Community, Intentional or Not.

So, I haven't written much in a long time. I've been busy doing a lot of other stuff, mostly nothing, but nothing usually keeps me pretty busy. I did some other stuff too, like dated a guy for a minute and went to work on time a few days here and there and, oh- I ran a 10K. That was pretty legit. So, you see, I've been busy.

Mostly I just haven't been in the mood to write. I'm a fickle blogger. A ficklogger. A flogger. A blockle. Whatever.

But today I want to write some thoughts on community. I'm a fan of community. In fact, after I finish writing this I'm gonna go officially become a fan of community on facebook. I grew up in a strong, loving, motley crew-funky bunch, church community as a child. These people loved me and the loved each other and they were messy and weird and broken and wacky and brilliant and talented and odd and creative and committed to each other and to the thing that brought them together that was the church. They came to my homecoming coronation and to my school plays. I went to their children's piano recitals. We went to pool parties and church retreats and potluck dinners and weddings and Fourth of July fireworks together. In the days before cell phones, they were who I called when my mom was not at home and I was in the school nurse's office with a 103 fever. These people were family. Old home movies prove it.

I felt like I mattered to these people. And I felt useful. Being one of two teenagers in the church, I was the valued child care staff/nursery worker. I knew I had a role. I also felt like the things of my life were important to them, like when they announced in the service that I had been elected Junior class president. They knew who my boyfriend was and when I got a new dress and when I decided to change my hairstyle. They noticed me.

Years of social work have formed in me the opinion that we are all literally dying of lonliness. We live in these separate existences, in these separate homes, in these separate lives, not connected, not knowing our neighbors, not wanting to be seen or heard or known or touched by those around us. We go from work in our cubicles to home in our apartments, careful to not raise the volume too loud on our TV's lest we become aware of the other that lives a drywall sheet away from us. We wear our ear buds and avoid eye contact and mumble polite hello's to our coworkers in the kitchen as we heat up our leftovers. And we wonder why the hell we are all so fucking depressed.

I started investigating this idea of living such independent, isolated lives and realized that this is a strictly American, late-20th century lifestlye. Up until the last few generations, everyone lived in community. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, random friends and loved ones all lived in the home together. Before this, whole tribes lived in community and everyone was valuable and had a role. If you ran fast, you became a hunter. If you liked babies, you took care of babies. If you had a knack for cooking or growing stuff or figuring out what herbs cured things you became the cook or the gardener or the witchdoctor for the tribe. Births were celebrated because it meant another valuable hunter or warrior or gardener. From the moment you were born you brought distinct value to the tribe.

A great deal of the depression and anxiety that I see as a therapist comes from feeling separate or unsupported or alone or unloved. We don't feel connected. We don't feel like we matter. We don't know how to experience intimacy with ourselves or with others. Some of the kids I work with have no other conversations with an adult all week long until they come to see me. Their parents are busy working 2 jobs each to support the lifestyle that they live or are too depressed and undersupported themselves to be present with their children.

I started looking into what is now called Intentional Community several years ago. Turns out there are other people who siing the praises of community like I do and have banded together to form their own communes. Some are religious and some are not. Some are formed around the ideals of sustainable and organic living, some are not. Some live in communal homes while others live in seperate homes and share communal yards and pools and playgrounds. My friends caught wind of my commune intentions and said I should start my own, which we would call The Radish Commune where we would all grow our own vegetables and grow our armpit hair and take showers once a month.

The Radish Commune never came to fruition, so I moved home a year ago because I could not live alone. I was working two jobs to support my family and I had become a stressed out, maniacal woman. I was angry and sleep deprived and so stressed out that I could not enjoy the 900$ 2-bedroom apartment I was living in that was what my second job was paying for. I was hating my life, hating my son, hating my job, hating my neighbors, hating myself, hating the "rat race" that I had chosen but felt victim to. In a moment of clarity, I quit my second job and moved home so that I could live and breathe again.

Now, I will not lie and tell you that I love everything about living with my parents. There are obvious drawbacks, some of which have made me wonder how I can somehow earn an extra grand a month so I can get the fuck out of here. In fact, I spent the better part of the last year dying to move out again. However, I think I may have unintentionally created the commune that I was looking for. This community of me, my son, my mother and my father is a lumpy bumpy crew. We don't like eachother a lot of the time. In fact, we really drive each other all crazy. Jack writes on my mom's walls. My dad is just socially awkward. My mom listens to the TV so loud that I can hear it down by the pool. And I am the messiest person in the world and leave my shit everywhere.

But.

Jack has three playmates instead of one. I have dinner cooked for me every night. Mom has her own personal kitchen cleaner upper. Dad has someone to play baseball with in the backyard. Jack has two other laps to snuggle into when his mommy is mad at him. My mom has someone to vent to about her annoying coworker. Dad has a buddy to keep him company at the lawnmower every Saturday morning. I have built in babysitters for almost any night of the week. Jack and I also get a HUGE house with a HUGE yard with a pool and a sandbox and a big driveway for bikes and a swingset and a garden and treefort. Jack can actually go outside and play, whereas most kids I know have no outside and so they stay inside and play videogames all day. Why would I trade this for an apartment with a yard that can barely fit a platic kiddy pool? Because my mom fusses at me for not getting enough sleep? Because my dad makes bacon every morning that smells up the whole house? Because I can't have boys over? Because it FORCES us to be in relationship and to work through shit that we haven't had to work through sinceI moved out at 17?

Well, yeah. That's a big one. But that's the stuff of community. We are forced to deal with one another. We are forced to live with eachother, even though it's uncomfortable. But there's comfort in that. They know I'm annoying. They know I'm messy. They know I have a certain set of values that are vastly different than theirs. This has created conflict - which we've had to WORK THROUGH. And it's been ugly and uncomfortable and has made me want to move away from it all on more than one occasion. But somehow I find it comforting. It's the real life stuff of unconditional love.

Tonight my friends all came over and cooked burgers that we topped with bacon and guacamole and grilled onions and cheese. My dad played with the kids while my mom and my girlfriends made the food. I (of course) was mixing margaritas. The dads sat chatting and rocking babies. I realized that The Radish Commune had come to life, here, at my childhood home except that it's more like The Guacamole Bacon Cheeseburger Commune, which I would much rather be a member of anyways.

It's not cool to tell people I live with my parents. But it works for me. It allows me to breathe and slow down and actually enjoy my community. It allows me to feel supported and held and contained. It allows me to give my son a yard and a open sky and a tree fort and solitude that comes from being able to get space away from his mom if he wants it. Is it easy? No. Does it make me miss solitude and personal space like CRAZY? Yes. Does it force me to stretch into giving and receiving unconditional love like I never thought I was capable of? Yes. Does it make me have to grow up and be an adult around my parents? You bet. Was it awkward when my parents came home when they were supposed to be away and found my having sex on the living room floor? Umm... yeah. Would I want any of this to be different? Not right now.

It's worth the 22 minutes.

FREEDOM TO CHOOSE WINS
AT THE AMERICAN PAVILION EMERGING FILMMAKERS SHOWCASE AT THE 2009 CANNES FILM FESTIVAL

I'm so proud of my classmates and professors who made this film- and the healing experience at the womens' prison- possible. Congrats on your win!

"This uplifting film chronicles the extraordinary triumph of the human Spirit. Freedom to Choose shares the story of 46 graduate volunteers from USM's Master's Program in Spiritual Psychology and 160 inmates at Valley State Prison for Women who came together for a radical experiment that would change them all -- forever."

Freedom to Choose short form from University of Santa Monica on Vimeo.

Whining is my kryptonite.

Jack just might be the most valuable asset to the United States Department of Defense, but they don't know it. He might just be able to solve the whole Middle Eastern crisis if the US military would just tap into his innate skill as a torture device. Waterboarding? Bah! Who needs waterboarding? We've got Jack Rice! Ten minutes left alone in a room with him whining about milk or Thomas or juice or the sandbox will send anyone, ANYONE to give up even the most important of national secrets.

The first thing I hear every morning is his whining. He wakes up grumpy and fussy and crying and goes to bed doing the same thing. He doesn’t know how to ask for anything without whining for it and it is driving me CRAZY. I want to grab a roll of duct tape and wrap it around his mouth and not take it off until he’s five and can ask for things in full sentences.

I totally understand that he is just doing what he knows how to do. I know that I should ignore the whining and tell him to ask for things in a nice voice. And I do. About 47 times a day. And I begin to lose my patience with it at about time 16. It’s getting really old. Really, really old. Lately all I can think about is taking a vacation to a land where toddlers don’t exist.

Most of the time, including right now, I feel pretty lame about how little patience and tolerance I have for the stuff of motherhood. I have to bite my tongue, every morning, when he refuses to get dressed and all I want to do is throw my own little tantrum. I have to force myself to remain level when he stands at my legs begging, up up up, after I’ve just stepped out of the shower. Never mind the fact that he stood at the door of the shower crying for me the entire time I was in the shower. Or that he opened the bathroom door and now my mom, dad, and their guests now know every curve, roll, and dimple on my body.

It feels as though his level of need for me is beyond what I can give. And I am starting to resent him. I know that his whining and needing and clinging and fussing is his way of letting me know that I am not present enough with him but the truth is… I’m not. I don’t want to be. I want to get as far away as possible from that black hole of need and not-enoughness. It is exhausting. It is so draining. And so I sort of stiff arm him, energetically, and he goes insane with fear and abandonment.

It hasn’t helped that he’s been sick for two weeks which just amplifies all of the icky stuff like the whininess, lack of sleep, and generally fussy mood, and leaves very little room for fun. I need to have fun with my son again. I want to enjoy being a mom with him instead of feeling like its all chore, work, and annoyance. I want to share a moment with him where we’re both surprised and delighted and enjoying the company of one another. I don’t expect every day to feel this way and I certainly don’t expect to like everything about being a parent. But I am ready to like him again. And like me around him.

Moms? Dads? Tell me you’ve been here and tell me what you did to get out.

I'm sorry, but this just makes me giggle.

Indulging myself.

I'm feeling like connecting with you, my huge readership, but not feeling like writing anything poignant. Usually I like to have a point, but right now I just want to be a pretentious blogger who thinks that you, my huge readership, wants to be updated on my life. So, indulge me. It'll fuel my ego.


1. My TV has made it's way out of the hallway closet and back into my bedroom. I'd really like to be one of those people who thinks that mindless activities are useless and embraces life with such fervor that they refuse to waste time in front of the boob tube. But I'm more of a think-Real-Housewives-of-Atlanta-is-ridiculously-good-TV kind of person.

2. I am really freaked out by being back in touch with old high school acquaintances and friends on Facebook. In fact, I have had to found myself wanting to censor what I would normally write on here because I am afraid that these high school people will find their way here from Facebook. Christian High School creates a certain type of person and I was one of them for many years. And I know what I thought then about people like me now. (see number 3)

3. I have been getting a lot of booty lately. Like, a lot. My libido has returned with some kind of force similar to that of Hurricane Katrina. I went on a three year hiatus after Jack was conceived, and when I say hiatus I mean Sahara Desert. No interest. None. Zilcho. Howevah... four guys in one week may indicate the winds have changed.

4. I have lost over 30 pounds since August 1. Which is awesome. I'm hoping to have a super svelte body by this time next year. And run a marathon. And have a nice relationship with my body instead of a mean, abusive one.

5. Awesome thing number 2? I quit smoking. Well, mostly. I might indulge in one while sipping on a long island every once in a while.

6. (did I really admit to having sex with four different guys in one week?)

7. I love this song and I can't explain why. However, every time I listen to it I feel sorta sad that Cher isn't the one who wrote it and performed it originally. And not because I think she would sound better or anything, but because in my mind she gets pissed (and then sad) that it is not her song.

8. I have finally decided that I am a messy person. I just CAN NOT keep a room/office/desk/house clean. I clutter things up in a matter of hours. I am tired of trying to hide it from you in fear that you will think less of me. I'm messy. There.

9. I have been harboring a grudge about the fact that I don't get the same kind of admiration, acknowledgement and benefits that military personnel get. Now, before you decide I am a total bitch, hear me out. I have been working for the county of San Diego for close to 10 years now providing mental health services to children and families. The work that my coworkers and I have done have most likely prevented many children from becoming drug addicts, criminals, from repeating the patterns of abuse on their own children, or otherwise becoming a drain on taxpayer funds and resources. Instead, what we have done is create healthy, contributing members to our community. I have two masters degrees. I make 17 dollars an hour, which is the most I have ever made in this field. It is the most I will make as (due to my extensive experience) I have reached my salary cap with the county-funded program I work for. I know I am a valuable asset to the country. And yet, I get no recognition. No housing allowance. No health benefits. No college tuition. No tax-free groceries. I am bitter, I know. But for once, I would like someone to say to me, "Thank you for your service." And then give me $1000 a month to pay the rent.

10. I am irrationally refusing to get into the whole Twilight phenomenon. I don't know why I do this. I did it with Sex and the City, too, and now I own the entire series on DVD, plus the movie. And those are the only DVD's I own. So, I know I'll eventually get off my weird issue, whatever it is, and be swooning along with the rest of the nation before long.

Right on, sista. Right on.

"Okay. So Prop 8 passed. Alright, I get it. 51% of you think that I am a second class citizen. Alright then. So my wife, uh I mean, roommate? Girlfriend? Special lady friend? You are gonna have to help me here because I am not sure what to call her now. Anyways, she and I are not allowed the same right under the state constitution as any other citizen. Okay, so I am taking that to mean I do not have to pay my state taxes because I am not a full citizen. I mean that would just be wrong, to make someone pay taxes and not give them the same rights, sounds sort of like that taxation without representation thing from the history books.Okay, cool I don't mean to get too personal here but there is a lot I can do with the extra half a million dollars that I will be keeping instead of handing it over to the state of California. Oh, and I am sure Ellen will be a little excited to keep her bazillion bucks that she pays in taxes too. Wow, come to think of it, there are quite a few of us fortunate gay folks that will be having some extra cash this year. What recession? We're gay! I am sure there will be a little box on the tax forms now single, married, divorced, gay, check here if you are gay, yeah, that's not so bad. Of course all of the waiters and hairdressers and UPS workers and gym teachers and such, they won't have to pay their taxes either.Gay people are born everyday. You will never legislate that away.Oh and too bad California, I know you were looking forward to the revenue from all of those extra marriages. I guess you will have to find some other way to get out of the budget trouble you are in.…Really?When did it become okay to legislate morality? I try to envision someone reading that legislation "eliminates the right" and then clicking yes. What goes through their mind? Was it the frightening commercial where the little girl comes home and says, "Hi mom, we learned about gays in class today" and then the mother gets that awful worried look and the scary music plays? Do they not know anyone who is gay? If they do, can they look them in the face and say "I believe you do not deserve the same rights as me"? Do they think that their children will never encounter a gay person? Do they think they will never have to explain the 20% of us who are queer and living and working side by side with all the citizens of California?I got news for them, someday your child is going to come home and ask you what a gay person is. Gay people are born everyday. You will never legislate that away.I know when I grew up gay was a bad word. Homo, lezzie, faggot, dyke. Ignorance and fear ruled the day. There were so many "thems" back then. The blacks, the poor ... you know, "them". Then there was the immigrants. "Them.” Now the them is me.I tell myself to take a breath, okay take another one, one of the thems made it to the top. Obama has been elected president. This crazy fearful insanity will end soon. This great state and this great country of ours will finally come to the understanding that there is no "them". We are one. We are united. What you do to someone else you do to yourself. That "judge not, lest ye yourself be judged" are truthful words and not Christian rhetoric.Today the gay citizenry of this state will pick themselves up and dust themselves off and do what we have been doing for years. We will get back into it. We love this state, we love this country and we are not going to leave it. Even though we could be married in Mass. or Conn, Canada, Holland, Spain and South Africa, this is our home. This is where we work and play and raise our families. We will not rest until we have the full rights of any other citizen. It is that simple, no fearful vote will ever stop us, that is not the American way.Come to think of it, I should get a federal tax break too."-Melissa Etheridge

Happy Halloween... A little bit late.