My name is Heather, and I am a sporadic nester.
This is closely linked to my penchant for never unpacking everything. These unfortunate habits are likely rooted in my childhood and the multiple addresses I associate with "home."
When my roommates and I moved a few months ago, it took me a minimum of one week to put any nails in the wall. Nails bring with them a sense of permanence - once I hang that picture up, it's not coming down until I pack it up.
It's been 2 months since I put two nails in the wall. Tonight I added 3 more.
I'm not sure why it feels so significant. I do know that tonight, my house just became a little more of a home.
Baby steps, Heather. Baby steps.
October 23, 2011
October 21, 2011
The Consequences of the Profession Which I Chose
The following conversation took place between myself and the grandma of the boy I nanny:
G: "Were there a lot of women at the conference?"
H: "Well, I thought there were a lot of women there, but then I saw how many women were at the conference next door. That was A LOT of women."
G: "How are you ever supposed to meet men?"
Is it just me, or are all grandmas the same?
G: "Were there a lot of women at the conference?"
H: "Well, I thought there were a lot of women there, but then I saw how many women were at the conference next door. That was A LOT of women."
G: "How are you ever supposed to meet men?"
Is it just me, or are all grandmas the same?
June 29, 2011
Contradictions
Sometimes, I feel like a bundle of contradictions.
From far away, my hair looks light brown. Look close enough and you will see dark brown, light brown, blonde, and red hairs...and even a gray or two. I blame it on the stress.
I often have ideas of grand adventures around Minnesota and the world, but any hankering for spontaneity is almost always overtaken by routine.
I also have a desire to sunbathe my skin out of the "pasty white European" stage. This desire is countered by my epidermis' dislike for ultraviolet rays. Just an hour in partly cloudy conditions gets me hives, sun poisoning, or both.
The first and third contradictions are largely on the surface and ultimately not that important in the long run. However, the second coincides with one of the biggest contradictions I have been mulling over for the past months:
I am an introvert who wants to be an extrovert.
Our society values extroversion, the ability to go out conquer the world head-on all while maintaining handfuls of professional and personal relationships. I want to fit into this society, to be able to function as boisterous, fearless go-getter. As I mature and gain further understanding into how I function, how God designed me, I am more aware of the challenge in being true to myself and functioning successfully in America. How do I reconcile my desire for a mostly quiet, personal, introspective existence with the desire to be more?
In the past few days I have found a multiple blog posts and articles on this topic. While they don't provide answers, they provide a certain affirmation and a much clearer direction for my inner turmoil. As I read some of these I wanted to get up an do a happy dance - there are other people out there who are like me, who understand what it is like and are reaching out with the knowledge they have!
10 Myths About Introverts - the blog post that started this phenomenon for me. I followed the link in Adam Young's tweet and haven't looked back since.
Is Shyness an Evolutionary Tactic - an article written by Susan Cain (the author of blog below) for the New York Times. It challenges our society's rejection of introversion as normal, especially in the medical, education and business realms, while highlighting influential historical figures who were introverts.
QUIET: The Power of Introverts - a blog that I have been devouring ever since I discovered it yesterday. Every post gives me so much to think about and strives to make introversion just as valuable as extroversion.
I still face the challenge every day of deciding when and where I get to be my introverted self and when it is time to push myself beyond any self-imposed boundaries. I don't want my penchant for being quiet and shy to be an excuse for spending too much time at home as it was for so many years. There are adventures to be had, people to meet, new things to discover - but there will always be time for quiet as well.
From far away, my hair looks light brown. Look close enough and you will see dark brown, light brown, blonde, and red hairs...and even a gray or two. I blame it on the stress.
I often have ideas of grand adventures around Minnesota and the world, but any hankering for spontaneity is almost always overtaken by routine.
I also have a desire to sunbathe my skin out of the "pasty white European" stage. This desire is countered by my epidermis' dislike for ultraviolet rays. Just an hour in partly cloudy conditions gets me hives, sun poisoning, or both.
The first and third contradictions are largely on the surface and ultimately not that important in the long run. However, the second coincides with one of the biggest contradictions I have been mulling over for the past months:
I am an introvert who wants to be an extrovert.
Our society values extroversion, the ability to go out conquer the world head-on all while maintaining handfuls of professional and personal relationships. I want to fit into this society, to be able to function as boisterous, fearless go-getter. As I mature and gain further understanding into how I function, how God designed me, I am more aware of the challenge in being true to myself and functioning successfully in America. How do I reconcile my desire for a mostly quiet, personal, introspective existence with the desire to be more?
In the past few days I have found a multiple blog posts and articles on this topic. While they don't provide answers, they provide a certain affirmation and a much clearer direction for my inner turmoil. As I read some of these I wanted to get up an do a happy dance - there are other people out there who are like me, who understand what it is like and are reaching out with the knowledge they have!
10 Myths About Introverts - the blog post that started this phenomenon for me. I followed the link in Adam Young's tweet and haven't looked back since.
Is Shyness an Evolutionary Tactic - an article written by Susan Cain (the author of blog below) for the New York Times. It challenges our society's rejection of introversion as normal, especially in the medical, education and business realms, while highlighting influential historical figures who were introverts.
QUIET: The Power of Introverts - a blog that I have been devouring ever since I discovered it yesterday. Every post gives me so much to think about and strives to make introversion just as valuable as extroversion.
I still face the challenge every day of deciding when and where I get to be my introverted self and when it is time to push myself beyond any self-imposed boundaries. I don't want my penchant for being quiet and shy to be an excuse for spending too much time at home as it was for so many years. There are adventures to be had, people to meet, new things to discover - but there will always be time for quiet as well.
May 20, 2011
My Heart Was Home Again
The concept of "home" has come up frequently in discussions with family, friends, and this box I type my thoughts into. I've mentioned before that home, for me, is the two houses my grandparents have inhabited for my entire life. Realizing what home is to me is one thing, but now I am trying to wrap my head around the fact that, this weekend, I am losing one of those homes. People get older, health slowly declines, plans are made - before you know it, one of the most stable parts of your childhood is crumbling before your eyes.
The house on Johnson Lane was not just a house. It was the house where Grandma and Grandpa lived, where there was always an open bed, homemade goodies in the freezer, where shelves and walls were lined with cherished keepsakes and tokens of our heritage. It was the house where Larsons, Ericksons, and Becks gathered for shared meals, favorite songs, Ole & Lena jokes, silly string wars. It was the house where we worked together to make lefse, donuts, and pies. It was the house filled with outdated wallpaper, carpet, and light fixtures that I will always remember.
Those 4 walls contain more than just a house. It was a home - not just to me, but to an entire family. And while I may get teary at the thought of saying goodbye to that home forever, I know that my treasure is not here on earth, "where moth and rust destroy" (Matthew 6), but in heaven. I will keep clinging to that truth while I allow myself to mourn this loss. I think that letting this material thing go will be one important step in the process of eventually saying goodbye to one of the people who made that home so significant.
The house on Johnson Lane was not just a house. It was the house where Grandma and Grandpa lived, where there was always an open bed, homemade goodies in the freezer, where shelves and walls were lined with cherished keepsakes and tokens of our heritage. It was the house where Larsons, Ericksons, and Becks gathered for shared meals, favorite songs, Ole & Lena jokes, silly string wars. It was the house where we worked together to make lefse, donuts, and pies. It was the house filled with outdated wallpaper, carpet, and light fixtures that I will always remember.
Those 4 walls contain more than just a house. It was a home - not just to me, but to an entire family. And while I may get teary at the thought of saying goodbye to that home forever, I know that my treasure is not here on earth, "where moth and rust destroy" (Matthew 6), but in heaven. I will keep clinging to that truth while I allow myself to mourn this loss. I think that letting this material thing go will be one important step in the process of eventually saying goodbye to one of the people who made that home so significant.
February 21, 2011
Snuggles, Anticipation, and Choices
After one week away from work, I sat on the couch this afternoon savoring my snuggle time with the sweet, sleeping baby boy in my arms. As I thought about the next few days of my life, I realized that I am stumbling headfirst into an incredibly agonizing unknown. I like knowing what is going to happen. I like having all of the answers. That is when I feel safe.
In the past few weeks and months I have learned (and re-learned) a few lessons:
Tomorrow, I will be spending the day at the hospital with my parents while we await answers and relief for my mom. Wednesday, I will be helpless to do anything but pray while baby M has surgery to repair the hole in his heart. I cannot stop, fix, or prevent any of the hardships that have or will come. I cannot promise myself happy endings without some struggles along the way.
I can choose to hope that God will be with those I love as well as myself. I can choose to remember that "the steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end" (Lamentations 3:22).
In the past few weeks and months I have learned (and re-learned) a few lessons:
- My feelings are a legitimate part of my existence that need to be acknowledged, not bottled up. Not so easy when the first 20 or so years of your life were spent mastering the art of buried feelings.
- I am not self-sufficient. The introvert in me wishes I could travel the rough patches of life on my own without having to rely on anyone else. If I don't have to rely on anyone else, then I can't be disappointed, right? Then the voice of Truth cuts through my pride, usually via the Psalms, and reminds me that I need hope, strength, counsel, love that does not come from myself but from God and the friends he has blessed me with.
Tomorrow, I will be spending the day at the hospital with my parents while we await answers and relief for my mom. Wednesday, I will be helpless to do anything but pray while baby M has surgery to repair the hole in his heart. I cannot stop, fix, or prevent any of the hardships that have or will come. I cannot promise myself happy endings without some struggles along the way.
I can choose to hope that God will be with those I love as well as myself. I can choose to remember that "the steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end" (Lamentations 3:22).
January 15, 2011
A Synopsis of My Life Consisting of Varied and Succinct Thoughts
You know you live in Minnesota when you walk a mile over snow-packed sidewalks on a brisk winter evening...and LIKE IT.
Status symbols have a frustratingly overwhelming influence on Americans, myself included. Sometimes it seems like the only way to really break free would be to move far, far away. Who's with me?
Our lives have been built around the ability to drive anywhere in our own vehicles. Get a nice house in the suburbs, take the freeways to work, go to a church half an hour away, buy a month's worth of groceries at once...you get my point. This makes my desire to become a bicycle commuter slightly more challenging.
During my annual crocheting binge, I discovered that I have been crocheting the wrong way. Probably explains why my previous projects have been so difficult.
Someday, I want to dive off a cliff into a beautiful blue ocean. One thing stands in my way: I am almost 24 years old and I don't know how to swim.
My taxes are more complicated than ever before this year, but I think I'm going to do them myself just to show the people that charge too much money to do it for you.
Saturday Night Live makes me laugh. Laughter is good.
Baby M got an awesome new toy...if you press all 6 of the instrument buttons then it plays each instruments' part of a classical song! Unfortunately, I am more entertained by this than the baby.
An hour of my morning was spent studying for book club at Panera with a cup of coffee. It was like being in college again - I loved studying in coffee shops!
For some reason, Roseville never gave Victoria Street sidewalks. Combine a lack of sidewalks with poorly plowed snow and fast cars and you get my slightly unnerving one block walk from the bus stop to work. Drivers of Roseville, thank you for not running me over...yet.
Status symbols have a frustratingly overwhelming influence on Americans, myself included. Sometimes it seems like the only way to really break free would be to move far, far away. Who's with me?
Our lives have been built around the ability to drive anywhere in our own vehicles. Get a nice house in the suburbs, take the freeways to work, go to a church half an hour away, buy a month's worth of groceries at once...you get my point. This makes my desire to become a bicycle commuter slightly more challenging.
During my annual crocheting binge, I discovered that I have been crocheting the wrong way. Probably explains why my previous projects have been so difficult.
Someday, I want to dive off a cliff into a beautiful blue ocean. One thing stands in my way: I am almost 24 years old and I don't know how to swim.
My taxes are more complicated than ever before this year, but I think I'm going to do them myself just to show the people that charge too much money to do it for you.
Saturday Night Live makes me laugh. Laughter is good.
Baby M got an awesome new toy...if you press all 6 of the instrument buttons then it plays each instruments' part of a classical song! Unfortunately, I am more entertained by this than the baby.
An hour of my morning was spent studying for book club at Panera with a cup of coffee. It was like being in college again - I loved studying in coffee shops!
For some reason, Roseville never gave Victoria Street sidewalks. Combine a lack of sidewalks with poorly plowed snow and fast cars and you get my slightly unnerving one block walk from the bus stop to work. Drivers of Roseville, thank you for not running me over...yet.
December 19, 2010
There's No Place Like Home
In the midst of my Sunday evening cleaning and organizing, the song issuing from my laptop speakers brought on an interlude of introspection.
I drove 300 miles from the place I call home
Upon hearing those lyrics I began thinking. Thinking about how my past roommates have always used "home" to refer to wherever their parents are. Thinking about how "home" was wherever I happened to be living. Thinking about what really felt like home.
Some families put their roots down in one place, one town, one house, and stay there for years. Other families move from place to place for whatever reason. My family fell into the second category. We moved a lot. I could count on the fact that eventually we would be packing everything up and moving to some other place.
That's what each new dwelling became: some other place. Each time we moved I felt less connected with our "home." Even today, I never finish unpacking when I move. There are always boxes that sit in a closet waiting for the next time we load up the moving truck. I want to decorate, find a place for everything, make the space my own, but there is always a little voice that says, "What's the point? You'll just have put it back in a box when your lease is up."
My sisters and I have often talked about the two places that we identify as home, the two places that have never changed: our grandparents' homes. Little things change as they do in every house, but the "Grandpa and Grandma's house" that I have known since I could first remember will always be there. Every time I visit my grandparents, I know that the beds will be in the same place, the cereal will be in the same cupboard, the same grandfather clock will chime, the same radio station will turn on at 5 AM, the same family heirlooms will be prominently displayed, the same sliced cheese will be in it's special container, the same playhouse will be visible in the backyard, the same nightlight will be in the bathroom, the same pictures will be on the wall.
That is when I am home.
I drove 300 miles from the place I call home
Upon hearing those lyrics I began thinking. Thinking about how my past roommates have always used "home" to refer to wherever their parents are. Thinking about how "home" was wherever I happened to be living. Thinking about what really felt like home.
Some families put their roots down in one place, one town, one house, and stay there for years. Other families move from place to place for whatever reason. My family fell into the second category. We moved a lot. I could count on the fact that eventually we would be packing everything up and moving to some other place.
That's what each new dwelling became: some other place. Each time we moved I felt less connected with our "home." Even today, I never finish unpacking when I move. There are always boxes that sit in a closet waiting for the next time we load up the moving truck. I want to decorate, find a place for everything, make the space my own, but there is always a little voice that says, "What's the point? You'll just have put it back in a box when your lease is up."
My sisters and I have often talked about the two places that we identify as home, the two places that have never changed: our grandparents' homes. Little things change as they do in every house, but the "Grandpa and Grandma's house" that I have known since I could first remember will always be there. Every time I visit my grandparents, I know that the beds will be in the same place, the cereal will be in the same cupboard, the same grandfather clock will chime, the same radio station will turn on at 5 AM, the same family heirlooms will be prominently displayed, the same sliced cheese will be in it's special container, the same playhouse will be visible in the backyard, the same nightlight will be in the bathroom, the same pictures will be on the wall.
That is when I am home.
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