what happens between a girl and her favorite band

I've been to more than a few concerts in my time.

Last night, I got to see Jimmy Eat World, my favorite band by far, and one I had never seen live in 10+ years of being a devoted fan. This was not for lack of trying; I had sought them out for years and was always either too far away, couldn't make the trip, etc., etc. Once, in 2005, I even had a ticket to their show in Houston but being broke, 19, and alone with no place to stay and my spring semester starting at 9 a.m. the next day (4 hours away), I decided against it. It was a sad day.

But last night made up for all those missed concerts. It was probably even better because the band has more material now and has only gotten better with age. I heard songs that got me through tough times in high school, college and even the past few months. It was almost a religious experience for me. I sang my heart out, danced around and screamed at the top of my lungs with a couple hundred other fans. Great, great night.

Now, I always behave this way at a concert of one of my favorite bands/artists. But this was even more intense, more surreal. I actually closed my eyes during some songs (which I never do at concerts) because I just wanted to feel the music. And it was so much better live than on the albums. The albums are amazing, of course, but they don't hold a candle to what those guys can do live with a small warehouse of guitars and a couple of microphones (and drums and keyboards, you get the idea). The lyrics are so...just... outstanding too.

I was blown away. I mean I already knew how all the guitar solos went and they still floored me. They didn't play all of the songs I wanted them to play but that was allright. I mean, seriously, if they had, we'd have been there all night.

Hearing all of those songs live was more than just an awesome show for me. It was experiencing my own history laid out before me in the span of a couple hours. Reliving it, finding new understanding and acceptance, being excited about the future. That's what music is to me. A release, an outlet, a place to find common ground, to put yourself and your feelings and who you are into words, sounds, energy, an intangible sphere where no one can touch you. And also a place to just jam the fuck out and have a rocking good time.

So thank you, Jimmy Eat World, for one of the best experiences I have ever had, for a decade of giving my life a soundtrack, and for the songs you have yet to share that will color my life for years to come.

the iron fist

So in the past week or so, when I've been beating myself up about eating potato chips or having zero motivation to work out (and I'll have you know most of those days I worked out anyway), I keep remembering what the lady who works at my gym said when I interviewed her for a story I did on New Year's weight loss resolutions.

When asked what advice she had for people just starting to exercise, she said, "You just need to make it part of your lifestyle. If you think about it too much, you start to become obsessed."

I can totally see how obsessed I've been with it the past few months... probably since late September or so. I overthought everything I did, ate, didn't do and didn't eat all that time. And I thought I was just living the healthy lifestyle. I thought that was just how it was going to be from then on.

I think in the beginning (July), when I first started exercising regularly again and giving a damn what I ate, I wasn't obsessed. I let all of it become part of my lifestyle. I didn't overthink it. I didn't get that competitive drive that always seems to overtake me. I just did it.

This week, I've started to get back to that. I'm trying to remember to enjoy exercising, rather than letting it give me anxiety (am I doing enough?!). I'm trying to eat reasonably healthy without depriving myself of things I really like. And with foods that I really like but may not be the healthiest choices (brownies, cookies, white bread, etc.), I'm trying to eat them in moderation and make them myself so I know what's in them. I'm still working on the emotional eating thing, but I think if I just slow down and don't let what's supposed to make me feel better (exercise and eating right) stress me out, I'll be a whole lot better off.

No reason to be obsessed. I tend to have that kind of personality, so it's something I have to constantly remind myself. But I don't have to have that iron fist of control all the time. I really don't.

Hopefully someday I'll really believe that.

politics + religion = disaster

*Disclaimer: I may get in trouble for this one because I'm not sure who reads this. But I am not meaning to offend anyone, be passive aggressive, or ....anything negative towards anyone personally. You'll see what I mean. And if you do get offended, read till the end.

Yesterday, I went to church in Beeville for the first time. Countless co-workers have invited me countless times since I moved here 9 1/2 months ago, and I always found some excuse not to go. Perhaps I should explain that I have serious qualms about organized religion and the facade it often turns out to be. This time, however, I wanted to go. I didn't feel any deep spiritual drive to go; most of the girls in my Bunco group go to a particular church, and I thought if I went to the young adult Sunday school class, I might meet some more people. And lately when I've been at church at home in Granbury, I've really enjoyed listening to the sermons. I learned yesterday, as I feared I would, that the pastor at home is probably as open-minded and tolerant as one can get from the pulpit. At least here in the Bible Belt.

So anyway, I went, trying to keep an open mind. I actually really enjoyed Sunday school. We had a nice, thought provoking discussion and I felt comfortable. I really enjoy discussing religion and spirituality, but I don't like to think about it from just one point of view. I didn't feel boxed in at all with the people in this class, and I even admire some of them for their strong faith. I have often wished I could be so sure.

So, when I initially went to church, I wasn't sure if I was going to stay for the service or not. I ended up staying, mostly because it was kind of assumed that I would, and by this time, I was open to the experience and curious to see what it would be like, what the pastor would have to say, etc.

The first part of the service, was pretty standard church. Nobody fell down or cried or waved their hands, which I was happy with. But then, it happened. The sermon.

The pastor got up and began his speech by talking about how many people died on 9/11. I wondered where it was going and feared it was going in the direction of self-righteous narrow-minded, "kill all the Arabs" mentality. It wasn't. It was worse. Well-maybe not worse, but just as bad.

I was then subjected to a sermon (I wish I could say how long it was, but I wasn't wearing a watch) all about abortion. God hates abortion, the Bible proves that life begins at conception. And on and on. But wait--if you've had an abortion, it's okay because God will forgive you for the murder you committed.

I don't know the last time I was so offended.

Yes, it was my choice to go to the church service, and yes, what did I expect to hear from a minister of this particular denomination? I guess too much. No open lines of communication here. It was a symbol of all my reservations about going to church. And way to pick a totally polarizing issue.

I don't really even think the topic has a place in a church service. To be fair, I did like that he was willing, in his own way, to show compassion. But still! Could he BE more close-minded? I was about to get on my soapbox about the abortion issue, but I won't right now. That's not the point. (And don't get me started on the dig at evolution that he threw in with it. EVOLUTION IS NOT A THEORY.)

The point is that the whole thing was entirely inappropriate for that setting. If I want to participate in politics, I'll write a letter to my Congressman. Don't mix it with church. Plus, for a place that wants to make everybody like them, belief-wise, don't they realize how they are turning people away? And how many of the kids and teenagers there in the audience just blindly adopt beliefs like that because they haven't been taught to think for themselves?

I realize that most, if not all, of my friends who go to that church are probably pro-life, and I probably disagree with them on a number of other issues. I'm fine with that. I can respect their beliefs. My fear is that they won't be able to respect mine. And while I want the social interaction and the intelligent conversation, and I genuinely like these people, I don't want to misrepresent myself. I don't want to compromise what I believe and what I stand for. I can't think of a worse thing for me to do.

And what makes all of this more confusing is that immediately after the service, I was so appalled that I was ready to walk out the door and never come back. But then, my friend that I sat with invited me to lunch. I said ok. What the hell, it was lunch. Lunch turned out to be a big group of people from the church all going together, some of whom I knew, most I didn't. The confusing part was how NICE everyone was. Like genuinely nice, friendly, unsuperficial, etc. Of course, I didn't tell anyone how offended I was. But they seem like good people I just don't agree with in some major areas. I wonder if we can peacefully coexist and all still be ourselves.

the root(s) of the problem

After all these months, I am STILL addicted to food. I realize this is something I will probably battle for the rest of my life, but seriously?!

I've been an avid watcher of The Biggest Loser for several seasons now. I know this is a TV show and not real life (even the trainers on the show will say that), but I do try to take their advice when it comes to things like emotional eating.

It took me a long time to grasp that it really isn't about the food. If I'm really craving a big, greasy cheeseburger, for example, I used to think it was because I really wanted it and food had this power over me. I have since realized, by educating myself and by stopping to examine my feelings when I have such cravings, that it is not about willpower. It's a coping mechanism. It's a way to comfort myself. A very unhealthy way that leads to self-loathing and further self destruction.

I hear the Biggest Loser trainers frequently tell the contestants that they're burying their feelings, problems, etc. with the food. It's true. In that moment when you're gorging on pizza or ice cream, your mind goes blank. All that you're feeling or thinking is in your taste buds and the satisfaction coming from them. I guess it's a way to get satisfaction when you feel like you're not getting it anywhere else.

I have accepted this. When I get the urge to say screw it all and pig out on junk food, I know enough now to stop for a minute and ask myself why I want to do this. I think about how I'm going to feel afterward (read above: self loathing and destruction). How I'm going to have to wait for the brick in my stomach to digest and feel terrible until it does. And nine times out of ten, those thoughts are enough to stop me from undoing all my hard work.

There is, however, that one time out of ten. The time when I know exactly what I'm doing, how I'm going to feel later, and I do it anyway. I'm human. I know I will never have perfect nutrition, and I just have to do the best I can.

I've been thinking about this a lot, and I think that one time out of ten still exists when I don't know what's bothering me. Usually, I can pinpoint it if I take a second to think. I'm overwhelmed at work. I had a fight with a friend. I'm lonely. Whatever. But when I don't know, I have more trouble reminding myself to make the healthy choice.

I'm going to give two examples. In the first, two weekends ago, I basically did nothing and ate meal that were nutritional crap all weekend (thankfully, I didn't binge eat, I just didn't eat healthy). I was really tired from all the holiday traveling, and I thought that was what was bothering me. I didn't try to overcome it, I just gave in, figuring it would pass. It did, but not until I began cleaning my apartment that Sunday night, after putting it off for days (it was probably the messiest it's been since I lived there). Once it was clean-- actually, even once I began the process and mapped out in my head how to finish it-- I felt so much better and living my healthy lifestyle was easy. The point of this example is that I couldn't really identify what the root of that particular feeling-burial was until I had begun to solve it. I'm still working on how to be more proactive in that department. Although I am proud to say my apartment is still clean, two weeks later. I guess I've finally learned how to maintain it. Problem solved. In another way, this is an example of how actually dealing with a problem, instead of burying it with food, really makes it go away. It feels good when you can make things actually disappear instead of just hiding them. I wish I had learned this before my sloth-ish weekend though. Oh, well. Moving forward. Always, moving forward.

The second example is this: last night, I reeeeally didn't want to go to the gym, and I was craving spaghetti with garlic bread. My workout buddy texted to say she had to work late and couldn't meet me, so my excuse not to work out was solidified. I went to the grocery store for the bread and the sauce (I eat whole wheat spaghetti a lot, and I'm proud to say last night was no exception, but I was out of sauce). I got one of those pre-made loaves of garlic bread, and, starving, popped it in the oven when I got home. I made the spaghetti, just a single serving, no big deal. However, I proceeded to eat half the loaf of bread throughout the evening before throwing the rest of it away to remove the temptation. Also, I got one of those individual cake slices while I was at HEB (and let's face it, those are big enough for at least three people) and ate the whole thing. Yep, don't think I need anymore carbs for awhile. Anyway, as bad as I feel about the gluttony that was last night, I'm sorry to say I'm still craving junk food a little even now. The problem is, I don't know why. If I could say, well, I think I'm feeling anxiety about (insert problem here), I could probably convince myself my cravings are an illusion. I mean, ok, yesterday afternoon at work sucked because our server kept crashing. But I still got to leave on time, and today everything is fine and I caught up on what I couldn't do yesterday. So what's up? I used to get really bad food cravings with PMS. I still do sometimes, but it's not the right time for that either.

They say on the Biggest Loser that instead of burying your feelings, you should allow yourself to feel them and work through them. I'm still learning how to do that. The cleaning one turned out to be simple; I cleaned my apartment, thus dealing with the problem, and felt better. But how do I allow myself to feel an emotion I can't identify? I guess what I feel now is frustration. Maybe I just let myself feel frustrated until it either passes or I find an outlet for it that doesn't involve junk food?

The only thing I can think of that might be at the root of all of this, is the fact that it's getting closer to being one year I've been in Beeville. Hence big decisions to make. I want to move on, but I have a life here now too. And applying for jobs was so terrible the last, oh, THREE times I had to do it that the thought of doing it again does not excite me, as much as I want to move up and on. When I was having my I-don't-know-what-I'm-doing-with-my-life crisis, all those fears drove me to eat then. Now, I know what I want to do, so I thought I wouldn't have that problem. But I guess I feel a different kind of anxiety. A fear that now I've gotten started, but what if I'm not good enough? How will people outside this community see me?

Home

I had an interesting sensation Saturday night.

I was on my way home from seeing some friends in San Antonio/San Marcos. It had been a fun couple of days and so good to see those old friends and even make a couple of new ones. However, driving back to Beeville at about 7 p.m., I was exhausted. I had halfway planned to stay another night with my friends, but I was tired to the point of being antisocial and I just wanted to sleep in my own bed.

What was interesting was that as I got closer to Beeville, I guess around the Karnes City/Kenedy area, I felt like I was getting close to home. That sentence sounds really simple and stupid, but I mean I had the feeling of coming back home. Like Beeville, my apartment, the whole forgotten South Texas wasteland between San Antonio and Corpus Christi is home to me now. It's been nine months since I moved here, and that was the first time I felt like this was home. (Sidenote: I'm really proud of myself for lasting this long, and for sticking out a whole year. This is the longest I've lived anywhere in 2.5 years). I felt relieved to be coming back. That was strange.

It's hard to admit to myself that I actually do like it here. It's so different from where I see/saw myself ever living. My friends here are not a conventional 25 year old's friends. The few people I know close to my age are married and have kids. My closest friend here is another single woman, but she's old enough to be my mom. I really enjoy my job and everyone I work with. I have plenty of time and opportunity to do things I enjoy doing outside of work. I'm alone a lot, but I find that to be the case wherever I am. I still miss my family and other friends, but I'm holding my own here. I still don't want to stay here forever, mostly because I want to keep moving forward, taking on more challenges, seeing more places, and moving up in my career. I think that's fair. But I've also realized in the past nine months that I owe it to myself to be happy wherever I am, even if it's not my first choice of where I'd like to be. If I don't do that, I'm just spending time unhappy when I could make the choice to be happy. And I'd be missing out on some really great and unexpected things.

So, for now, I am home.

friends

I've been thinking a lot lately about friends.

I mentioned in a post recently that I have come to accept that I'll probably never have a "group" of friends like other people seem to. I tend to be more of a floater and have friends in all different groups. I have always been this way, and I am finally fine with it. That took a loooong time.

However, I've been feeling a little discouraged in the friendship department because I feel like I used to have so many close friends, and they were scattered, but we were close and I could talk to them or visit them (assuming there wasn't an ocean between us) anytime and it was never weird or felt distant.

Now, I feel like I am drifting apart from a few friends I have been close to for a long time. While I know this is natural, I also feel like I am not making new friends either. I'm not saying that one friend can just replace another; it doesn't work like that. I just feel like my friend supply is dwindling and I have this fear that maybe I've forgotten how to make friends. Or that I'm clinging to past friendships (by this I mean people who will always be my friends but are in different places, both metaphorically and geographically from me now) because I don't have new ones to complement the phase of life I'm in right now. All my friends, even the ones I talk to regularly, are from old phases. That's fine, I don't want to lose them, but I just feel like maybe I'm not moving forward socially.

There are a couple of my friends I feel like I'm losing, though. For good, perhaps. One of these I'm kind of okay with, though I'm harboring some resentment about it, and that's probably not healthy. One of them actually makes me really sad.

And I'm sad about the ones I've lost touch with, other than facebook stalking (just being honest!). Those are mostly the friends I met overseas and was very close to at the time I was away and now barely keep in touch with. I wish life didn't happen that way.

contemplating a major life decision... shocking, I know

I feel like if anyone reads this blog, they might think I'm kind of a negative person, or at least a drama queen. But, read at your own risk. While this may be a public way to express one's feelings, I'm okay with that and I use this outlet for two things: 1.) a way to work through thoughts I can't seem to otherwise, and 2.) as writing practice.

First of all, it's Jan. 4, and my New Year's resolutions are... sort of happening. I am reading more, and I plan to cancel my DirectTV in February, so that should help. I haven't written that much more, although I have been blogging more, so that's a start. I want to get back into the creative stuff though, if I can. Or work on more featurey type stuff. I'm hoping my new subscription to Texas Monthly that I got for Christmas will help me come up with ideas. My apartment is still a mess, but in my defense, I JUST got back in town. And I haven't done any yoga recently, but I have been working out consistently, so that's enough for me at the moment.

Anyway. What I really want to discuss in this issue of Sarah's Latest Made-Up Life Crisis is the personal dilemma I've been mulling over in my head for the past week or so.

I have flirted with the idea of joining the Peace Corps on and off since I was a senior in college. I really wish I had done it back then, but no point crying over that now. If I hadn't tried the teaching overseas thing (I did it through private, foreign companies, but still), I might be super gung-ho about it and want to leave tomorrow. Even as recently as Sunday, I was absolutely certain I was going to apply, just to see what happened and I could make a decision later. (If had decided to submit my application this month, I probably would've left nine months to a year from now).

But then I got to thinking. Uh-oh. The thing is (besides the horror stories I read online about people getting raped, murdered, robbed, and coming home with brain worms), I really like what I'm doing now, but sometimes I get torn between that and my yearning sense of travel, adventure, and the need to keep moving. I miss living abroad so much it hurts sometimes. If I was in a situation right now where I hated my job and needed a change in that sense, I'd be gone in a heartbeat.

As much as I want to live, and to see the world and to do something for human rights, I seem to have this problem with perseverance, and I have to wonder if I left my life here (again), if I'd just be doing the same thing in reverse and still never find whatever it was I didn't know I was looking for. Deep down, I know that's true. I'm finally starting to see (and care about) the consequences of my actions before I do impulsive things. And boy, I have done some stupid/crazy things on impulse. Really big things that have caused me to go, "Oh, shit, how do I undo this?" Maybe there really is something to what they say about people under 25 being unable to see consequences because their frontal lobes aren't fully developed.

Even if all my previous...detours were results of being young and naive, it is really important to me to stop giving up. And I also feel, at my very core, that if I keep working the way I am, keep learning, and focus on what I truly want, I will someday get there, and if I don't, working this way will get me somewhere else just as good. What I truly want, if I am being honest with myself, is to move up in the journalism/communications world. I have seen other young reporters give up because they are not making enough money, and to them, it's not worth it anymore. I can't say I'll never get to that point, but at least now, 9 months in, it is still worth it. I guess that's how people who don't really want it get weeded out of any career. I've been weeded out of a few myself (cough..cough...teaching).

I think I am just getting antsy, as I do sometimes, about being ready to get out of the boonies. Ready for the next challenge. I am getting a little bored here (personally and professionally). I need more action. I want to be someone who perseveres, but I still don't see myself staying anywhere for a super long time. But I guess time will tell. And the other thing is, the Peace Corps is always an option. You can never get too old for it. So someday, if I'm being really honest with myself, and I am ready to do that, I can still apply.

I have this history also of making plans to do something cool and then backing out because I'm scared. I don't want to do that, but I don't want to be impulsive and reckless either. The real trick is telling the difference between the two. But all I can do is move forward.

The last thing it boils down to (at least the last I'm going to discuss) is that the idea of settling down, raising a family and/or staying somewhere FOREVER terrifies me. It sounds really horrifying to me right now.

Then again, maybe I've just never had a reason to stay.