroit, I decided to move in with them (because hey, not having to pay rent = win). I was pretty miserable growing up in Grosse Pointe. But I justified moving back by telling myself that because I'd no longer be enrolled in the school system, it'd be different. Easier.

But then I got a regular babysitting job.

I've written a little bit about it before. Three days per week, I pick up the kids from school, feed them dinner, bathe them, pack lunches, help with homework, and put them to bed-- all before their mom gets home at 9:15.

I have to admit that early this year (February, March, and April, especially), I started to feel really down about it. Because I'm a transfer student, I didn't have any friends at Wayne State. Living and working in Grosse Pointe (especially on Thursday and Friday evenings) made it damn near impossible to meet anyone.

And yet I was taking these 5000-level English and women's studies classes that were completely blowing my mind. It was damn near impossible for me to keep what I was learning contained to a classroom setting. And I think the whole point of classes like that, if I may say it, is to bring that knowledge beyond the walls of the classroom and into the real world.

I had all this energy and nowhere to put it, no one to share it with. And I was angry with myself because I'd wanted to transfer, but it wasn't working out. I was optimistic, hopeful, and somehow, mysteriously, profoundly unhappy. But I was afraid to admit that to anyone because I didn't want people to think that I regretted my decision to leave SVSU.

So I kept it mostly to myself, which only made things worse.

The feeling caught me entirely off-guard. It was very overwhelming and strange; even now, it's hard to write about. I've always been a bit of a hermit, and had not expected to need people that much.

I somehow managed to pull myself out of my funk, reach out to people, and make a couple of friends. And I even decided to keep my babysitting job. After all, I need to make money, and this sure as hell beats working some bullshit dead end job for a corporation. By being a reliable babysitter, I'm helping someone-- a single mother who's on welfare, at that. Every feminist bone in my body tells me that I've made the right decision by sticking with it.

But it's not enough.

The other night, the kids' mom came home complaining about an argumentative writing class she's taking at a nearby community college.

"This kid tried to tell me that homosexuals are oppressed in this country," she said incredulously. "Can you believe that? I think it's celebrated; everywhere I look, I see rainbows."

I stood there feeling stunned, offended, and unsure of how to respond. My internal monologue, meanwhile, had plenty to say: Well, maybe if homosexuals weren't oppressed, your babysitter would feel comfortable telling you that she's gay.

Not that my sexual orientation matters all that much in the context of my relationship with her. But it'd be nice to be able to feel like I can the truth when she tries to make small talk with me about my plans for the weekend, you know?

I'd also like to explain to her kids that it's okay for women to fall in love with other women, and men with men. Recently, the five-year-old declared that she's "in love" with a little girl who lives down the street. The eight-year-old piped up with, "No. You can love her, but you can't be 'in love' with her, because you're both girls. Girls can't fall in love with other girls."

I should have said something, but I didn't. Because for some reason, I was afraid to, even though something I believe very strongly is that the world isn't going to get better unless we teach kids not to believe everything that Disney tells them.

Looking at those incidents, I realize just how much of myself I'm hiding from them. I spend three evenings per week with those kids, and have been for over a year. And yet neither they nor their mother knows that I'm a lesbian, a feminist, a women's studies major.

And what's wrong with any of those things? Why the fuck should I hide the most important aspects of my identity, especially when I'm also trying to build a career out of it?

And I deal with this shit all the time. A few weeks ago, I took the girls to the park. They made a new friend on the playground, as kids often do. At one point, the little girl's mom had to go to the bathroom, so approached her daughter and said, "Come with me for a second." Then she pointed to me and said (loud enough so that I could hear her), "I don't trust that punk."

I'm just so very tired of keeping my mouth shut. Why the hell should I? For one thing, I seem to be the only one in this town who doesn't feel comfortable enough to speak her mind. And secondly, I act only out of love-- always. So why should I be ashamed of what I think and do? My wish is not to "get back" at the people who have hurt me. I'd just like to feel like it's okay to express my opinion in the town where I live and work and spend most of my time.

I've been using Facebook as an outlet. I don't really know where else to turn, and besides, most of my friends are there. Yesterday, I posted a pro-choice "vlog" update from Katie Stack. Not surprisingly, it sparked a debate between a few of my Facebook friends.

Afterward, I had a long discussion with the person who had originally objected to the post. It went well; I'm going to post some of what she said here, because it meant a lot to me.

If this is what you're passionate about and what's on your mind, you shouldn't feel guilty about putting it on FB-- that's what it's for. I'm just having a hard time dealing with hyper-focused Amelia on this topic. That's my problem, not yours, if I'm honest.

If these are your genuine beliefs and you feel strongly about them, you shouldn't have to cater to other people being offended.

Repression causes reactions. I get that. Be you, Amelia. You deserve to be heard, partly because you're my friend and I love you, and partly because you're a sensible person who can engage in a discussion without being a complete ass, and partly because you're level-headed and thoughtful, and those people deserve it most.

That's all I really want people to understand. That I don't want to hurt anyone. That I'm not a bad person. That yeah, I'm angry. But it's healthy to get angry.

And I have to add that it was nice to be able to try this out on someone I respect, and know respects me, even if our views differ.

I just want to talk to people and feel like they're listening. And since I'm here, I really ought to make the most of it instead of hiding in my room and feeling miserable and lonely.

If moving back to Grosse Pointe has taught me anything, it's that I need people a lot more than I ever thought I did. And it's pretty hard to interact with anyone when you're afraid of what they might say and/or do to you.

Just a thought.

Today I went to get my teeth cleaned. And the hygienist tried to make small talk with me. (I say "tried to" because I don't understand why these people think it's a good idea to talk to anyone whose mouth is obviously too busy hosting the War on Tartar to engage in conversation.) But anyway.

The hygienist (whose name is Jan) asked me what I'd like to do with my life.

Without really thinking about it, I bullshitted my way through an answer about working as an editor. If you know me, you know that that's the last thing I want to do. Been there, done that. But that's just the thing. I know it, because I've done it. I can talk intelligently about editing all day long, and those who listen to me can walk away without any doubt in their minds that I am a twenty-something has a head on her shoulders, and one hell of a future ahead of her.

But reality looks like this: While I'm not lying when I say that I'm an English major, I am omitting a major fact: I'm also a women's studies major. And the latter is where my interests lie. At this point, I'm really only an English major because when I transferred to Wayne State last year, the people who looked over my transcripts were like, "Holy shit, you have a zillion English credits. Don't drop that major. It'd be a huge waste." And they weren't kidding; I spent my first year at Wayne enrolled in a bunch of 5000-level English classes in order to finish up that aspect of my degree.

So, sorry Jan, but I lied. I want to be a feminist activist. There are a lot of issues that I care about, but anyone who knows me should be aware by now that one of my biggest passions is reproductive justice. (See that Planned Parenthood badge over there on the right side of this page? Or the NARAL badge? Yeah.) And although I won't get into the details now, suffice it to say for the moment that I've been actively pursuing a career in that field.

I want to tell people about that instead. But I don't, because you can't just make small talk about it at the dentist's office.

And it's not the inevitable "But you'll make no money!" lecture that I'm afraid of. I started out as a creative writing major, so I'm quite used to that. My problem with the way people react is that too often, they flinch. Because apparently, equality is controversial.

Let that sink in for a second. What kind of bullshit world do we live in where those who are putting their energy toward just causes have to keep their mouths shut for fear of offending people who will, in the end, benefit from these efforts?

Really, if the idea of promoting equality is too controversial to be talked about (much less acted upon), then that's solid reasoning right there for me to pursue it. Because clearly we've got a lot of work to do.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 25

A photo you took.

I'm no photographer or anything, but here's a picture I took with my cell phone of some anti-choice propaganda I found in a bathroom stall at SVSU in October of 2009.

People should be able to urinate in peace, you know?

Needless to say, I added this to my list of good reasons for transferring to Wayne State.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 20

How important you think education is.

I wrote a pretty detailed post on this topic just a few months ago.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 15

5 people in your life right now who mean the most.

I'm going to organize this based upon how long I've known these people. The ones I met earliest are at the top.

Stephanie
I met Stephanie when we were juniors at Grosse Pointe South High School. She had just transferred there from Interlochen Arts Academy. And she was one bitchin' poet. (Still is, in fact. She's graduating this weekend with a BA in poetry from Columbia College Chicago.)

As you'll be able to see by glancing at her blog, Stephanie's also one hell of a feminist. She thinks that I give her too much credit for her role in helping me to view the world from a feminist perspective. But I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it; she did a lot to help me become who I am today.

I was a little intimidated by Stephanie when I met her. I don't know why, exactly. Probably because she, like me, wanted nothing to do with most of the people who graduated with us. So I assumed that I was just another one of the people she wanted to avoid.

But I was wrong. Thanks to our similar interests, the two of us became friends. We were kind of huge dicks in those days, and thought we were better than everyone else. We talked a lot of shit and smoked a lot of weed.

But I think that both of us have grown up a lot since then, and our friendship has lasted; Stephanie is one of the most intelligent, compassionate, generous, and reliable people I know. She's also hilarious. And she pours a lot of her energy into really cool/important projects, like West Side School for the Desperate and SlutWalk Chicago.

I actually just sent her an email earlier today asking for some advice on something I'm dealing with, and as I was working on this blog post, she replied with a list of things I need to do right the fuck now in order to fix the situation.

Put Stephanie in charge of any project: running the student poetry organization at Columbia College, forming an arts collective, or dealing with her friends' personal issues, and I assure you, shit will get done.

Sarah
I met Sarah at the Controlled Burn Seminar for Young Writers in 2005. We were in Mary Ann Samyn's poetry workshop together.

But for whatever reason (likely my teenage lack of maturity--Sarah's three years older than I am), our friendship didn't really form until a couple of years later. She graduated from SVSU in 2007, the year I finished high school. And then I enrolled at SVSU, so pestered her with questions (What the fuck is a FAFSA form? Whose classes should I take? Etc, etc).

That fall, she moved to Marquette to pursue an MA at NMU. But she came down to Saginaw damn near every weekend, and we spent a lot of time together. We also spent spring break together that year. We hung out with her adorable pet ferret Bandit and broke a lot of rules.

When she finished her MA and moved to Oklahoma, I was sad because we'd no longer be living in the same state. But it's not like we've ever lived in the same city. So in a way, things didn't change much. I don't usually like talking on the phone, but I really like talking to Sarah, and because we're completely ridiculous, we manage to talk for two to three hours at a time. I also flew out to visit her this past January.

Also, she sends me the most beautiful postcards, usually for no particular occasion. I wish I could say that I did a decent job reciprocating. But I don't. So props to her, fail to me.

And that is why I love Sarah. She's really ambitious academically (finished college in three years, is working on her second Master's degree, etc), but loves me even though I don't know what the fuck I'm doing with my life. She has always been really encouraging and sincere.

(And since I know she reads this: Hi, Sarah! ILY.)

Tracy
When my parents met Tracy, my mom said that she was "charming" and my dad referred to her as "a breath of fresh air." Nearly every time we hang out, Tracy rubs this in my face. (Since then, I've been referred to as "charming" in a letter of recommendation, and just the other day, someone told me via FB message that I am "a source of energy for good vibes," so there).

Tracy and I were roommates during our first two years at SVSU. We first bonded over peach yogurt and wheat bread three days after moving in together; I rather liked her taste in groceries. :)

I didn't know it at the time, but food would become a really important part of our friendship; Tracy loves to cook and is damn good at it. She even managed to whip up some pretty interesting things during the year we lived in a dorm without a real kitchen.

One of the things I love most about Tracy is her wit. She's fucking hilarious. All the time. And she makes it look effortless. Her sister Tricia works in a hair salon, and one day, we paid her a visit and asked her to tame my eyebrows. We were both laughing so hard at everything that came out of Tracy's mouth that finally Tricia said, "Trace, I need you to stop being funny for five seconds so I can get this wax off of Amy's face without screwing up the shape of her eyebrows."

Tracy's the friend I stay with whenever I visit Saginaw. She knows to stock up on coffee when I come. And she puts up with all of my quirks and questionable habits. We don't actually talk much when I'm in Grosse Pointe, but whenever I visit her, it's as if I never left.

Matthew
Matthew and I went to SVSU together; he was the editor-in-chief of Cardinal Sins before me. He's fifteen years older than I am. When I met him, I was a nineteen-year-old freshman; he was in his 30s and a lot closer to graduation than I was.

So if someone had told me then that we'd remain good friends even after he went off to grad school in Baltimore, MD and I transferred to Wayne State, I wouldn't have believed them.

We make an odd pair, but I've realized that that's just the point: Our entire friendship is based on our quirks and fondness for cats. He didn't think it was weird at all that I brought a rubber dinosaur to the student publications office and instead of helping him lay pages, talked to the dinosaur and gave her a name: Gertrude.

In fact, that night he wrote on my FB Wall, "Give Gertie a squeeze for me."

Our friendship hasn't gotten any less strange since Matthew moved out of state. Last month, he sent a package addressed to "Mac the Cat, c/o Amelia Glebocki." It was a mix CD. And yes, there were songs on it that mentioned cats.

I "made Mac send him a thank you card." Matthew told me that I'd done a good job of teaching my cat how to write.

It's just weird enough to work. My guess is that you can only base friendships off of quirks like this if you're both legitimately strange and comfortable with that strangeness.

Rose
Rose and I went to SVSU together, but that's not where we met. We met a year or so after she graduated, at a coffee shop in Saginaw in August of 2009.

I'd gone to a poetry reading there and met up with a bunch of people I knew (among them Matthew). I didn't know Rose at all. But when she walked through the door, all my friends went to her. I guess Rose doesn't come out to play much? Everyone was so happy to see her.

Through the crowd of people, Rose saw me hanging out awkwardly by myself in a corner of the coffee shop where our friends had left me. She came over and said simply, "Looks like you're friends with my friends. And they ditched you for me. Sorry about that. I'm Rose. I'll add you on Facebook when I get home."

I figured that we wouldn't interact much on Facebook, and that I'd end up deleting her from my friends list. Boy, was I wrong about that.

For about a year, we commented on each others' posts. By the time I moved back to Grosse Pointe in May of 2010, we were exchanging lengthy, candid FB messages. And that October, she invited me to her wedding.

So back to Saginaw I went. I hadn't seen her since the day we'd met over a year earlier.

She also came to visit me in GP this past February, which really meant a lot to me.

It's hard to explain how we became friends or why. But things that she says make sense. And she listens. I like to think I do the same for her. I think it's lovely that we used Facebook not only to keep in touch, but to get to know each other in the first place.

Friendship takes effort. I think both of us realize that in a way that a lot of others don't. Getting to know each other online and living far away from each other has really forced us to practice what we preach. And I like that.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 14

A photo of a cherished memory.

Unfortunately, most of my photos are on Facebook, and I've deactivated my account (more on that later). So you'll have to settle for the unillustrated version.

The photo I'm thinking of was taken in Ann Arbor, MI on Tuesday, August 11, 2009. My favorite musician of all time, Tracy Chapman, performed there that night. And she was amazing.

At the time, I was living in Saginaw (an hour and a half from Ann Arbor) and taking a summer class at SVSU. The class met on Mondays and Wednesdays. And that Wednesday, I was scheduled to take my final exam.

But I was determined to attend this concert, because not only is Tracy Chapman my favorite musician ever, but she also doesn't tour much. And when she does, she usually spends more time in Europe than the US (not that I blame her, but still).

So I convinced my mom to go with me. And that Monday after class, I drove to Grosse Pointe, where I stayed overnight at my parents' house, because GP is significantly closer to Ann Arbor than Saginaw is.

And the next day, my mom and I left for Ann Arbor, where I spent several hours raiding bookstores. Because she knows what happens to English majors in bookstores, my mom went off and did her own thing. And eventually, she got me to leave the store by bribing me with food; we ate a super delicious meal before the concert.

Upon arriving at the theater, a friendly tall person made my good mood even better by offering to switch seats with me when he realized that his head obstructed my view.

Tracy put on a great show. I really appreciated her subtle and smart sense of humor. Before she sang this song she said, "This is about how we need to be saved from those who think they need to save us." (Creative way to list your religious views on Facebook, anyone?)

And then this song made me cry. So hard. It caught me entirely off-guard, because Tracy just popped out of nowhere with an acoustic guitar after she had performed several songs with a full band. And without any kind of preface, she just started singing this. And it was really, really simple and beautifully done. So I cried. And when I say that I cried, I mean it. I put a lot of effort into stifling weird noises and swore I'd never forgive my mother if she made fun of me afterward (because there's no way in hell that she didn't notice). It was really intense and I'll never forget it.

So I was all over the place emotionally. Not surprising, I guess, given that I've been a die hard Tracy Chapman fan all my life.

But remember, I had a final exam the next day.

And since I'd spent the whole day before the concert dicking around in Ann Arbor, I really had to study.

On our way back to Grosse Pointe after the concert, I made my mom stop at a Tim Horton's so I could get some coffee. But not surprisingly, I didn't get much work done that night. Instead, I was too full of adrenaline (and whatever other crazy emotions inevitably go along with seeing your favorite musician live) to work or sleep. So I talked to friends online about how incredible Tracy Chapman's concert had been.

And then I took a power nap, woke up at 6 a.m., and drove back to Saginaw. I was exhausted, but swore I wouldn't allow myself to sleep or have a concert-related meltdown until after my exam.

I was actually relatively successful, thanks to the anxiety that always creeps up before an exam and motivates me to get shit done.

But by the time I'd finished the exam, I looked like I'd been to war and back. On top of all the normal final exam feelings (Holy shit I'm so tired and my brain is fried and I never want to use my brain for anything ever again), I had all these ridiculous feelings to deal with because I had just seen THE BEST CONCERT OF MY ENTIRE LIFE IN A CITY THAT I LOVE and had been forced to return to reality (read: a small university in the middle of a cornfield) well before I'd had any time to process the experience.

I ran into one of my professors in the hallway after the exam. Upon trying to make small talk with me, he realized that I was a severely sleep-deprived pile of emotions. (In case you think I'm exaggerating about how tired I was, he didn't like the idea of letting me drive home.)

But in the end, I drove home anyway, fell asleep, woke up fourteen hours later, and learned that I'd managed to pull off an A- on that exam.

Tracy Chapman, though, gets an A+.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 10

Someone who came into your life unexpectedly and made an impact.

The thing about my best friends is that they've all come into my life in very surprising ways. But I'll save detailed descriptions of specific close friends for a later prompt about five people who mean a lot to me. Here, I will elaborate on a group of people who came into my life a little over a year ago.

I spent three years at SVSU prior to transferring to Wayne State at the beginning of the fall 2010 semester. While I was there, I majored in creative writing. The English Department is split into several areas of focus, literature or creative writing, and English education.

And so not surprisingly, there are all these groups/cliques based on one's individual major within the English Department. And even though SVSU's a small school and elective courses have us taking classes with people from all across the department, people tend to stick to their own area of focus socially. That's not an absolute, obviously, but you get the idea. And I'm sure the same type of thing happens at other schools, too.

For a whole bunch of reasons that I won't get into right now, three years into my degree program, I suddenly found myself torn between transferring or changing my major from creative writing to literature.

For purely social reasons, I sometimes wish I'd chosen the latter.

Because all these awesome literature majors popped into my life right before I left. I have no idea what they saw in me, honestly: the semester before I transferred, I was really standoffish. I knew I'd be leaving, and it was hard enough to say goodbye to all my old friends. I didn't even want to think about making new ones.

But somehow, I did. And I've kept in closer contact with them than I have with some of the people I've known since my freshman year at SVSU.

A year ago today, I was packing up my apartment and preparing to move back to my parents' house in Grosse Pointe. My friend Sara invited me to spend my last night in Saginaw celebrating her birthday with her. I gladly accepted, even though I didn't know many of the people she had invited to her party.

And that's how I got to know Toni. We'd had a couple of classes together, but prior to Sara's party, hadn't said more than a few words to each other. And one year later, we're really good friends. Last weekend, she came down to Detroit to spend the day with me at the DIA and Greektown. It was awesome. And later this summer, we'll be going to Lollapalooza together.

Baffling, given that I met her the day before I moved away. (Thanks, Facebook!)

The same goes for Angela. I met her in a class I took the semester before I transferred. And actually, I dropped that class about two weeks into the term. And then I loaned her my textbook. I figured we wouldn't interact with each other again after she returned it to me at the end of the semester.

But no. As a thank you gift for letting her borrow the book, she bought me (of all things) three tiny (and sparkly--yes, sparkly!) donuts from Starbucks. That was just weird and hilarious enough to give us something to come back to. So after I left, we got to talking online. And then I visited her in Bay City a few times. And she even came down to Grosse Pointe for my birthday this past December.

Furthermore, Stephanie, Jamie, and Carolyn--The three people who took me with them to Pittsburgh this past March--are all literature majors, too. While we were waiting for them to come and pick me up my mom said to me, "I don't remember you mentioning these friends of yours, Amelia. When did you meet them?"

My answer: "I've taken a few classes with Stephanie and Jamie. And I don't actually know Carolyn very well at all."

But now that I've spent three days with her in Pittsburgh, I do!

Weird how that works. It's taught me to be more open minded, really. I wish I'd met them sooner. But I'm glad I was given the chance to get to know them at all. I hope I don't fuck up my chances at opportunities like this in the future.

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 8

A time when you felt the most satisfied with your life.

You're going to make fun of me, but honestly, I was probably the most satisfied with my life during the 2002-2003 school year, when I was in the eighth grade.

Everyone hates the eighth grade. But not me. I owned that shit.

Academically, I excelled. The worst grade I got all year was a B+, and that was in math.

And thanks to the effort of a very dedicated English teacher who had had me in class before, I got to do some really awesome things with my writing: I placed in a statewide essay contest, had a poem published in an anthology printed by the Michigan Reading Association, got to attend a young authors' luncheon in Grand Rapids, and at the end of the school year, was presented with a writing award from the English Department.

That year, I was in the choir and also had a role in the school musical, Guys and Dolls. Ironically, I was cast as a missionary, so I had a lot of fun with that.

It was, I think, the only year when I was really active in a lot of things that I loved. During all my other years of school, I focused on either writing or music, but not both.

I think the reason I was so busy was that things were sort of falling apart at home. Both of my paternal grandparents passed away, and we moved into their house. It was stressful, so I just focused on school to keep my mind off things.

Since then, I've kind of been all over the place. That's not necessarily a bad thing: I've figured out a lot of things, gained some interests, and lost some, too. But the eighth grade was great because I excelled at all kinds of things I loved, and was surrounded by people who seemed to care about me.

Let's take a spontaneous trip to Pittsburgh!

On Wednesday afternoon, I was sitting at the Cass Cafe near Wayne State, wasting time on Facebook. My friend Jamie (who is a student at SVSU) had posted a status about how she was packing her bags and heading to Pittsburgh for the weekend with a band of nerdy English majors.

Nerdy English major that I am, I offered love and cookies in exchange for a ride to Pennsylvania.

Moments later, having seen my comment, my friend Stephanie offered to take me along. Apparently, one of the people who was supposed to be going on the trip couldn't get time off work, so Stephanie had an extra spot in her car.

I eagerly said yes and spent the next hour or so frantically packing and wiggling my way out of work. And to Pittsburgh we went.

I don't know why I'm blogging about it, really. I don't see this post benefiting anyone other than me. But I have to write about it because I had a damn good time. And it's been a while since I've enjoyed myself that thoroughly.

Their reason for going to Pittsburgh was the Sigma Tau Delta International Convention. I'd never been to a conference before; the experience left me feeling personally validated, but professionally doomed. In other words, I'm smarter than I feel and need to tell my various insecurities to shove it. But smart though I might be, I'm getting a degree deemed useless by people who are more pragmatic than I am. So I need to find someone willing to let me live in their basement for the rest of my life, because I'm going to be penniless. (Anyone? Anyone? As always, I will provide love and cookies.)

But at least I'm not the only one who's freaking out about the future. During our three days in Pittsburgh, we had a lot of coffee-fueled conversations at 2 a.m.

And by day (when not at the conference or napping), we wandered around Pittsburgh and were exceedingly silly (as evidenced in the photo included with this post). From left to right: Carolyn, Jamie, me, and Stephanie in the oldest building in Pittsburgh. We stumbled upon it accidentally while waiting for Carolyn to pee in an outhouse (let me reiterate: we were very silly). Naturally, the tiny one in a bonnet got to hold the gun. :-)

(But don't worry. I'm a pacifist in real life, I swear.)

On Thursday night, we ate at a Lebanese restaurant called Kassab's (recommended to us to a literature professor at SVSU who happens to be from Pittsburgh). Anyone who knows me knows that I love food about a thousand times more than the average person. My mom has said that watching me eat is like watching a kid open gifts on Christmas morning.

And Lebanese food just happens to be way up there on my list of favorites. So I was particularly vocal about how much I loved the falafel and stuffed grape leaves. In fact, by the end of the weekend, I'd acquired a new nickname: Falfy. And the others were ready to lock me in isolation out of fear that I'd eat their souls. I am not exaggerating.

Other highlights:

• The view from the condo where we stayed. Pittsburgh at night is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.
• The shower at the condo. Seriously, hear me out on this. Settings included "massage" and "monsoon." Monsoon!
• The condo was up on a mountain (hence the gorgeous view). So naturally, whenever we drove up there we sang, "She'll be comin' around the mountain when she comes..."
  

I could go on, but you get the idea. Suffice it to say that the trip was amazing. My friends are brilliant; this weekend was full of nerdy hilarity (and some not-so-nerdy hilarity, too). I lost count of how many times I said, "I am so, so happy right now."

I didn't realize how much I had needed that spontaneous vacation until I got back home to Grosse Pointe [insert sigh here].

What the hell am I doing with my life? There is a world out there, and I need to be part of it.

Failure to launch

I haven't posted much to this blog this month, even though there's so much going on in the world and just as much I could say about it.

I've actually sat down at my computer several times in the past week or so to write about all of it: the devastating earthquake in Japan (and the YouTube video from a crazed Catholic who saw it as some sort of "beautiful" sign from God); the Wisconsin loss; Governor Rick Snyder's plan to destroy my home state of Michigan; the victim-blaming piece of bullshit I read in the New York Times about the gang rape of an eleven-year-old girl in Texas; and the news that a woman in Nebraska--thanks to her state's anti-choice legislation--was forced to watch her newborn die because she had not been permitted to terminate a pregnancy that doctors told her would result in the death of her baby.

But each time I've started writing, I've gotten too overwhelmed/tired, given up, and gone to bed. Lately, I've felt too deflated to accomplish much of anything.

I feel as disappointed in the world as I did in the first grade, when a classmate called and asked if I'd like to come over and play Candy Land with her. I envisioned her house--which I'd visited many times--transformed into a castle made of candy. I pictured the two of racing through it, sugar adding to the energy I already had just from my level of excitement. And I eagerly said yes.

But Candy Land turned out to be just a board game.

I read a really great Between the Lines article last week called "The kid aren't all right," about how my generation isn't going to stand for any anti-LGBT bullshit. One part in particular gave me some much-needed hope: "This generation is often ridiculed for having a sense of entitlement. But these kids show that they feel entitled to basic human rights. And if those rights aren't there, they're going to organize, ask, demand, and fight to have them."

If that's true, then I need to find a way to join in. Part of why I'm so down about things lately is that I feel like I'm the only person who gives a shit about anything (even though from reading my friends' posts on Facebook, I know that I'm not).

But I feel so terribly alone because my current living situation and babysitting job make it really hard for me to go out and pursue my interests. I live with my parents twenty minutes from campus, don't have a car of my own, and work on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday evenings. And because I'm a transfer student, I don't really have any friends in the area.

So, woe is me. I keep telling myself to be strong and stick it out until June, when the kids I babysit will be done with school for the year and I can think about moving on to something else, freeing up my evenings. But that's not real strength.

When I transferred to Wayne State, I moved in with my parents because doing so would save money. I knew that transferring would mean taking longer than four years to finish up my BA. So I thought that by moving in with them, I'd be making them happy. Because if there's one surefire way to make my parents happy, it's by saving money.

But it just hasn't turned out that way. My parents, though they mean well, are stuck in some kind of time warp, and are waiting for me to "launch." Their word choice scares me. I'm afraid that by their definition, I'm never going to "launch." I got my driver's license three and a half years after it was legal for me to do so. I won't finish college in four years. And to top it all off, I'm gay, so even if I were in a committed relationship, it's not like I could get married anytime soon.

I mean, it's understandable for my parents (like any parents) to want to watch their kids grow into successful adults. But what they don't understand is that for so many reasons, they can't hold me to the standard to which their parents held them. For one thing, there are obvious economic obstacles to making it through college in four years (thanks, Rick Snyder, for slashing state funding to Michigan colleges/universities by more than 20%).

And more importantly, there are so many ways to be successful. And success, to me, is happiness. We can agree that I've failed. But I'm not a failure because I got my driver's license three and a half years later than my peers. I'm not a failure because I won't graduate from college on time. And I'm not a failure because I have no desire to marry and have children. Instead, I am a failure because I've settled for living in Grosse Pointe. I'm a failure because two hours from now, I'm going to leave the house for an evening of babysitting instead of leaving it to go after what really inspires me.

Life has told me to settle for board games. Living, however, has taught me that if I have any hope of doing something good for this world during my time here, I need to build a candy castle--even if right now, it only exists in my imagination, and no on else can see or understand my need to create it.

A letter from a feminist/first generation college student to her parents

Dear Mom & Dad,

I love you a lot. And I appreciate how supportive you've been, both financially and emotionally. Despite all your good intentions though, there are still a lot of misunderstandings between us. So hear me out:

School is really important to me. I transferred to Wayne State because for a number of reasons I don't feel we need to go over again, things fell apart at SVSU. I moved in with you so I could stay in school and save money, which is something I thought would make all of us happy. But I feel that the money I earn babysitting is more important to you than school is, even if you'd never say it.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not against earning money. I lived in Saginaw for three years. Students have soul-draining jobs to defray the cost of school. The economy is terrible; life is life. And given what my interests are, I think it's important to have worked jobs like that so I can understand people who rely on those types of jobs to make a living.

But both of you need to understand that right now, earning money is not priority #1. School is. And even though I love it, it's not a hobby. Mom, you said something to me recently about how I need to suck it up and stop hating my job because my whole life will be like that, and I'd better get used to it.

Dad, your whole life has been like that. But I'm in school because I'd like mine not to be. I know that you worked 80 hours per week because you had a wife and kids to support. I am grateful to you for that. But even though I'm the same age as you were when you started working that hard, you need to see that I'm not in the same position. I am single, for one thing. And childless. And gay. The list goes on.

Abundant idealism aside, I am also, somehow, decently realistic. Maybe I inherited that from you. I don't expect to graduate and get a job that I love right away. But I'm willing to do the work to hopefully get me somewhere where I can do something other than babysit or clean houses or work as an aide in a preschool or anything else I've done so far.

And so you need to understand that as much as I enjoy school, it is work. I'm more than willing to help out around the house. But it bothers me that of the four of us who live here, I'm the one who is always expected to drop whatever she's doing at the drop of a hat when the dishes need to be done, just because I always have my nose stuck in a book. I still have to have that book read within a certain frame of time. And reading, though enjoyable, is time-consuming. Especially when you're planning to write a research paper on it later.

I get that you're scared. Your kids are both grown, and you want to see us move on with our lives so you can move on with yours. But our lives are different than yours. I'm in college. Neither of you went to college. So already, there's a huge difference in our respective versions of reality. And that's exactly why it's unreasonable to gripe about how I'm not going to graduate in a typical four-year time frame while trying to convince me not to take summer classes in favor of earning as much money as possible.

Now, my majors/interests: Those scare the shit out of you too, no doubt. I get that you're afraid of seeing me go off the "Commie deep end" or something. Understand, though, that my intentions are as good as yours. People that both you and I respect see what I believe in as a good thing. You only see what I do as "militant" or "extremist" because your God-fearing parents told you to believe that. You knew better than to fear God, and did not raise your kids in church (THANK YOU for that).

You never gave me a hard time about being a creative writing major. For one thing, I loved it too much to consider doing anything else (which is why, having known me all my life, you need to trust that if I'm going to go after something else, it's only because I love it just as much). And secondly, you were okay with it because creative writing seemed neutral to you. I mean, your kid spent her childhood up in her room, writing. Can't cause too much damage doing that.

But take a closer look at what I wrote about. It isn't like I went to SVSU and had one conversation with someone who "turned me into a feminist" overnight. It is something that has tugged at me my entire life. I got it from examining how much we differed from other families in Grosse Pointe, and wondering why the hell it is that we live here. I got it from seeing the literal brick wall that exists along Alter Road on the border of Grosse Pointe and Detroit. And I got it from moving to Saginaw and realizing that it's really no different there, either. There was so much unfairness right in front of me, wherever I went. How could I not take notice? Now that I'm aware of it, how can I let it be? You should be proud of me for being moved enough by it to want to change it.

I've worked really hard to try to understand your perspective. Maybe I'm missing something: If so, let me know. But in the meantime, please try to understand mine. And know too, that it's okay to be different. Just because I didn't graduate from high school and immediately get married and have kids like you did, doesn't make me a failure. And it also doesn't mean that you're failures as parents because your kids didn't turn out the way you thought they would.

Love,
Amelia

A few words on education

Yesterday my friend Dan (who is a student at SVSU) posted a note on Facebook titled "The Cold War of Life." It's about what he's learning at school, and how that contributes to the greater picture (which is a topic I've wanted to write about). But until I read what Dan wrote, I wasn't sure how to frame what I wanted to say.

I'll start with an excerpt from his post. It's kind of long, but I wouldn't be sharing it if I didn't think it was worth your while to read it.

I have just come to the realization that my current semester is a bit of a downer. In one class, I am learning the historical beginnings of colonization and enslavement of native peoples by capitalists, leading to the current international economy and the division of labor that exploits the weak by multi-national corporations, who use economical power to control corrupt, undemocratic, resource-rich governments. In another class, I am learning about the Cold War. Additionally, during the day, I am being bombarded by negative information whenever I try to catch up on current events. But what I thought was another internal, moral crisis actually led me back to upholding my original principles and values.

Learning about the Cold War has taught me that it was just like life. George Kennan, writing from his insightful vantage point as a post-WWII diplomat, outlined what was to become the main American policy towards the Soviet Union for the next four decades, with an article (and a byline of “Mr. X”) called “The Sources of Soviet Conduct” in the magazine Foreign Policy. In the article, he notes that the Russian Revolution demonstrated the youthful impatience of revolutionaries who tried to industrialize a mostly-agrarian society too quickly. This swift change of policy and ideology led to distrust from Lenin and Stalin, on down to the peasant, and created a culture of fear and totalitarianism. Additionally, Kennan notes that because one ideology (capitalism or communism) will eventually “win” due to the fatal flaws of the other. Although Stalin believed capitalism would implode under the weight of its own greed and imperialism, Kennan believed the opposite, that communism would fall due to the rigid top-down nature of the Communist Party system and the lack of easy governmental transition upon the death of the Chairman. Kennan turned out to be right, while Stalin is remembered as a paranoid genocidal maniac and Russia is a shadow of what he knew when he lived. To meet this end, Kennan focused on a policy of vigorous “containment” toward the Russians, that if communism can be prevented to spread, the system would eventually splinter and bring change to an oppressive government that had to keep its people in with barbed wire.

Which brings me to my main point: Patience will bring change. We can respect each others’ ideologies because when it comes down to it, the truth will always come out, even under the most authoritarian of regimes, both here and abroad. When Martin Luther wrote out his complaints regarding the selling of indulgences by corrupt Catholic Church officials (which was an offense punishable by death), he had no idea that his little screed would literally change the known world. One little action propelled peasants, nations, kings, and popes into the boxing ring of competing ideologies; one spark from a lowly Catholic monk set off a cultural bonfire that led to new ideas such as national sovereignty, liberalism, the Enlightenment, the Renaissance, and the expansion of capitalism and democracy, just to name a handful. All the previous events listed brought us to a new era of humanity, forever separating us from the base animal with violent, wild instinct.

He goes on to give other examples of how seemingly small acts by patient individuals have ultimately changed the world for the better. After he posted the note, he updated his status with a quote from an individual whose identity is unknown: "Patience is waiting. Not passively waiting. That is laziness. But to keep going when the going is hard and slow--that is patience."

Reading that, I thought about how school has been making me feel lately. I love it, but feel that it needs to be a bigger part of my life, because I cannot possibly keep the experience contained to the classroom.

And yet, that's what I find myself doing. I'm a transfer student who lives with her parents twenty minutes from campus. So I often feel really lonely. The only people I spend a significant amount of time with are my parents (who didn't go to college) and the girls I babysit (they're four and seven--so it's not exactly possible to discuss my 5000-level English and women's studies classes with them).

Last night in class, my professor was talking about the importance of critical pedagogy. And my internal monologue was like, "Oh. This is why you feel so crazy and alone. Because you understand that this needs to be an ongoing discussion. And yet you feel as if the only person you have to talk to is yourself."

I got really mopey when I realized that everything I'm learning at school (and pretty much everything I believe in, for that matter) stands in direct opposition to the structure and belief system of the world in which I live. For example, we were talking in English class recently about how it's bullshit that college has basically been an unlearning of K-12's version of American history. What did we learn about Columbus? That he came over to what is now the United States and had a nice dinner with the people who lived there before he did. And what did we learn about slaves? That they were freed.

That in particular is really hard for me, because I babysit a first grader and see how that's exactly what she's being taught to accept as fact. And I feel helpless to stop it. What's the point of even teaching that? Her options are to either go to college and unlearn it all, or keep believing that forever. I have a hard time seeing how we've supposedly "come so far" as a nation when we're still teaching children this stuff, you know?

So I see a great danger in isolation: my keeping what I learn at school confined to a classroom at Wayne State; or telling first graders that what happened in the past will stay there, and has nothing to do with life as it is now.

Yesterday in class, we were talking about how Harriet Jacobs, who wrote _Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl_, tried to get white women in the north to understand her perspective. And to do that, she had to try to identify with them, even though she knew that her experience was vastly different from theirs. Her audience embraced the "cult of true womanhood," believing that women should be pious, religious, confined to the domestic sphere, and above all else, completely devoted to their children.

In order to get them to sympathize with her, Jacobs had to prove that she actually fit into that very mold. She justified the decisions she made by making her audience aware of the circumstances surrounding her situation as a slave. Even though she spent seven years hiding in an attic, she explained that she still loved her children; she made clothes for them. She used these examples to explain why she should not be held to the same standard as the white women to whom she told her story (thus dismantling the idea of the "cult of true womanhood," woo hoo)!

I got home last night and started thinking about how relevant that still is, almost two hundred years later. The next book I have to read for that class is _Killing the Black Body: Race, Reproduction, and the Meaning of Liberty_ by Dorothy Roberts. I haven't actually opened it yet, but I don't see how it's such a dramatic shift from our discussion of motherhood in the time of slavery in the U.S. There's a blurb from Ms. Magazine on the cover: "Compelling...Deftly shows how distorted and racist constructions of black motherhood have affected politics, law, and policy in the United States." Um, black welfare mother stereotype, anyone?

And so, the helplessness. I worry that nothing will ever change or get better. I want to quit real life and devote all my time to activism. But instead I gotta be a grown up and spend my time doing my part to support the very structure I oppose. And I do that by earning money babysitting.

But Dan's post showed me how I can, in my own little way, carry what I'm learning in school over to other aspects of my life. The other day I had a conversation with the four-year-old I babysit. She had just gotten home from ballet class and asked me why some of her classmates are boys. We had a little chat about how boys can take ballet, too. (And girls can do things that have been traditionally only associated with boys!)

That seems so insignificant, though. Maybe my talk with her won't change a damn thing. But maybe it will. And that hope is what tells me that I ought to continue to do things like that, however small and seemingly pointless. And I'll be patient. Not lazy, not passive. But patient.

Cardinal Sins in the spotlight

During the 2009-2010 school year, I was the editor-in-chief of an art & literary magazine called Cardinal Sins. It's been in existence since 1981 and is published twice annually, during the fall and winter semesters at SVSU.

I found out today from my former faculty adviser that the winter 2010 issue (my last as editor-in-chief) received a first place award from the American Scholastic Press Association. :-)

This really says very little about me (even though my editor's note--which referenced something like seven Lady GaGa songs--was pretty awesome). It's more about my editorial staff and the others who found themselves tangled up in this project (like Katie Karnes, a graphic design major whose ability to reason with Adobe InDesign saved us from a huge technological mess).

Being in charge of Cardinal Sins was the most exasperating thing I've ever done. The experience forced me to question my entire career path. If I may be 100% honest, I found it incredibly unfulfilling at times, so much so that I questioned why I'd ever taken the job in the first place.

That isn't to say that it was an entirely negative experience--it wasn't. It just isn't something I'd like to do again. I'm glad that Cardinal Sins gave me the opportunity to figure that out as an undergraduate, while I'm still in a good position to change my mind.

It's about damn time I learn to have faith in my abilities--including my ability to recognize when I'm not as happy as I could be and move on to something else.

As editor of Sins, I shared an office with Sara Kitchen, editor of The Valley Vanguard--a student newspaper on campus (the two of us are pictured above). Whenever we'd find ourselves still working in the office after 10 p.m. on a weeknight, we'd listen to this song and lip sync with gusto.

Add that to the list of things that made this whole experience worthwhile.

Ridiculous, but worthwhile.

Let's be honest for a second, here.

Tomorrow I'll be twenty-two (which I guess just means that I can -officially- relate to just about every single Lily Allen song ever written). This one's my favorite.

And like everyone else, I'm trying to convince myself that it's okay--okay to be unsure, okay not to know, okay to acknowledge that I feel a little lost (or a lot lost, even). Okay to admit that even if I am strong, I often don't feel that way.

People keep asking when I plan to graduate from college. The truth is that I don't really know or even care. I finally looked at my credits and figured out that I'll probably be able to graduate sometime in 2012. But I only did that so I'd have a "real answer"to give. I'll get there when I get there. It's kind of hard to pinpoint it when I'm not even sure what "getting there" means to me yet.

I spent the day working on my women's studies final--a series of short essay-length responses to questions about articles we've read throughout the semester. I was geeking out so hard. I loved it. I'm lucky. At least I know that there's still something out there I love, even if I don't quite have a firm grasp on it just yet.

I keep repeating to myself that we're all different--myself included. And we all have our own ways of handling things.

Tragedy, for instance, affects me more profoundly than it does many people, no matter how distant it is from me. And I was surrounded by a lot of it last year. I felt as though I was expected to to push it aside because it wasn't "mine." My friend Liz (who's my age) lost her parents and brother suddenly. A month later, Tracy's house burned down. And three months after that, Sharon's six-year-old daughter drowned in Otsego Lake during a church outing.

I tried to focus on my own shit. At the time, I was very busy with work I didn't really find fulfilling. The trouble wasn't the workload or even the fact that I didn't find it meaningful, but rather, that I couldn't bring myself to admit it. And time was a'wastin'.

Everything that had happened to Liz, Tracy, and Sharon, plus the fact that I was still closeted and thus living dishonestly, made me realize that life's too short. Well-intentioned adults (my parents, professors, etc) kept telling me to chill out because I was only twenty and had all kinds of time to figure shit out. But I had learned the hard way (by attending a funeral for a six-year-old) that you don't know how much (or how little) time you have. No one can really afford to live the way I was living--if you can even call it living.

So this year, I've tried really hard to be honest. I came out to my parents (and just about everyone else who hadn't known). I gave up on editing, transferred colleges, and am undoubtedly happier than I was a year ago.

But since I'm being honest, I'll admit that I'm still scared shitless. I don't really know what's next and know that it's not over because I'm still living and therefore, becoming.

Life is messy. I am messy. Admit it, you're messy too.

It'll be okay.

How I became a feminist

A week or so ago, I was poking around on Twitter and came across a link to this post titled "How I Became a Feminist." And I realized that while I've blogged quite a bit about feminism, I haven't actually written about how I got here in the first place.

I come from a very traditional family. My dad's the breadwinner, and my mom's always done the stay-at-home thing. I like to think that my parents might not have assumed traditional gender roles had they been given the chance to figure out what else was out there, though. They were both raised in very traditional settings, and married young.

Kids worry about all kinds of weird things. And because my parents were the people with whom I spent the majority of my time, I tried to picture myself in their shoes and worried incessantly about what my future would be like. Neither of my parents were born in the United States; they're not native speakers of English. I remember thinking that in order to ever be considered a "real adult," I, like my parents, would have to learn a whole new language/culture. And it scared the shit out of me.

But the funny thing is that in becoming a feminist, I've done exactly that.

Although feminism was not a part of my upbringing, it entered my consciousness when I was still very young--long before I had a word for it. I distinctly remember being in the first grade and going to a friend's house after school to play for a few hours. I was surprised to find a babysitter there instead of my friend's mom. I'd never had a babysitter before, and asked my friend where her mom had gone.

"She's at work," my friend replied (with a tone suggesting I was an idiot for not having known that instinctively).

She didn't know it, but she had, in only three words, eliminated the anxiety I'd felt about my future. I didn't have to grow up to be a stay-at-home mom. Maybe that meant I didn't have to be a mother at all. Maybe I didn't even have to get married. To this day, I think this is the most liberating realization I've ever made: Holy crap, people have all kinds of ways of going about things; there are choices.

From that point forward, I looked for affirmations of what I'd discovered at my friend's house: that as a female, I was equal to males and wasn't limited to gender-specific roles in society. This was hard to do, being that I was an elementary school student with a limited vocabulary. (Feminism? What's that?) But I got lucky anyway. I grew up in the 1990s--a time when women dominated the music scene. My mom was a big Tracy Chapman fan. And I don't even think she paid all that much attention to the socially conscious lyrics, but I couldn't help but take notice. I've always had a fascination with language, and can't deny that those lyrics shaped the perspective from which I viewed the world.

I finally came to identify as a feminist as a high school senior. I have my friend Stephanie to thank for that. She had transferred from Interlochen Arts Academy, where she'd focused on her poetry. That year, I was the editor-in-chief of Looking Glass, the art/literary journal at school, and Stephanie joined my editorial staff. We were also in the same AP literature and creative writing classes.

She and I entered the same poetry contests and submitted our work to the same journals. We were both recognized with Detroit Free Press Writing Awards and placed in the Albion College Michigan High School Poetry Contest. We were on the school poetry slam team, and got to compete at the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island.

Because of that, Stephanie and I got to spend a lot of time traveling around the state together, and I took advantage of every opportunity to pick her brain. I was passionate about writing, but she brought something to hers that was missing from mine: focus in terms of subject matter. She viewed the world through a feminist lens, and was able to articulate everything I'd believed in all my life, but had never had the words for.

Armed with what Stephanie had taught me, I enrolled at SVSU. Not having her around actually gave me the chance to further develop my own views. And the classes I took gave me a safe environment in which to do that.

I took a zillion English classes at SVSU, but none of them had anything about gender or feminism in their titles. Still, many of my professors did an excellent job of integrating feminism into their classes--such an excellent job, in fact, that I craved more and was disappointed when I had trouble finding it. Most of what I learned about feminism during my years at SVSU came from the English classes I took, rather than classes such as The Psychology of Sex, Sexuality, and Gender.

And so I learned firsthand what makes women's studies an interdisciplinary topic. I find it impossible to separate feminism from any of my other interests. It's a mindset, a lifestyle. I don't think I ever "became a feminist," exactly. I just learned that there was a word for my version of common sense. I try my best every day to use that word well and often.

What's funny is that even though I've openly identified as a feminist for quite a few years now, I'm still surprised whenever I hear anyone refer to my "reputation" as such. Maybe that's because of the negative connotation. Again, I don't separate feminism from anything else I believe in or do. It's not like I'm this average, ordinary woman with a "secret life" as a feminist behind the scenes. Please.

I'm still learning, and will be as long as I live. That's what's so incredible about it. I'm in awe of just how much I don't know. Maybe that means I'm still becoming a feminist (which would explain why I can't pinpoint the moment when I "became" one).

On driving and living

I mentioned in an earlier post that I hate driving. Most people think that's because I'm a hippie and driving is harmful to the environment. That's true, but there's much more to it than that.

I hate the act of driving. At first, I was eager to get my license; the idea of independence thrilled me, and I took driver's ed at fifteen like everyone else. But I quickly realized that driving made me incredibly anxious, so after I got my learner's permit, I kind of just "forgot" about it and let it expire. This wasn't a big deal to me until my peers started getting their licenses. At that point, I started to feel like I wasn't measuring up because I had failed to meet this milestone of getting my license at sixteen.

Around that same time (my junior year of high school), everyone was starting to freak out about college applications. My parents and teachers noticed that my GPA/ACT score didn't match my work ethic. I took a ton of AP classes and worked as the editor-in-chief of my school's art and literary journal. But my GPA didn't reflect that because I kept failing my math and science classes.

Okay, so this is sort of thing happens to a lot of people. Not everyone is good at everything. But in my case, the disparity was huge. On paper, I looked like a C student because I'd get A's in one area and F's in the other.

I was born with a condition called Persistent Pulmonary Hypertension, which, from what I've heard and read about it, affects about one in every 1,000 newborns. Basically, I resisted "switching over" to breathing outside the womb (AKA using my lungs). Obviously, those who don't make the switch die, because you can't stay alive if you fail to use your lungs. I'm writing this, so clearly, I made it, but not without the help of a long hospital stay.

I can blame my epically poor vision on the damage that was done to my optic nerve as a result of the oxygen deficiency. I'm legally blind in my left eye. Those who love me affectionately refer to my left eye as "crooked" or "droopy." It's pretty funny-looking, and I actually keep it closed most of the time (those who have ever paid attention to me while I read know this). My glasses seldom leave my face.

I don't know who decided to explore the connection between my difficulty learning to drive, grades, and medical history. But at any rate, in May of 2006 (when I was seventeen), a psychologist came to my high school and administered a ton of tests, among them an IQ test. I'm cynical about IQ tests, but the results were interesting. Verbally, I placed in the 98th percentile (which is pretty damn sweet). Spatially, however, I placed in the 2nd percentile. The psychologist said repeatedly that she had never before seen such a huge disparity. And the disparity was consistent with my grade point average: On paper, I placed in the 47th percentile overall. But that speaks to neither my mad skillz verbally, nor my epic failure spatially.

Armed with those test results, I went to see a neurologist, who ran tests of his own and discovered that the part of my brain responsible for spatial functions had literally shut itself off. This too, he determined, was a result of the oxygen deficiency at birth. This means that literally everything I've ever done spatially, I've learned with parts of my brain not meant to learn those things.

Badass, yes?

People have asked me if I'm bitter about not figuring this out this until I was almost done with high school; I would have been eligible for a whole lot of help had it been discovered earlier. But whatevs. I try not to dwell on it too much, because I can't change how it happened. And besides, because I had no idea that it was "physically impossible" to learn certain things, I learned 'em anyway--or tried my damndest to, at least.

And I did get my driver's license, by the way, in August of 2008. I was nineteen. It's really hard to live in Michigan without one, for one thing. And as much as I love the people in my life, I don't like relying on them for much.

But I really limit my driving. I'm terrified of freeways, which makes visiting my friends in Saginaw difficult. When I lived there, getting my car to join me took the effort of both my parents. My dad would drive my car up there, and Mom and I would follow in hers. They'd leave my car at my apartment, and both drive home together. If nothing else, I'm very lucky that they've always been so accommodating. They tell me they'll continue to be as long as I try and always do my best. And I don't know how to live any other way.

It's weird. I realize more and more that the only reason I'm such an anxious person is because I have failed over and over again to fit into boxes. There are so many ways in which my life hasn't played out the way I was told it would. I didn't get my license at sixteen. I won't graduate from college within a four-year time frame. Grandma's dream of watching me get married and have babies is totally never going to be fulfilled.

I wish I could say that I'm happy and comfortable with all of this, but I'll admit that I'm not. I'm working toward that. But it's all part of the process of "unlearning." My own experiences have taught me that many of us are a lot braver/stronger than we'll give ourselves credit for. Sometimes it takes tremendous amounts of strength just to keep our heads above water and do what's expected of us as people.

Getting my driver's license was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Accepting/respecting my own personal limits is still really hard for me. But it's part of life, so I do it.

And this is why I'm such a big fan of small victories. Because they're not really small victories at all. Living isn't easy. But as long as we're doing it, we've got reason to celebrate.

Growing up in Grosse Pointe, AKA "capitalism personified"

I live in Grosse Pointe Park, Michigan, and have most of my life. A friend of mine once referred to it as "capitalism personified."

Accurate? Yeah, basically. But weirdly enough, as a kid, I thought we were poor. Why? Because the majority of my wardrobe came from K-Mart. Smart move on my mom's part; why buy nice clothes for kids who are just going to outgrow them anyway?

Anyone who has seen where I live knows that I sure as hell didn't grow up poor--not even close. Or if we are, in fact, drowning in debt (which I'm pretty sure we're not), we're still living really comfortably. My sister and I each have our own balcony off our respective bedrooms, for crying out loud.

It was weird to grow up thinking I was poor and then realize that I actually have way more than many (if not most) people do.

That realization came long before I moved to Saginaw in 2007. Actually, I don't doubt that my awareness of it factored into my decision to move to Saginaw, of all places. I guess I just wanted something a little more normal.

Let me explain why it is I once thought we had so little. Many of the kids around here had literally everything and more (not that I can remember now what kinds of toys were popular in the '90s). Plus, virtually every vacation from school (Christmas break, mid-winter break, spring break) meant I'd chill at home with my books and toys while my classmates went to Hawaii or Florida or in some cases, Europe. Obviously, that wasn't everyone's experience. But enough people did that on a regular basis that I felt as though I didn't measure up.

I realized quite some time ago just how ridiculous that is.

So I've really struggled with the fact that I'm from Grosse Pointe. I try to avoid talking about it. The "Hometown" section of my Facebook page is blank. It is something that I'm almost cripplingly insecure about. Just talk to anyone who has ever asked me where I grew up. I beat around the bush like nobody's business. I get really defensive about it. Shit, even right now, I'm being defensive about it.

One of the best books I've ever read is _Let Me Stand Alone: The Journals of Rachel Corrie_. Corrie grew up in Olympia, Washington, was incredibly aware of how privileged she was, and understood that as someone who had so much, she had a certain amount of responsibility to those who weren't as fortunate as she was.

And I think part of why I struggle with my hometown is that as much as I hate this place, I've been here long enough to notice that a decent number of the people who live here realize this about themselves. Some of the most generous and creative people I know live in Grosse Pointe.

And so I try not to make generalizations about this place, because I know that for one thing, there are some great people here. And furthermore, I know that it's hard to be a great person in a place like this. I'm definitely not there yet. I'd like to be. I'm working toward it. But I'm definitely not there yet. If I was, I wouldn't find it necessary to write a blog post like this. I wouldn't give disclaimers to my friends who visit from Saginaw, and I wouldn't get offended when those people comment on what they see when they come here.

What prompted me to write about this in the first place: Last summer, a friend of mine who lives in Cass City told me that he had to volunteer at a Tigers game for his fraternity, and asked if he could crash at my place rather than drive all the way back home so late at night. I told him that he could. It was nice; we drank beer, caught up on things, blah, blah, blah.

Last night he told me that he plans to drop out of college (he's currently a student at SVSU). I told him that I wasn't sure how I felt about that. For some reason, whenever I hear that a friend of mine plans to drop out of school, I feel tremendously sad, even though some of the most amazing people I've ever met have done that (including my mom). I didn't mean to place judgment on his decision, but I think that's how he took it. He said something like, "Well, unlike you, I didn't grow up in Grosse Pointe. I'm not as lucky as you are. I don't have as many options as you had when you fell apart last year. I have nothing, and no one, to fall back on."

I can't disagree with that; he's right. I had a lot to fall back on: namely parents who are both financially and emotionally supportive.

If nothing else, though, at least I can say that I'm aware of how much I have, and am trying to make the most of that. Let's be honest: A year ago, I was profoundly unhappy and seriously considered dropping out of college to live in the Yukon with my mom's free-spirited older sister. But I realized how much of a cop out that would be, especially given that I have the resources to stay in school. So I stayed.

At least Grosse Pointe didn't shelter me. At least it didn't make me greedy. I'm getting there. But I still have all kinds of guilt that I need to get rid of. And I know that until I can rid myself of that guilt, I can't really live the full kind of life I'm striving for, which means, ultimately, feeling lucky instead of guilty, and using what I have to help those who don't have it.

I love my life because I love the people in it. That's really all it comes down to.

I felt kind of deflated all day.

I guess I was just cranky because this week is kicking my ass. And when school tries to destroy me, it's quite natural of me to think that I ought to let it. Who the hell am I? When am I ever going to graduate? I don't really know what I want to do with my life, and I need to get my shit together because I've been in college for quite a while, blah, blah, blah.

But all day long, I was reminded that the people in my life ROCK. And I feel the need to mention a few of them specifically:

A local radio station, 93.9, has been giving away tickets to see Michael Franti and Spearhead in concert and meet the band before the show. Michael Franti just happens to be on the list of people I'd like to high five before I die, so I spent the day trying to win tickets. I found out this evening that quite a few people called the station for me: My mom, Emily, Ben, Amberleigh, AND Amberleigh's mom (who I've never even met). The cool thing? Ben and Amberleigh don't even live in the listening area; Ben's in Saginaw and Amberleigh's in Lake City. But they streamed it online, waited for the DJ to tell them to call in, and gave it a shot. (I didn't win the tickets, but that's beside the point.)

When I got home from class this evening, I saw that I had received a Halloween card in the mail from my good friend Sarah. We attended the Controlled Burn Seminar together, and although we've never lived in the same city, have always done a great job at keeping in touch. In the card, she mentioned that she plans to move to Kentucky soon, and tried to convince me to join her. She knows I'd never go for something like that, so she wrote, "Oh, I know what you're thinking. But Kentucky needs people like us. We could go there and raise hell; there isn't a single Planned Parenthood within an hour of Bowling Green."

On Facebook, I found a status that one of my friends had posted: "Can anyone give me a good reason to go to college?"

Someone who used to teach English at SVSU left a comment: "Because you will meet some very cool people there. And if you take the right classes, you will learn something and find your passion."

I "liked" her comment and she added, "The funny thing was that I was going to say 'people like Amelia Glebocki.'"

Well, shucks.

Just after I read that, a former roommate of mine (with whom I'm not particularly close), sent me a Facebook message to let me know that she thinks of me every Tuesday night while she's in class, because the class she's taking is called "Teaching the Art of Writing." And writing has always been my thing.

That was nice to hear. I needed that to remind me that I'm not as aimless as I feel. I love deeply--so deeply, in fact, that people who don't even consider themselves close friends of mine can't help but think of me whenever they find themselves in certain situations. Maybe that means I'm obnoxiously vocal about what I think/feel. Or maybe in a more positive light, it just means I'm passionate, intense. And with how much I've questioned myself in the past year or so, it's nice to know I still have that in me, and that I'm surrounded by people who have that in them too.

I freaking love you people. Sorry if I don't tell you that enough.

DeRoy Lecture Series: Heather Love, "The Stigma Archive" at Wayne State

I miss out on everything, because I'm taking 17 credits and have a part-time job. But if I had time, I'd go to this (which means if you have time, you should go to this).

Here's what was written in the e-mail I received via Wayne State's women's studies listserv; the attached flier may be hard to read.

Thursday, October 21, at noon
English Department Lecture Room: 5057 Woodward, room #10302
Heather Love, "The Stigma Archive"

Heather Love is an Associate Professor of English at the University of Pennsylvania. Her areas of interest include gender studies and queer theory, the literature and culture of modernity, affect studies, film and visual culture, psychoanalysis, race and ethnicity, sociology and literature, and critical theory. She is the author of _Feeling Backward: Loss and the Politics of Queer History_ (Harvard, 2007) and the co-editor of a special issue of New Literacy History ("Is There Life after Identity Politics?"). She is the editor of a special issue of GLQ ("Rethinking Sex," forthcoming later this fall) about the work of anthropologist Gayle Rubin and the feminist roots of queer theory. This year she is a Fellow at the Stanford Humanities Center working on a book on the source materials for Erving Goffman's 1963 book, _Stigma: On the Management of Spoiled Identity_.

Love Your Body Day; wear purple

Today is Love Your Body Day. I didn't even know about it until earlier this week, when I received an e-mail about it via Wayne State's women's studies listserv. I found some great posters on this blog: Communications of a Fat Waitress. I've included one with this post, but if you'd like to see more, you can click on the link; they're hanging up all over campus. :-)

Also, I'm wearing purple today in rememberance of the recent LGBT suicides. I hope you are, too.