I don't believe that the future is set in stone.
I believe that each choice we make shapes the path ahead of us, often in small and subtle ways.
I have always wanted to travel. To see new places and meet new people. I get irritated if I have to say in the same place for too long, and I've always dreamed about just taking a detour and explore areas I've never seen before.
There has, however, always been a fear in the back of my mind. A fear of judgement, anger, and alienation that has prevented me from seeking the horizon. Too many times being told not to wander off, not to talk to strangers. Don't touch that, don't taste that.
And now I sit here, in Ireland, hundreds of kilometers away from everything I once knew, and I am no longer afraid. I talk to strangers much more frequently than I used to. I dare taste food I've never tried. I dare drink wine I've never enjoyed. I explore my surroundings with the same curiosity I remember I used to have. I am nervous about getting a job - not because of the work or the people, but because I might see even less of Boy.
I have bought two dresses that are an inch shorter than my comfort zone, and one dress a bit tighter than I'd like, but I feel amazing about wearing all three.
The sun is shining outside and there's a breeze running in the trees. The only reason why I am not outside in the sun is because I haven't gotten around to buying sun screen yet.
Now, I am going to make myself some tea, and enjoy the warmth in the shade out on my balcony.
DFTBA
tisdag 30 juni 2015
söndag 28 juni 2015
BPJ Inc: Pickle Juice
The other day, I stumbled upon this wonderful video by the ever fabulous Tyler Oakley, and I felt that I wanted to write an extended comment on it. My problem was that I could only come up with thoughts and words I had already used and I really don't like to repeat myself.
Then two major Things happened. First, I was linked to this blog post by my newest (dare I say) online friend, Ben Patrick Johnson. And then SCOTUS made the radical decision that all humans should have the same rights when it comes to love. I know! Totally crazy, right? Suddenly, I knew what to write about that hadn't been talked about ad nausiem in this blog.
Background
When I moved to Dublin, I was all "New Place, New Life, New Everything!!" and I became a tad bit obsessed when it comes to being me, or who I believed me to be. Turns out that I am not an in-your-face-this-is-me person, so I dropped the pretense and feel much better about it. I have been handed something I've dreamed about for as long as I can remember, and I will not squander this opportunity by being someone I'm not or accept anything less than I deserve.
Topic
Pickle Juice. Most of you are probably going "Huh?" but I love the analogy of pickle juice (see Tyler Oakley's video linked at the top of this post). Life can be very easy or very hard, but it usually falls somewhere in between. We can take a path of least resistance and just float along, even if it hurts our hearts and our souls, or we can take a stand and say "This is me! You don't get to decide if I want the pickle or the brine."
Part1.
To be, that is what Pride is about. That is what the SCOTUS decision and the Irish referendum Yes victory stand for. It's telling people that everyone has the right to choose if they want the pickle, the brine, or the jar. It's standing up, knees bruised from being pushed down time and time again, and making our voices heard in a cacophony that would drown us out. The struggle is far from over. Yes, same-sex marriage has won two important victories in short order, but more countries are left. There are governments who still refuse equal rights to all people living within their borders. The LGB part of the initialization has won great ground, but the T, the I, and the Q are left, standing in the dust, waiting.
Part 2.
A part of "getting over ourselves" is conquering the sissyphobia. Recently, I saw an amazing video in which Van Darkholme, the Top of the Doms at the Armory in San Fransisco, describing, in depth, what makes him not give a single lick about what other people think of him, and it all boils down to him knowing who he is. He knows his work and who he is, which makes him able to either bring much stronger men to their knees, or scream in a pitch made to break glass during the Ice Bucket Challenge. He talks about owning your weaknesses, so that they can't be used against you, and throwing a "So what?" at those who would point out perceived flaws. Maybe this is what makes the Aussie rugby players mentioned yesterday on BPJ's twitter not care who they touch, hug, or pile up on. And maybe this is how we make our lives easier. We own our weaknesses and our strengths, we stand together when others would push us down, and we say no to the brine in that jar when we want the pickle.
DFTBA
Then two major Things happened. First, I was linked to this blog post by my newest (dare I say) online friend, Ben Patrick Johnson. And then SCOTUS made the radical decision that all humans should have the same rights when it comes to love. I know! Totally crazy, right? Suddenly, I knew what to write about that hadn't been talked about ad nausiem in this blog.
Background
When I moved to Dublin, I was all "New Place, New Life, New Everything!!" and I became a tad bit obsessed when it comes to being me, or who I believed me to be. Turns out that I am not an in-your-face-this-is-me person, so I dropped the pretense and feel much better about it. I have been handed something I've dreamed about for as long as I can remember, and I will not squander this opportunity by being someone I'm not or accept anything less than I deserve.
Topic
Pickle Juice. Most of you are probably going "Huh?" but I love the analogy of pickle juice (see Tyler Oakley's video linked at the top of this post). Life can be very easy or very hard, but it usually falls somewhere in between. We can take a path of least resistance and just float along, even if it hurts our hearts and our souls, or we can take a stand and say "This is me! You don't get to decide if I want the pickle or the brine."
Part1.
To be, that is what Pride is about. That is what the SCOTUS decision and the Irish referendum Yes victory stand for. It's telling people that everyone has the right to choose if they want the pickle, the brine, or the jar. It's standing up, knees bruised from being pushed down time and time again, and making our voices heard in a cacophony that would drown us out. The struggle is far from over. Yes, same-sex marriage has won two important victories in short order, but more countries are left. There are governments who still refuse equal rights to all people living within their borders. The LGB part of the initialization has won great ground, but the T, the I, and the Q are left, standing in the dust, waiting.
Part 2.
A part of "getting over ourselves" is conquering the sissyphobia. Recently, I saw an amazing video in which Van Darkholme, the Top of the Doms at the Armory in San Fransisco, describing, in depth, what makes him not give a single lick about what other people think of him, and it all boils down to him knowing who he is. He knows his work and who he is, which makes him able to either bring much stronger men to their knees, or scream in a pitch made to break glass during the Ice Bucket Challenge. He talks about owning your weaknesses, so that they can't be used against you, and throwing a "So what?" at those who would point out perceived flaws. Maybe this is what makes the Aussie rugby players mentioned yesterday on BPJ's twitter not care who they touch, hug, or pile up on. And maybe this is how we make our lives easier. We own our weaknesses and our strengths, we stand together when others would push us down, and we say no to the brine in that jar when we want the pickle.
DFTBA
onsdag 17 juni 2015
SAD on a bus
It's been almost three weeks and it's time to get off your lazy ass and get that job you've been eying since you arrived in Dublin. Jerk!Brain is constantly nagging you to do something besides lounching around, never mind that you clean, go grocery shopping, and are exploring your surroundings. Time to earn your keep.
So you get on the computer and look up what you need to get an income. The actually-having-a-job part aside, you need a PPS, a bus card, and a bank account.
So you get the bus card and look up how to get a PPS.
You need to already have a job to be allowed to apply for PPS, and you need a PPS to open a bank account, and you need PPS and a bank account to get a secure employment.
This is when your anxiety is making itself known and reminds you about all the horrible, judgy things humans do to each other. Along with anxiety, Jerk!Brain is singing a little song about how you can't do anything, that you're a failure, and a lazy failure at that.
To make things an ocean of worries better, the PPS office is about an hour on a bus from your current residence. Then you have to go back to get the bank account, before being able to hand in the papers to Employer. You don't like buses. Sitting on a bus with x amount of strangers makes you uncomfortable and wakes up your social anxiety, your general anxiety's lazy cousin.
But you will get it done, because you know you will feel indestructible when you are done. You will shove a sock in Jerk!Brain's tirade and you will lull your anxieties back to sleep.
Just not today. Because today, you are allowed to feel small and insecure and lonely, so you can be strong and successful tomorrow.
DFTBA
So you get on the computer and look up what you need to get an income. The actually-having-a-job part aside, you need a PPS, a bus card, and a bank account.
So you get the bus card and look up how to get a PPS.
You need to already have a job to be allowed to apply for PPS, and you need a PPS to open a bank account, and you need PPS and a bank account to get a secure employment.
This is when your anxiety is making itself known and reminds you about all the horrible, judgy things humans do to each other. Along with anxiety, Jerk!Brain is singing a little song about how you can't do anything, that you're a failure, and a lazy failure at that.
To make things an ocean of worries better, the PPS office is about an hour on a bus from your current residence. Then you have to go back to get the bank account, before being able to hand in the papers to Employer. You don't like buses. Sitting on a bus with x amount of strangers makes you uncomfortable and wakes up your social anxiety, your general anxiety's lazy cousin.
But you will get it done, because you know you will feel indestructible when you are done. You will shove a sock in Jerk!Brain's tirade and you will lull your anxieties back to sleep.
Just not today. Because today, you are allowed to feel small and insecure and lonely, so you can be strong and successful tomorrow.
DFTBA
tisdag 16 juni 2015
BPJ Inc: Colors of the rainbow
This month is Pride month and all over the world, in city after city, people are showing their Pride. Pride in who they are. Pride in who they love.
Gay Pride.
But the rainbow has more colors than one. We hear about gay pride, homophobia, same-sex marriage rights. Yes, these are important. Yes, these are things we have to stand by or against (in the case of homophobia). But there is more that has to be done, more people who are being persecuted for who they are.
Trans* individuals being killed and no news are shown about it.
Bisexuals being hunted and ridiculed.
Pansexuals being persecuted and raped to "fix" them.
Asexuals being told that they're broken, wrong, or don't exist.
And under it all, a simmering, festering pool of racism.
I was born privileged. I am a white female, born and raised in one of the most liberal countries in the world. I grew up with three meals per day, drinkable tap water, and clean clothes. I married a white guy who grew up in the same town as I did. So, what sets us apart? I am ace, he's bi. That's it. None of us have to go through pain based on things we can't change. Sure, I was bullied, but not because of my skin color, eye color, ethnicity, origin, or sexuality.
And that is why I am an ally. I can't presume to know the pain non-white-appearing people go through, but I can reach out a hand and say "I am on your side." As I recognize my privilege, I use it to give voice to those who have no voice.
I can't know your pain the way you do. What I can do is stand by you, be the person backing you up against the bullies. The voice behind you that tells you that you're worth more. Not because you need a white woman telling you this, but because the bigots need to meet resistance from people the they think are with them.
In this world, I, as a white-appearing cisgender female, has a much louder voice than a non-white person, and especially Trans* individuals. I intend to use it.
And in three days, I will be down town in Dublin, sipping a Guinness, and cheering as the Dublin Pride Festival opens for 2015. Because love is as diverse as the colors of a rainbow, and we need to be damn proud of that.
DFTBA
Gay Pride.
But the rainbow has more colors than one. We hear about gay pride, homophobia, same-sex marriage rights. Yes, these are important. Yes, these are things we have to stand by or against (in the case of homophobia). But there is more that has to be done, more people who are being persecuted for who they are.
Trans* individuals being killed and no news are shown about it.
Bisexuals being hunted and ridiculed.
Pansexuals being persecuted and raped to "fix" them.
Asexuals being told that they're broken, wrong, or don't exist.
And under it all, a simmering, festering pool of racism.
I was born privileged. I am a white female, born and raised in one of the most liberal countries in the world. I grew up with three meals per day, drinkable tap water, and clean clothes. I married a white guy who grew up in the same town as I did. So, what sets us apart? I am ace, he's bi. That's it. None of us have to go through pain based on things we can't change. Sure, I was bullied, but not because of my skin color, eye color, ethnicity, origin, or sexuality.
And that is why I am an ally. I can't presume to know the pain non-white-appearing people go through, but I can reach out a hand and say "I am on your side." As I recognize my privilege, I use it to give voice to those who have no voice.
I can't know your pain the way you do. What I can do is stand by you, be the person backing you up against the bullies. The voice behind you that tells you that you're worth more. Not because you need a white woman telling you this, but because the bigots need to meet resistance from people the they think are with them.
In this world, I, as a white-appearing cisgender female, has a much louder voice than a non-white person, and especially Trans* individuals. I intend to use it.
And in three days, I will be down town in Dublin, sipping a Guinness, and cheering as the Dublin Pride Festival opens for 2015. Because love is as diverse as the colors of a rainbow, and we need to be damn proud of that.
DFTBA
fredag 12 juni 2015
My body, my rules
I don't like to be touched by strangers. Hell, in most cases, I'd rather not shake hands with people. It has nothing to do with fear of bacteria or sweat or anything like that. I just don't like it when people I don't know get that close to me.
I don't even hug members of my Family of Origin that often. I kiss my mom on the cheek when I leave them, but I have been doing that since I was a toddler, so that won't likely stop. I hugged my parents, my sister, and my dad-in-law when I left for Dublin (that was the first or second time in 9 years I've hugged dad-in-law). That was also the first time in years I have hugged my dad.
I have been living in Ireland for little over a week now, and I jump and cringe slightly every time someone touches my back or shoulder. I know it's natural for them, and I know it's a sign of "I know you're here, I am grateful that you're here, and I listen to you" but it still feels strange. It's just something I'll have to get used to. I know that if I told people to not touch me, they would stop. Only one person so far has given me any doubts about their intentions with the touching, and I will not let that creepy guy disrupt my perception of the people I have met.
This article perfectly outlines why a child should never have to hug someone they don't want to hug. In addition, there needs to be more articles about why you shouldn't touch people who don't want to be touched. However, especially children need to be shown that their bodies are their own and they decide who touches them, just as I, as an adult, decide who gets to touch me.
Because when I say that I want to get used to getting patted on the shoulder, it's not because I feel a need to fit in to this new culture. It is because I want to get rid of the feeling of oh-shit-I'm-going-to-get-hurt that rises in me whenever a stranger gets close to me. My personal space is huge. If anyone I don't know well comes within 4 feet of me, I feel uncomfortable.
It's not from having a bamboo stick swishing at my head during martial practice or one too many beach balls to the face or even playing tennis and being served in the stomach. Those things I can handle with ease. I have been poked by fencing swords and I have crashed in ski slopes and in ski lifts. The only part I can't handle is the knowledge that I can't trust most people with my boundaries, and that is painful. Every touch from a stranger says "I can do this and you won't stop me". Every stroke, every pat, every handshake enforces a kind of I-take-too-much-space thinking, and that is what I need to unlearn. I need to learn to stand firmly in my own space, on my own foundation, and proudly say "Here I am. I decide who gets close to me and why. I will not shy away from friendly touches and I will loudly oppose unwanted touching. Because my body is my own, and Jerk!Brain can burn in a volcano for all I care."
DFTBA
I don't even hug members of my Family of Origin that often. I kiss my mom on the cheek when I leave them, but I have been doing that since I was a toddler, so that won't likely stop. I hugged my parents, my sister, and my dad-in-law when I left for Dublin (that was the first or second time in 9 years I've hugged dad-in-law). That was also the first time in years I have hugged my dad.
I have been living in Ireland for little over a week now, and I jump and cringe slightly every time someone touches my back or shoulder. I know it's natural for them, and I know it's a sign of "I know you're here, I am grateful that you're here, and I listen to you" but it still feels strange. It's just something I'll have to get used to. I know that if I told people to not touch me, they would stop. Only one person so far has given me any doubts about their intentions with the touching, and I will not let that creepy guy disrupt my perception of the people I have met.
This article perfectly outlines why a child should never have to hug someone they don't want to hug. In addition, there needs to be more articles about why you shouldn't touch people who don't want to be touched. However, especially children need to be shown that their bodies are their own and they decide who touches them, just as I, as an adult, decide who gets to touch me.
Because when I say that I want to get used to getting patted on the shoulder, it's not because I feel a need to fit in to this new culture. It is because I want to get rid of the feeling of oh-shit-I'm-going-to-get-hurt that rises in me whenever a stranger gets close to me. My personal space is huge. If anyone I don't know well comes within 4 feet of me, I feel uncomfortable.
It's not from having a bamboo stick swishing at my head during martial practice or one too many beach balls to the face or even playing tennis and being served in the stomach. Those things I can handle with ease. I have been poked by fencing swords and I have crashed in ski slopes and in ski lifts. The only part I can't handle is the knowledge that I can't trust most people with my boundaries, and that is painful. Every touch from a stranger says "I can do this and you won't stop me". Every stroke, every pat, every handshake enforces a kind of I-take-too-much-space thinking, and that is what I need to unlearn. I need to learn to stand firmly in my own space, on my own foundation, and proudly say "Here I am. I decide who gets close to me and why. I will not shy away from friendly touches and I will loudly oppose unwanted touching. Because my body is my own, and Jerk!Brain can burn in a volcano for all I care."
DFTBA
onsdag 10 juni 2015
BPJ Inc: Voice to the past
When I was 15 my English teacher told us to write a letter to our 25 year old selves. Nothing I wrote about then has come to pass and I'm both glad and disappointed. Yesterday, I was shown some amazing letters from guys to their younger selves, and I decided to write one of my own.
Dear Johanna,
Right now you're 15 years old and you're still wondering if you'll ever get out of the small town you're living in. No, living isn't really the right word. You're floating along, going through the motions of breakfast-school-homework-TV-sleep repeat.
Your dreams are huge, looking to the horizon, towards the drama institutes of Stockholm and Gothenburg. You have carried the dream of acting for eight years now, and you are still bitter that you chose a science major instead of embracing the fact that you got accepted to the drama major for high school. You are drawing dragons in your notebooks, littering the pages with quotes about death, life, strength, loneliness, and friendship. The flickering light fixtures in the class room are just a backdrop, as are the dish soap smelling desks and the teacher you stopped listening to about five minutes into the class.
Life will not turn out the way you imagine.
You dreamed about playing on the grand stages of the world, making a living from acting and singing., mediocre singing voice be damned.
You longed to run away, to disappear, and to see what the rest of the world has to offer.
You longed to snuggle up next to someone, to belong to someone, and to feel safe. You craved connection with others, but felt too stupid, too different, and too jaded to bother.
Being 15 years old, you listen to the people in your class talk about hot guys and hot girls. You have just sat through the fourth sex ed class in as many years, and you are just as confused about why people bother with it as always.
But you know what? Life gets so much better.
Sure, in seven months you'll start dating your first boyfriend. You'll get engaged to him, even though he is an abusive ass, and it will be through the help of others you get free.
Ex-boyfriend number two will be another moron.
You will fall in love with people all across the gender spectrum, and you'll be even more confused.
But! When you are 20 years old, you'll meet Boy. He will help you find your bearing. Your friend/sibling Jackson will help you find out more about your sexuality. Your friend/sister Sakuya will teach you how to trust again.
As I write this letter to you, my younger self, I am sitting in my bed, looking at the small park outside my window, in an area of Dublin called Swords. I married Boy in Sep 2014 after 8.5 years of dating.
I am not an actress. I am a writer.
I got away from the pain and the longing and the loneliness. I found my footing, and while my feet hurt from landing on them so many times, and my knees ache from getting up, I survived. We survived, and life is pretty damn amazing.
Yours sincerely,
Johey
Dear Johanna,
Right now you're 15 years old and you're still wondering if you'll ever get out of the small town you're living in. No, living isn't really the right word. You're floating along, going through the motions of breakfast-school-homework-TV-sleep repeat.
Your dreams are huge, looking to the horizon, towards the drama institutes of Stockholm and Gothenburg. You have carried the dream of acting for eight years now, and you are still bitter that you chose a science major instead of embracing the fact that you got accepted to the drama major for high school. You are drawing dragons in your notebooks, littering the pages with quotes about death, life, strength, loneliness, and friendship. The flickering light fixtures in the class room are just a backdrop, as are the dish soap smelling desks and the teacher you stopped listening to about five minutes into the class.
Life will not turn out the way you imagine.
You dreamed about playing on the grand stages of the world, making a living from acting and singing., mediocre singing voice be damned.
You longed to run away, to disappear, and to see what the rest of the world has to offer.
You longed to snuggle up next to someone, to belong to someone, and to feel safe. You craved connection with others, but felt too stupid, too different, and too jaded to bother.
Being 15 years old, you listen to the people in your class talk about hot guys and hot girls. You have just sat through the fourth sex ed class in as many years, and you are just as confused about why people bother with it as always.
But you know what? Life gets so much better.
Sure, in seven months you'll start dating your first boyfriend. You'll get engaged to him, even though he is an abusive ass, and it will be through the help of others you get free.
Ex-boyfriend number two will be another moron.
You will fall in love with people all across the gender spectrum, and you'll be even more confused.
But! When you are 20 years old, you'll meet Boy. He will help you find your bearing. Your friend/sibling Jackson will help you find out more about your sexuality. Your friend/sister Sakuya will teach you how to trust again.
As I write this letter to you, my younger self, I am sitting in my bed, looking at the small park outside my window, in an area of Dublin called Swords. I married Boy in Sep 2014 after 8.5 years of dating.
I am not an actress. I am a writer.
I got away from the pain and the longing and the loneliness. I found my footing, and while my feet hurt from landing on them so many times, and my knees ache from getting up, I survived. We survived, and life is pretty damn amazing.
Yours sincerely,
Johey
onsdag 3 juni 2015
BPJ Inc: Being true
The other day, I wrote a post I ended up deleting after it was published to the blog. It was not because of something someone said or did, but because it wasn't true to me. I am not a hateful person. I am not an angry person. Writing a post that's just an angry spew of words is not who I am and it's not honest. And that is what this post is about. Being honest to yourself.
Background
For most of my life, I've tried very hard to fit in, to belong, many times to the point of diminishing myself in order to not be a bother. (See the The Roles I Play series) I still have some major self-destructive tendencies, as in, when someone I like and/or admire show interest in me, I turn into a puppy desperate for attention, and they eventually leave, because I am annoying. I am getting better at pulling back and not drown people in attention. It is easier now than it was, because now, I am more honest about who I am, both in relationship with others and towards myself.
Not until recently did I notice that when I am honest I get positive attention, but when I just do what I think is expected, I get mostly negative attention.
I don't hide myself anymore. I don't spill everything at any time, but what I do share is true.
Topic
So much of society is about fitting into a mold made by norms, expectations, and traditions. Those who don't fit into this shape are pushed and shamed and stigmatized until they either fit in or are discarded. And yet, we admire those who rise above the expectations. Who dare be more than society dictates. Those who don't fit into the norm, and refuse to be squashed into a mold.
Tess Holliday - The model without the typical model body.
Caitlyn Jenner - The athlete who can finally live her own life.
Aydian Dowling - The Men's Health cover model.
Just a few names, but their stories inspire because they're true. We're brought up on the idea that we should follow the norms, yet our heroes are those who dare to break the norms, to challenge the status quo, and do it without being false.
Humans have an instinctual ability to spot inconsistency. We prefer consistent narratives, be they true or false. It is, however, easier to be consistent in a honest story, and humans also have an ability to spot dishonesty. We might get uncomfortable when faced with some truths, especially about ourselves, but honesty helps us soar. Being true to ourselves helps us let go of burdens, even if we don't share the truths with others.
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
- Polonius, "Hamlet"
DFTBA
Background
For most of my life, I've tried very hard to fit in, to belong, many times to the point of diminishing myself in order to not be a bother. (See the The Roles I Play series) I still have some major self-destructive tendencies, as in, when someone I like and/or admire show interest in me, I turn into a puppy desperate for attention, and they eventually leave, because I am annoying. I am getting better at pulling back and not drown people in attention. It is easier now than it was, because now, I am more honest about who I am, both in relationship with others and towards myself.
Not until recently did I notice that when I am honest I get positive attention, but when I just do what I think is expected, I get mostly negative attention.
I don't hide myself anymore. I don't spill everything at any time, but what I do share is true.
Topic
So much of society is about fitting into a mold made by norms, expectations, and traditions. Those who don't fit into this shape are pushed and shamed and stigmatized until they either fit in or are discarded. And yet, we admire those who rise above the expectations. Who dare be more than society dictates. Those who don't fit into the norm, and refuse to be squashed into a mold.
Tess Holliday - The model without the typical model body.
Caitlyn Jenner - The athlete who can finally live her own life.
Aydian Dowling - The Men's Health cover model.
Just a few names, but their stories inspire because they're true. We're brought up on the idea that we should follow the norms, yet our heroes are those who dare to break the norms, to challenge the status quo, and do it without being false.
Humans have an instinctual ability to spot inconsistency. We prefer consistent narratives, be they true or false. It is, however, easier to be consistent in a honest story, and humans also have an ability to spot dishonesty. We might get uncomfortable when faced with some truths, especially about ourselves, but honesty helps us soar. Being true to ourselves helps us let go of burdens, even if we don't share the truths with others.
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
- Polonius, "Hamlet"
DFTBA
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