FA+
Shop
The Wonder of FA
14 years ago
So, I started out the day confused, moved on to being in pain and just recently was incredibly irritated by a site that seems to have grown too big for its servers to sync with the services it offers. Looks like they will have to face their problems and go over their books to fix it. . . to coin a phrase.
That aside, I came onto FA after all this frustration only to find that even such a limited exposure to the fandom as checking my recent submissions and journals made all that frustration disappear. Literally, everything is suddenly better for oogling Fisk's amazing scribbles and listening to people talk about AC (fist shakings for not being able to afford it).
I wonder at times if this is simply because the frustrations I experience on FA are completely self-created and so easier to put up with or if it is because I'm willing to put up with more from the fandom than I am from people I visit with via 500-character rants and pix elated fertilizer. It is food for thought if nothing else.
On top of all this (cowgirl, yee haw!), I have decided to write more. I miss the days in high school where I could crank out 10,000 words without thinking about it and it occurs to me that WAAAAAY back in 2004, I had a good start to a novel-length furry escapade that never got off the ground. I miss writing on that story. I also need to get up off my tail and finish the adventures of the elder Dragonkin brother. This in addition to the fact that I hope to start nursing school this fall. . . time management will be my best friend, I think.
I've recently started on-again, off-again helping one of my mother's previous clients get back on her feet. This client insists on paying me for the LIGHT housework and company I bring to the table, even when I insist just as politely that what I do is a service of kindness and not for my own personal gain. I find that visiting this person is giving me a bit of confidence in my abilities as a potential caregiver and (as I have told concerned friends) puts me in a situation that is marvelous practice for my eventual calling as a nurse. Admittedly, care-giving is not my focus in nursing. I want to be a midwife. However, the reality may well be that I will have to work as a caregiver to pay the bills between births. So, I look at this not as a chore or a task to be completed and disregarded but as an opportunity to experience the field. I admit freely that I do not perform the same tasks that a caregiver would. I do not administer medication or medical care. I keep this person calm, keep them company and help them in their errands and daily tasks. From my perspective, these are all things a good friend would do, hence my hesitance in accepting monetary recompense for these days. I must give this person credit for their stubbornness. They insist and I accept to keep the peace. After all, I enjoy their company. My mother has brought home horror stories of the people she is having to care for (she is a Medical Assistant working on her RN. Prayers/good thoughts/well-wishes are welcomed), but this deters me little. What I want from life is different from her goals and aspirations, though hers are just as important to me.
I recognize now that living with a pair of friends (even on a temporary basis) is completely different from living with one's parents (pause for cries of 'duh' and other such jibes). I am completely and utterly responsible for my own person and as such, and responsible TO that person as well. It is liberating and frightening to realize that one needs only to answer to oneself. Before the conclusion that I am surprisingly immature is drawn, let me put forth the defense that I was raised to be an independent and accountable adult. Since about the age of six, I have been held responsible for my actions, attitudes and decisions. I was never permitted the 'well, you're a teenager/college student' excuse. I was always taken to task and given appropriate consequences for any infraction. This caused me to be 'too serious for my age' and 'no fun', due to the fact that I would consider a situation before entering into it, weigh the options and then choose whether or not the pros outweighed the cons in my favor. Granted, there were impulsive decisions and life lessons that I could have learned no other way than to blunder into a shit situation and come out scarred and gasping for relief. The wonder and newness I referred to earlier in this paragraph is that up until recently, my first thought was how any given action or attitude would reflect upon my parents and my reputation with them. I never considered what I wanted or what I felt. That was, in my opinion, to be dealt with secondarily if at all. Having gained distance from that, I suddenly felt the need to know what I wanted and what I was about. In order to become what my parents raised me to be, I had to cease thinking of them for two seconds and consider instead using the brain given me and the results of the lessons learned rather than the people involved. Again, on the surface, this seems childish and foolish but it is in fact a large step to make between heart and head. For the past few years since leaving Theatre school, I have repeatedly asked my parents what I was supposed to do. They both replied "do what makes you happy". My response was usually "You're supposed to say that, you're my parents". I wanted to be told what to do, as I had been in the past. It was terrifying to imagine that suddenly, I was in control and therefore held my responsibility to me and me alone.
One morning, I woke up mad at my boyfriend. Literally, I was insulting him at every turn. My best friends finally looked at me and said "so, you're still with him, why?". It gave me pause and I took the better part of the night to think. Why was I in a relationship that frustrated me more than not? Why did I put up with things in my boyfriend that I didn't tolerate from anyone else? Somehow, I cannot tell you how, the questions turned from him to me. Why did I allow in myself what I abhorred in others? Why did I not ACT? Why did I not simply draw a line in the sand and stand up for my beliefs. Staying silent profited me nothing. To quote the Joy Luck Club, it suddenly occurred to me that ". . . . losing him does not matter. It is you who will be found and cherished". I had placed all my emotions in others and their happiness. I had relinquished control of my life. Screaming electric guitars rang out in my mind as Rage Against the Machine played on a stage of all my mistakes and self-deprecating summations.I had to "take the power back". To the best of my knowledge, I am still with Sjach. I still have all my friends that I did when I had this revelation. What I have, what I gained, is an inner calm. I am willing now, more than ever, to give everything up if that is what must be. Nothing is withheld from God anymore. In return, I feel suddenly more myself than I have ever been. Yes, there will be bills. Yes, there are tasks I would rather not undertake. Yes, there are still times I am upset with the way my life is. What I know now is that what has come will pass, if only I have the courage to let the wounds heal rather than keeping them fresh. I must learn to let go. I must learn to see what is mine and seize it. Balance in all things.
Perhaps it's just a bunch of philosophical mumbo-jumbo that won't mean anything to me in a year. I have a feeling it's more, though.
This is the beginning of my seventh year as a furry. I made the transition to active in a YC Chatroom in 2004. On again, off again, I have been a lurker, a writer, an artist and a pack member, but I have been here.
I intend to stay.
That aside, I came onto FA after all this frustration only to find that even such a limited exposure to the fandom as checking my recent submissions and journals made all that frustration disappear. Literally, everything is suddenly better for oogling Fisk's amazing scribbles and listening to people talk about AC (fist shakings for not being able to afford it).
I wonder at times if this is simply because the frustrations I experience on FA are completely self-created and so easier to put up with or if it is because I'm willing to put up with more from the fandom than I am from people I visit with via 500-character rants and pix elated fertilizer. It is food for thought if nothing else.
On top of all this (cowgirl, yee haw!), I have decided to write more. I miss the days in high school where I could crank out 10,000 words without thinking about it and it occurs to me that WAAAAAY back in 2004, I had a good start to a novel-length furry escapade that never got off the ground. I miss writing on that story. I also need to get up off my tail and finish the adventures of the elder Dragonkin brother. This in addition to the fact that I hope to start nursing school this fall. . . time management will be my best friend, I think.
I've recently started on-again, off-again helping one of my mother's previous clients get back on her feet. This client insists on paying me for the LIGHT housework and company I bring to the table, even when I insist just as politely that what I do is a service of kindness and not for my own personal gain. I find that visiting this person is giving me a bit of confidence in my abilities as a potential caregiver and (as I have told concerned friends) puts me in a situation that is marvelous practice for my eventual calling as a nurse. Admittedly, care-giving is not my focus in nursing. I want to be a midwife. However, the reality may well be that I will have to work as a caregiver to pay the bills between births. So, I look at this not as a chore or a task to be completed and disregarded but as an opportunity to experience the field. I admit freely that I do not perform the same tasks that a caregiver would. I do not administer medication or medical care. I keep this person calm, keep them company and help them in their errands and daily tasks. From my perspective, these are all things a good friend would do, hence my hesitance in accepting monetary recompense for these days. I must give this person credit for their stubbornness. They insist and I accept to keep the peace. After all, I enjoy their company. My mother has brought home horror stories of the people she is having to care for (she is a Medical Assistant working on her RN. Prayers/good thoughts/well-wishes are welcomed), but this deters me little. What I want from life is different from her goals and aspirations, though hers are just as important to me.
I recognize now that living with a pair of friends (even on a temporary basis) is completely different from living with one's parents (pause for cries of 'duh' and other such jibes). I am completely and utterly responsible for my own person and as such, and responsible TO that person as well. It is liberating and frightening to realize that one needs only to answer to oneself. Before the conclusion that I am surprisingly immature is drawn, let me put forth the defense that I was raised to be an independent and accountable adult. Since about the age of six, I have been held responsible for my actions, attitudes and decisions. I was never permitted the 'well, you're a teenager/college student' excuse. I was always taken to task and given appropriate consequences for any infraction. This caused me to be 'too serious for my age' and 'no fun', due to the fact that I would consider a situation before entering into it, weigh the options and then choose whether or not the pros outweighed the cons in my favor. Granted, there were impulsive decisions and life lessons that I could have learned no other way than to blunder into a shit situation and come out scarred and gasping for relief. The wonder and newness I referred to earlier in this paragraph is that up until recently, my first thought was how any given action or attitude would reflect upon my parents and my reputation with them. I never considered what I wanted or what I felt. That was, in my opinion, to be dealt with secondarily if at all. Having gained distance from that, I suddenly felt the need to know what I wanted and what I was about. In order to become what my parents raised me to be, I had to cease thinking of them for two seconds and consider instead using the brain given me and the results of the lessons learned rather than the people involved. Again, on the surface, this seems childish and foolish but it is in fact a large step to make between heart and head. For the past few years since leaving Theatre school, I have repeatedly asked my parents what I was supposed to do. They both replied "do what makes you happy". My response was usually "You're supposed to say that, you're my parents". I wanted to be told what to do, as I had been in the past. It was terrifying to imagine that suddenly, I was in control and therefore held my responsibility to me and me alone.
One morning, I woke up mad at my boyfriend. Literally, I was insulting him at every turn. My best friends finally looked at me and said "so, you're still with him, why?". It gave me pause and I took the better part of the night to think. Why was I in a relationship that frustrated me more than not? Why did I put up with things in my boyfriend that I didn't tolerate from anyone else? Somehow, I cannot tell you how, the questions turned from him to me. Why did I allow in myself what I abhorred in others? Why did I not ACT? Why did I not simply draw a line in the sand and stand up for my beliefs. Staying silent profited me nothing. To quote the Joy Luck Club, it suddenly occurred to me that ". . . . losing him does not matter. It is you who will be found and cherished". I had placed all my emotions in others and their happiness. I had relinquished control of my life. Screaming electric guitars rang out in my mind as Rage Against the Machine played on a stage of all my mistakes and self-deprecating summations.I had to "take the power back". To the best of my knowledge, I am still with Sjach. I still have all my friends that I did when I had this revelation. What I have, what I gained, is an inner calm. I am willing now, more than ever, to give everything up if that is what must be. Nothing is withheld from God anymore. In return, I feel suddenly more myself than I have ever been. Yes, there will be bills. Yes, there are tasks I would rather not undertake. Yes, there are still times I am upset with the way my life is. What I know now is that what has come will pass, if only I have the courage to let the wounds heal rather than keeping them fresh. I must learn to let go. I must learn to see what is mine and seize it. Balance in all things.
Perhaps it's just a bunch of philosophical mumbo-jumbo that won't mean anything to me in a year. I have a feeling it's more, though.
This is the beginning of my seventh year as a furry. I made the transition to active in a YC Chatroom in 2004. On again, off again, I have been a lurker, a writer, an artist and a pack member, but I have been here.
I intend to stay.
