Because Day 23

I'm only writing this because I made a commitment to write every day for a month and I will follow through with it.

It's hard because I don't always have something of substance to say, so I find that I end up writing more benign and banal thoughts and while I do so I rue the words I string together.

I don't want to do that tonight, so I'd rather just explain why I'm not saying much of anything at all.

There it is.

Bonne nuit.

(Day 23)

IDLO Rome

Well, I finally did it today. I emailed IDLO.

International Development Law Organization (IDLO) has been on my mind since we went there on a "class field trip" in Rome. I was entirely impressed with all I learned about the organization and what it stands for. Of course, I told myself that day that I wanted to work--or at least intern--there. But then of course, I also told myself that it would wear off and that I always say that when I get inspired by something.

But this one hasn't worn off, I just keep thinking about it so today I finally wrote them.

I don't know why I'm so nervous about it because it was just an email, it wasn't even an application of any sort.

But then, maybe I do know why. It's because there's this pattern in my life of whatever I really want to do I don't get to do it the first time I try: Alaska, France, working for the State of Alaska, the LSAT, I even put of law school applications a year...all of these were essentially career moves too.

I really, really want to be a part of this organization and learn all it has to offer me. What's more is they seem to essentially be a Compliance & Ethics-centered NGO and I am all about their mission.

But all sorts of feelings of inadequacy rise up in me. My French isn't native, my Italian needs work. (Yes, I know, I'm a perfectionist...) I'm just a small-town American girl, I lack the culture of so many others that are so much more "international" than I and so much more qualified. All those terrible internal voices of insecurity. My head knows their not true but then the same head seems to be feeding me the filthy lines, too. Regardless of the caliber of skill I possess I unequivocally have this going for me: an unquenchable drive to learn whatever it is I need to do what I'm passionate about. I will work and not tire. I know what I love and I know what I'm passionate about. I'll be interested to hear what they have to say.

I want this. I kind of wish I didn't want it so bad--I know the process of disappointment all too well. But I have to know now if I even have a chance, otherwise I need to start thinking about other opportunities for next summer. Probably here, too.

So many questions. But I keep coming back to that thing I heard this summer: "Don't give up on the international side of you, Darling. I haven't." I'll live and act on that. I know He hasn't forgotten--even if it totally feels like it sometimes.

(Day 22)

Dad

My father is the best man I know.

I’ve been thinking about a phone call from him the other day and I don’t know if he’ll ever know what it means to me.

“I’ve just been missing you, Trace. It just keeps crossing my mind that I’d just give about anything to hop on a plane and just be with you. I would love to just show up, just for the weekend and just…just take you to dinner.”

I smiled. He always calls on FaceTime because he wants to see me, not just hear me.

“And then we could just, I don’t know, hang out. I’ve just really been missing you.”

Healing words for his daughter’s soul. It’s amazing how my dad never gets tired of “pursuing” his daughter. All my life he’s taken the time to be with me and do life with me.

I remember when I was little I was "acting out" one day. I couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6 years old. And my dad called me out on what I was doing (something that I was to get used to...).

“Traci, if you need attention you do not do that. You tell me. That is not the way to get attention.”

I remember wondering how he knew that’s why I was doing what I was doing when I didn’t even realize it. But I remember knowing he was right, too. Dad knew everything.

And then I remember putting him to my 6-year-old-little-girl test shortly thereafter. I remember (again, subconsciously) waiting until he was reading or clearly doing something else and crawling up into his lap and taking his face in my two little hands and saying, “Daddy, I need some attention.”

My daddy passed my little girl test with flying colors. He laughed, put everything aside, and played with me. I remember this happening more than once. He never disappointed.

My sisters and I would take turns with my tea set having tea party dates with our dad. That man had 5 children, and somehow managed to have time for all his daughters individually. All of us remember those dates: the dresses, the preparation—Mom helping us with the stressful “menu.” It had to be perfect, of course. As perfect as peanut butter and jelly sandwiches could possibly be.

My father is the one that taught me so many things, but there’s not a day that goes by that the core of me doesn’t recognize that I would not be the woman I am today if not for his willingness to love this strong personality so interminably and sacrificially.

It was my father that took me to task on all of my mouth-running, disrespectful speech all throughout growing up. It was dad that taught me that that my strong personality, really the depth that I was talking about yesterday, is a gift, but a gift to be wielded wisely and to be channeled the right direction by the right Person. I can’t imagine the bulldozing person I’d be today if he hadn't done right by me in teaching where to take my personhood to be molded and shaped (and if he didn’t do some of it himself).

“Traci, do you want to try saying that again?”

“No.” My adolescent attitude would spit out. I mean, he asked the question--to my teenage mind he should have been prepared for the honest answer. “But I will.” (Eye-roll, head cocked, probably arms folded.)

Oh man. I would not have wanted to raise me.

He taught me so many other things too. Everything practical, be it emotionally practical or just logistically practical. Dad made sure I knew how to change the oil in my car. He made me do my own legwork on everything. He taught me how to make the phone call myself, and not expect people to do things for me. He gave the skills I needed to know what it meant to work hard--and that being a girl wasn't an excuse to not learn how to roof, lay carpet, etc. He also didn’t slack on teaching us how to play hard, and remember to live in the moment--when it's right. (Adventure, adventure, adventure.)

But even as a little girl through his constant patient answers to my favorite little supplication: “why, Daddy?” he was teaching me that to always ask the question "why?" is not a bad thing: it is paramount to be well reasoned. Beyond that though, I also began to understand from a young age that the question "why?" doesn't always have a satisfactory answer. And it's a matter of integrity how you handle that reality. More than through just his words my dad showed me that loving God is a lifestyle, not just a choice you make once. And watching my dad read about any and everything (including an entire book on salt--that now I actually kind of want to read) inspired me to NEVER STOP LEARNING.

But eventually, through all of this and more he taught be how to be unselfish, though I still fail so often. It was my father that taught me how to love people: how to pursue them, not just to learn from them, but to invest in them too.

And that is still what he does for me, his daughter. He pursues and loves me so effectively that I can never, never forget. And I thank God I’ll never, never know what kind of woman I’d be without all that he’s put into me all my life.

I really hope he can find a cheap flight one of these days. :)

(Day 21)

Depth

I think it's only been in the last couple months that I've realized that there's a difference between depth and intelligence.

There really is.

Somebody, well, a lot of people this summer asked why I was still single.

What do you say to that? I mean, gracefully?

There was only one person with whom I think I was totally honest. I ended up sounding like an arrogant ass. "I'm always too something. Too old, too spiritual, too deep. But mostly too intelligent."

"You're not modest." They said.

They were right. I was also not correct. I've been thinking about this a lot because it's become so clear to me in the last being around the intellectual caliber that law attracts that depth and intellect are two different things.

I have the depth thing to contend with, not as much the intelligence. I am surrounded by people around me that far surpass me in intelligence. All day, every day.

But that depth. That depth that only gets more and more profound the more I know God. That depth that seems to get more and more difficult but more and more everything I've ever wanted.

Yeah, it's depth.

What is depth? What am I talking about? What does that even mean?

I don't know if I can describe it. But I won't try right now. This one's still brewing.

I just hate that some conversations I can't fix.

(Day 20)

L'Engle

I'm speechless and humbled at having finished Madeleine L'Engle's "Walking on Water." Well, apparently not entirely speechless because here I sit writing...anyway.

Law school has begun again and so I have taken advantage of Labor Day weekend to finish the books that I'd started this summer (and to get a head start on the many readings for my Law in Lit class). Walking on Water has been waiting for me for a couple of weeks.

Madeleine L'Engle is a renowned, prize-winning author that I remember reading and adoring as a child. I read all her A Wrinkle in Time series for they enraptured me when I was young...and now I could not for the life of me tell anyone what the stories were about. Although I do know the word "mitochondria" because of her. I had no idea about her faith.

I was shocked to find that this volume had been written before I was born. I felt as if Madeleine was inside my head, especially when she was talking about service to art. And then when she talked about the relationship that prayer shares with the creative process...I wish I could have had coffee with this woman:

"In prayer, in the creative process, these two parts of ourselves, the mind and the heart, the intellect and the intuition, the conscious and the subconscious mind, stop fighting and collaborate. Theophan the Recluse advised those who came to him for counsel to "pray with the mind in the heart," and surely this is how the artist works. When the mind and the heart work together they know each other as two people woth love each other know' and as the love to the two people is a gift, a totally unmerited, incomprehensible gift. so is the union of the mind and heart."

True art is a prayer, a form of communication with God. I have felt and lived this. I love this soul put on paper and I can only hope that my art and pursuit of it will lead my soul to become as beautifully humble as hers.

Thank you, Madeleine, for your example. Someday, let's talk.

(Day 19)

Anna

I started to finally write a bit about Anna Karenina, and I think I've finally begun to articulate what moved me most about her story. I mean, the novel has essentially two protagonists and Anna is only on of them (the other being Levin), but I was definitely far more captivated by the book's namesake. I listened to Anna on audiobook, and I actually found the experience far more rewarding than any past audiobook (the reader was exceptional, I think).

First of all, the fact that Tolstoy so effectively got inside the mind of a woman is both laudable and, as a woman, almost uncomfortable. I was shocked at how much I identified and understood Anna's thought processes and was all but blushing at moments to hear some emotions that I know I've experienced so adequately described and articulated. There were times that I was squirming. Admittedly, there's much that Anna did that I have not done, but I was unprepared to identify with her so much.

But the fact that, as a man, Tolstoy was able to so poignantly portray the vast complexities of a female character such as Anna left me wondering if maybe most of Anna's internal struggle was actually universally human and not merely feminine--though the way her struggle manifests itself in jealousy, etc, in many ways (unfortunately) defines the feminine stereotype. I think there may be some truth to this because I think that we as society often chalk up some women's struggles as peculiar to the female gender when perhaps the struggle is more common to all mankind than all mankind cares to admit. Maybe, I'm just speculating.

Anyway, the other thing that surprised me is that the end that Anna made for herself (depending on your theology/philosophy) made me unexpectedly thankful for feminism. I didn't expect that reaction but I felt my heart "going out" to Anna who, Tolstoy makes clear, is a very intelligent, broad minded, passionate, principled and--for all (original) intents and purposes--moral woman. Anna was amazing, she was the pinnacle of what a Russian woman in society was to be, for the novel paints that picture well in the first parts of the story. She was the envy of the Russian elite--and the elite ended up (ah, human nature) delighting in her downfall when it came.

But this same society however required her first to marry to live. Then such a marriage had its proper duties and appearances to keep up. But what affected me the most was that the eventuality for Anna was that the intellectual and spiritual confines of the life and existence into which she seemed even willingly fall (at first) ended up being far, far less than the depth that her beautiful soul needed for her true satisfaction.

And this is why she ended up turning to Vronsky. In my opinion, of course, this was not the correct venue to channel her dissatisfaction nor to find its fulfillment. I believe that our true fulfillment and satisfaction can never be found outside of a relationship with God--though certainly and even designedly relationships with people and especially marriage play a role in that as well. However, the deep yearning that Anna felt was an echo in her soul crying out for spiritual fulfillment that she would never be able to find in Count Vronsky.

For this, I felt an immense level of compassion for Anna, an amazing woman who was not socially or even religiously allowed live up to her true, God given potential. I think it's fair to say that the way the church and religion was put out to the Russian world in that day did no favors to Anna to find her path to what she truly needed. Indeed, there seems to have been an unhealthy marriage between the church and the social norms of the day that worked against her--and really against themselves.

In her deep and abiding dissatisfaction she turned to a man and it was her ruin. But I could even understand this part to a degree. There have been times in my life (albeit very few) when I have met someone, even if it was extremely briefly, that seemed to understand me to such a jarringly deep degree that I was left so completely fascinated and, well, transfixed on the connection that seemed to be between us--almost powerless. Obviously, it's never ended or even proceeded for me the way it did for Anna, but still, if I'm really honest the connection between her and Vronsky that utterly bewitched her isn't completely foreign to me. I can relate, poor thing.

But anyway, the whole story made me wonder if things would have been different for such a remarkable woman had she had more opportunity in her day (yes, I realize it's fiction). I have avenues to be healthier than she in my pursuit for wholeness, for fulfillment. This, I guess for me, was the true tragedy in the story.

And I found myself uttering thanks to God that I now live in a world where I don't have to marry to live, that I can explore the world, both geographically and intellectually, as much as I want and I have the resources at my tips to know GOD as much as my heart so desires. And if I ever marry, it will be because it's right, not because I have to. These things Anna never knew nor could she, arguably, in her day.

That said, I am not blaming Anna's adultery on society. I would be the last to absolve her of her behavior. Reasons for one's behavior do not automatically make excuses. I can see in the story where she would have been wiser to run...and she didn't. No, what I am saying is:

While she had a responsibility to navigate it better, and she tragically failed, Anna's world also tragically limited her in her time, and I'm grateful that my world is different than hers.

(Day 18)

Thorn in the Flesh (Weaknesses Continued)

So, after my short reflection on weaknesses yesterday, I’ve been thinking about another thing that happened this year that kind of plays off that principle. I think I’m ready to write about this. Until now I haven’t because, well, I just had a lot of processing to do about it. But here goes.

Mid-May this year, one week before my second round of law school finals, I got diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD), at 31 years old.

I kind of have to stare at that for a second. I realize that there is a host of individuals that have lived with this for a long time, and so it’s not a big deal for them, but it was for me. 

When I was younger I always dreamed of going to Harvard. In any capacity, really. I had dreams of learning so many languages I’d lose count and I was going to be living all over the world. I wanted to get my doctorate in Shakespeare at Oxford and maybe in French somewhere too.

I was going to be amazing. And I was riding on pride. (Enough said.)

Anyway, I was homeschooled, and this is the biggest reason that my issue never got caught. I do not have the “hyperactive” version of ADD (turns out it’s rare in females). I remember having some difficulty in school growing up but I always wanted to finish my school work so my mom never really worried about me. But I remember spending an inordinate time on math, and my grades never seemed up to snuff in my Literary Circle courses. I was never good enough—or that’s how I felt anyway. But I thought that was just the prideful perfectionist in me that wanted to be the smartest person I knew. 

There was definitely a lot of that pride, but my mom was wonderful through all of my schooling years in that she never fed my perfectionism. She instead made every effort to reign it in:

“Your best is good enough, Traci. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“You’re not going to be good at everything, honey, and that’s okay.”

But I always felt I could do better and I wasn’t living up to what I could do. Looking back, I think that it’s partially true, but I’m also really glad my mom chose to tame my perfectionism instead of encourage it.

I started at the local community college at 15 years old. So, naturally, me working harder that the people around me didn’t phase me, I figured it was normal because I was younger. Also, I found my niche at Clackamas Community College: languages. I excelled in my French immersion courses there and loved every minute of them.

I was always a very driven student and I was determined to graduate high school with my associate’s degree and so my mom let me handle figuring that out. I did it, and then I wanted desperately to continue on to a 4-year university. I finally did 2 years later and ended up majoring in French--I just couldn’t give it up.

I did fine in college, with the exception of a couple of courses, and my grades were never any red flags because I love to learn and school has always been very, very important to me. I studied mostly on my own and was very autonomous throughout college. Language studies came pretty easily to me but I never thought twice about the fact that the literature classes were more difficult for me than the grammar classes. I guess I just figured it was because I had never spent time in France and didn’t have the feel for the language that my classmates did. I ended up graduating college cum laude, though, never suspecting any issue whatsoever.

But then I thought it kind of strange that I had so much trouble studying for the LSAT. I had to take extra time than I planned (3-4 months more) and it was so, so hard to concentrate--and it wasn’t for lack of will. I worked long and hard and I ended up scoring significantly lower on my test than my consistent practice test scores and I was frustrated. I chalked it up to some other circumstances in my life at the time. (Sidenote: God provided an amazing scholarship anyway. I see now that it was partially my LSAT score that helped me end up exactly where I needed to be. If I had scored higher I may have not come to UST. Interesting to think about now.)

Then I got to law school: one of the biggest and healthiest blows that my pride has ever suffered, and I’m actually glad for that.  I think I’ve mentioned before that my big ego thought I’d rock law school, that I’d be top of my class, maybe transfer, etc. and none of that happened.

Actually what ended up happening was I started to notice that the people around me didn’t have as much trouble concentrating. I started noticing the extreme difficulty I had when trying to read with anyone else around. I would literally get angry when someone started talking because I couldn’t tune them out and continue reading. Sometimes I would have to leave my study group to study because I couldn’t pay attention.... I knew it wasn't normal that I couldn't functionally study in a group, because I could see my classmates didn't have any problem with it.

Then there were afternoons when I would literally find myself in tears because I was only 10 pages into a 30 page reading assignment that I'd already spent 2 hours on and I couldn’t for the life of me absorb what I was reading--and it wasn't for lack of desire to understand. I was shocked and could not understand why all of the sudden I felt so dumb.

Then one day the subject of ADD came up in conversation and I began to look up symptoms. I was shocked with what I found—I seemed to pretty much fit the profile.

To make a long story short,  that conversation spurred me getting “screened.” Every one I talked to seemed skeptical at first. After all, I was 31 years old and the first year of law school is grueling. I felt the skepticism, too, but I didn’t care if I had ADD or didn’t I just needed to know what was wrong…or if I was just lazy like I’d thought for all these years.

But, the psychologist came back with this: I had pretty much textbook ADD. What’s more is I scored very, very high in language skills and so it was little wonder that my issue didn’t get caught in college because I chose a major that played to my strengths. Additionally, my unique early education circumstances allowed for me to pretty much take all the time I needed to get anything done. And since I was the oldest, mom had no one to compare my habits to.

Amazingly, the “Red Sea parted” right before my last 1L exams and I got the help I needed. In all honesty, it’s still hard to admit that I need this help, but it is what it is. The diagnosis was hard to receive, but for reasons I didn’t foresee. It has made me look back on my life and wonder where I would be if I had known about it and had the help I needed before now. Would I be smart enough to be at Harvard like I always dreamed? Would I have actually been Oxford caliber? I’ll never know, but that’s not the point. 

The point is rather that God promises us that He’ll give us what we need to accomplish our path and I have to trust that I didn’t need to know about this till now, otherwise I would have. And I'm right where I am supposed to be ADD or not--that I don't doubt. But here’s the clincher: I was talking to my dad about this shortly after the diagnosis and he said something that I’ve since thought a lot about:

“I’m thinking about this, Trace, and looking back on your life. You’ve often chosen the hard thing in many situations and we’ve often wondered why. You’ve chosen to be disciplined about things you didn’t need to be or chosen just a harder path. But now it makes sense. Harder was normal for you….”

Wow. I guess maybe there's some truth to that. I’ve often been slightly mocked or chuckled at for choosing “hard things.” "Whatever that means," I would think. I think my dad might be on to something that the ADD was a factor: I probably had to work harder to get where I wanted. But now I'm glad because I learned so much discipline along the way that is so incredibly valuable. 

So here’s the nexus with what I wrote about yesterday: I had to learn this discipline to compensate for a bona fide “disability” that I didn’t know I had. And now that I know about it and have the help that I now know I need (and I’m not using that word lightly) the discipline that I have already learned will likely enable to me to become a far, far more productive individual than if I had never had this disability in the first place.

And if that is so—only time will tell—I’m grateful for it. But what’s cool is I now have a completely different perspective on my future and what I can do and handle. Thank GOD.

Even Paul had a thorn in the flesh. I think this is one of mine. So be it.

(Day 17)