There is one thing I have learned over the past 11 years--you have to have faith to get you through the bad times in life. When I say this to people around me I get two reactions. The most common is this sarcastic nose snort, the shrugging of the shoulders and the retort, "Yeah, well I don't really believe in all that stuff and I seem to do just fine." The second reaction I get is the immediate nodding of the head and the response, "Absolutely--I don't know how I would have made it through all these hard times without knowing that God has a plan for me."
The first time I realized my need for faith was 11 years ago when I was 5 months pregnant with my daughter. An ultrasound revealed what appeared to be a chromosomal abnormality. The doctor's initial reaction was that the baby would die. I went home devastated and for the first time in my life I prayed. I mean I really prayed. I had always thought of myself as a Christian, but I didn't go to church much and I didn't own a Bible. I only talked to God when I wanted money or for a hangover to end quickly.
For the next several months I would pray everyday. I read my new Bible and looked for a sign from God--anything to tell me that my baby would be okay.
I could not have survived raising a child with a disability without faith. I could not have survived watching my husband deploy to 2 combat tours in Iraq without faith. I could not have survived the reality that I married a liar without faith. I would not be as successful as I am as a single mother of 2 in graduate school if I did not have faith.
Sometimes my faith is strong and sometimes I am weak. Sometimes I am mad at God for making my life so hard and other times I am grateful to God for believing in me more than I believe in myself.
I was going to write this blog about my son's first taste of communion wine at church this weekend--it was hysterical to watch him rub his nice church shirt on his tongue in hopes of getting rid of the bad taste in his mouth. But instead I typed up something serious. Who knows why.
Love,
Kim
Monday, February 28, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Performance Art
Last night I attended a lecture at SCAD by a fairly well-known performance artist named Marina Abramović. There were the usual introductions by other artists about how great her work is and how everyone at the MOMA thinks she is the grandmother of performance art. She began her lecture and she seemed very charming and brilliant. I soon got comfortable and I was ready to learn what she was all about.
She began showing films of some of her earlier work from the 70s. Most of the clips were of her and another man totally naked and doing stunts that had a sort of Jack Ass quality to them. One clip showed them running into each other over and over. Apparently the artistic affect was supposed to be the sound of their naked bodies making a loud SMACK as their flesh made impact. The man was larger so he kept knocking her down repeatedly. She would get back up and they would take another run at each other. This went on and on. Every time she crouched back up on her toes to get up off the floor I thought about the Seinfeld episode where Jerry states that there is "good naked" and "bad naked." This was so "bad naked."
Then there were the clips of them screaming in each other's face over and over and she kept asking the sound guys to turn up the volume (did I mention that they did this over and over?) I'll try to keep that image in my head the next time I'm running around the house yelling at the kids in the morning. "No sweetie, Mommy's not mad that you refuse to eat your breakfast and get ready for school. Mommy's just practicing for her upcoming performance art piece at the MOMA called "Mama's Mad." I'm sure it will be interpreted by all the critics as brilliant for my ability to make my morning rants an analogy to my inner feelings about oppressive men and society and how as women we are taught to take our anger out on our children.
After 30 more minutes of watching films of this artist slapping her naked body into people and objects I get up and leave the theater before the presentation ends. I hate to be one of those slow-minded folks who look at art and say "I just don't get it," but I can honestly say "I just don't get it."
I want to get it, and on some levels I do get it. I want to be with the cool crowd and stand around in weird clothes snapping my fingers to the cool beat and feeling all funky with the notion that I totally get what the artist is all about. But I have a weak stomach. I'm the kind of gal who goes to the carnival sideshow to see the fat lady or the tattoo guy--not the freak who can hammer nails into his head.
So now I will retreat into my simple life but I will walk away from this experience with a new perspective on my life. Whenever I begin to feel overwhelmed with the daily trials of my life, I will pretend for a moment that my life is just a scene from my performance art show and that there are hundreds of weirdos standing around nodding their beret covered heads at the brilliance of my show.
She began showing films of some of her earlier work from the 70s. Most of the clips were of her and another man totally naked and doing stunts that had a sort of Jack Ass quality to them. One clip showed them running into each other over and over. Apparently the artistic affect was supposed to be the sound of their naked bodies making a loud SMACK as their flesh made impact. The man was larger so he kept knocking her down repeatedly. She would get back up and they would take another run at each other. This went on and on. Every time she crouched back up on her toes to get up off the floor I thought about the Seinfeld episode where Jerry states that there is "good naked" and "bad naked." This was so "bad naked."
Then there were the clips of them screaming in each other's face over and over and she kept asking the sound guys to turn up the volume (did I mention that they did this over and over?) I'll try to keep that image in my head the next time I'm running around the house yelling at the kids in the morning. "No sweetie, Mommy's not mad that you refuse to eat your breakfast and get ready for school. Mommy's just practicing for her upcoming performance art piece at the MOMA called "Mama's Mad." I'm sure it will be interpreted by all the critics as brilliant for my ability to make my morning rants an analogy to my inner feelings about oppressive men and society and how as women we are taught to take our anger out on our children.
After 30 more minutes of watching films of this artist slapping her naked body into people and objects I get up and leave the theater before the presentation ends. I hate to be one of those slow-minded folks who look at art and say "I just don't get it," but I can honestly say "I just don't get it."
I want to get it, and on some levels I do get it. I want to be with the cool crowd and stand around in weird clothes snapping my fingers to the cool beat and feeling all funky with the notion that I totally get what the artist is all about. But I have a weak stomach. I'm the kind of gal who goes to the carnival sideshow to see the fat lady or the tattoo guy--not the freak who can hammer nails into his head.
So now I will retreat into my simple life but I will walk away from this experience with a new perspective on my life. Whenever I begin to feel overwhelmed with the daily trials of my life, I will pretend for a moment that my life is just a scene from my performance art show and that there are hundreds of weirdos standing around nodding their beret covered heads at the brilliance of my show.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Happy Birthday to Me
Dear Friends,
I turned 36 today. I always dread my birthday--it reminds me how lonely I am and how I have not achieved the things I thought I would. But today was different. My phone started ringing early this morning and I received several text messages from well wishers telling me "Happy Birthday!" Of course Facebook does a good job reminding everyone that today is your birthday.
Maybe today is different because I feel different from last year. No, I don't feel older. I'm sure I look older. But that doesn't even matter to me. I feel lighter today--and I'm not talking about my weight either.
After two years, I finally received my judege-signed divorce papers on Monday night. I kept thinking to myself that I didn't need those papers to feel divorced, but I was so wrong. Now I know that the nightmare marriage is finally over. I don't have to ever go back to that life again.
I know it makes my kids sad, but I've learned that as long as I am happy then they will also be happy.
So now what? I'm divorced and 36 and my job is listed as "grad student." I guess that would depress some people, but it makes me feel alive. I feel like anything is possible for me at this point. I don't have anyone holding me back and I don't have any more drama in my life. And I also know that my life will only continue to get better everyday.
My daughter pointed out to me that this is the Year of the Rabbit on the Chinese calendar, and according to a dinner menu she read at China Super Buffet I am a Rabbit. She said, "This is your year mom."
So, Happy Birthday to me. I can't wait to see what trails I find myself hopping to this year.
Love,
Kim
I turned 36 today. I always dread my birthday--it reminds me how lonely I am and how I have not achieved the things I thought I would. But today was different. My phone started ringing early this morning and I received several text messages from well wishers telling me "Happy Birthday!" Of course Facebook does a good job reminding everyone that today is your birthday.
Maybe today is different because I feel different from last year. No, I don't feel older. I'm sure I look older. But that doesn't even matter to me. I feel lighter today--and I'm not talking about my weight either.
After two years, I finally received my judege-signed divorce papers on Monday night. I kept thinking to myself that I didn't need those papers to feel divorced, but I was so wrong. Now I know that the nightmare marriage is finally over. I don't have to ever go back to that life again.
I know it makes my kids sad, but I've learned that as long as I am happy then they will also be happy.
So now what? I'm divorced and 36 and my job is listed as "grad student." I guess that would depress some people, but it makes me feel alive. I feel like anything is possible for me at this point. I don't have anyone holding me back and I don't have any more drama in my life. And I also know that my life will only continue to get better everyday.
My daughter pointed out to me that this is the Year of the Rabbit on the Chinese calendar, and according to a dinner menu she read at China Super Buffet I am a Rabbit. She said, "This is your year mom."
So, Happy Birthday to me. I can't wait to see what trails I find myself hopping to this year.
Love,
Kim
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)