Hidden From Plain View: July 2014

When I read that the Malaysian Air flight from Amsterdam to Kuala Lumpur was shot down over Ukrainian air space yesterday, it saddened me. Such a tragic loss of life. And only a few months following the weird disappearance of Malaysian Air flight 370. Then, you throw in the fact that this was not a technical malfunction. This plain was intentionally shot down. That worried me, especially given the things that have been going on in Ukraine over the last few months. Today, when I learned that there were approximately 100 of the top HIV/AIDS researchers in the world on that plane, it freaked me out. Freaked.me.out. It made me question the inherent value of a life. There were 298 people on that plane. Two hundred ninety-eight people lost their lives yesterday. As I contemplated what happened, I wondered if it was wrong for me to grieve more deeply for the loss of those 100 than the loss of the other 198. Grieve is probably not the right word. It's not fair for me to call it that as I didn't know any of these people personally, nor do I have HIV/AIDS or know anyone with the disease, at least not to my knowledge. In some ways, I am bothered by my lack of concern for the 198. It's not that I am saddened by their deaths. I am. I don't know anything about those people. Sure, some of them were the flight crew of the plane, but other than that, I have absolutely no idea about the lives of any of these people. I don't know how old they were, occupations, family members, nothing. What I do know is that there were around 100 people on that plane that could have, given time, resources, and testing, continued the advancement for HIV/AIDS treatment. Perhaps a cure. Nobody can say for sure. Perhaps that is the sorrow that I feel. The reason why I am so much more deeply saddened by the lives of those 100 than their 198 plane mates. I think about the thousands of people directly impacted by the deaths of the 298 passengers. Family, friends, colleagues, classmates. When I think about the people indirectly impacted by the loss of those 100 researchers, it gives me chills. Millions upon millions. Maybe that is the real tragedy.

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Ninety-four

I love kids, but dang.
They can be mean. Not just to
kids, but adults, too.

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Ninety-three

Snail mail on its way.
I love hand written letters.
It is a lost art.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Unpublished chapters

Typically when I write, I write on the computer. Occasionally, I doodle, or write a hand written note, but I have stopped writing for the sake of writing with pencil/pen and paper. I miss it, though. A few weeks (months?) ago, I started writing on a piece of paper about a quote I found. I came across that piece of paper this evening, and figured now was the time to actually write, errr, type, about it.

"We all have chapters we would rather keep unpublished" - Downton Abbey

I don't (didn't?) watch Downton Abbey. I have no desire to change that anytime in the future, but I absolutely love this quote. I think it encompasses why I began this blog nearly three years ago.

Every once in a while, I think maybe it is time to share this blog. And then I realize how many people and scenarios in my life have been discussed here. Not by name, but the people in my life would know if I blogged about something involving them. That is probably my bad, because sometimes those are not my stories to share. At the same time, though, the entire purpose of this blog was to write, honestly, about everything happening in my life. Sometimes things that happen in my life involve other people. If they didn't, that would be a problem.

I think my fear is that if people that know me knew about this blog, I would no longer feel the freedom to write honestly about my life. Not that I would lie, but I think part of honesty is full disclosure, and I wouldn't feel the freedom to do that anymore.

Things like the fact that ever since sister-in-law 3 had a miscarriage, I have seriously questioned everything about my faith. It freaks me out, and I don't like it, but at the same time I can't seem to find resolution for it either. It's an incredibly isolating place to be. Part of that, perhaps, is that I haven't talked about it. I don't feel like I can. Maybe I don't want to, I don't know.

Or the fact that I am grossly overweight. After losing 40 lbs two years ago, I have gained it all back. I eat healthfully during the day. Seriously. Lunch today was a salad with homemade dressing (mustard, honey, vinegar, and apple sauce; weird I know), celery, peanut butter, and cherries. I had a snack of almonds and walnuts (approximately 1/2 of a serving of each) and a That's It bar. And then I get home and I graze. And then I graze some more. And when I am done grazing, I take a break, and then get back to it. Tonight it was ice cream. Normally I don't keep ice cream in the house, but it was on sale and I'm on my period. I also had leftovers from Chili's. Not exactly healthy.

The frequency with which I whine about being single has to get old for people. Hell, I get sick of it myself. Not the singleness but the frequency of my whining. Whining doesn't help the situation. If anything it makes it worse because I am focusing on it.

We live in a world where people want to be known. Where people want to be validated. And while, yes, a lot of that validation seems to come from fake, one-sided, highlights via Facebook, I would never want this to be seen as the opposite side of that. I would never want my honesty or vulnerability to be used for validation.

So yes, sometimes I have chapters I would rather keep unpublished. I don't think there is anything inherently wrong with that, but part of that is that I can't keep them unpublished from myself. Those parts of my life exist. They are part of was, who I am now, and part of the person I am becoming.