I Am Online

I am an online dater. Correction, I was an online dater. My three month subscription ended this week.  During my time I realized that most of you are online as well. I know this because you are either a woman who opened up and shared your (many, many) online dating horror stories after learning I was also online. Or you are one of the men who popped up in my matches or on searches. Yeah, I saw you and you saw me. Now let's move along.

My feelings after it was over? Relief. Don't get me wrong, it was pretty entertaining at the beginning. My friend and I would scroll through my 'options' and discuss potential candidates like giddy thirteen year-olds. This pic is cute, oh this one is not, but these next two are. Aw he loves Jesus. 

I made her write my bio. It was strange for me to discuss myself in order to make someone want to date me. 

Waking up every morning, I wondered who had scanned my profile and been interested in me. This interest showed in the form of a virtual wink or a message from the bolder ones. Oh, five new e-mails this morning? Great! (Validation.)

This feeling, however, didn't last long. Mostly because many e-mails read like the ones below:

(These screen names are made up, but pretty similar to what's out there)

SDRadMan: I am not a spam although I know this is kinda like a random message to you. You probably get a lot of random e-mails like this so I understand if you don't write back but it'll be worth you're (apostrophe RE, if you know me, you know why this bugs me) while if you do. 

IAmThatCool: I think you should take me out on a date.. (extra period, maybe for effect?)

LoverOfLife: P.s. I can come with great references lol but can't tell them about the dating site because I'll never live it down lol (if you're wondering what he's laughing so hard at, I have no idea either). pps forgive grammer and spelling errors typing on my phone

and my personal favorite...

DoucheBag#1: I am a Christian but have no problem with premarital sex. It doesn't have to be right away, but if you are the no sex before marriage type, we probably would clash a bit in other areas as well. You still interested?

I was not.

I read "Downtown Owl" this weekend by Chuck Klosterman and a certain quote stuck out. "Society is so confused, Mitch thought. Everyone wanted to become the person they were already pretending to be."

To me, this is how I view online dating. Men who are potentially normal in the 'real world' created overactive personalities that made me uncomfortable. Others boasted of daily workouts, their love of travel, an appreciation of art and their great humors. The ones I did go on dates with were far from what their profiles and e-mails suggested. 

Of course, I was no different. Me? Oh I sing, no, correction, I love to sing all the time, I love to travel, I love to laugh, I love love, and whiskey makes the world go round...the list went on. Of course I do enjoy these things but what you don't see on my profile? My highly introverted self, my inability to communicate with new people without being incredibly awkward or the fact that I can't stand Iron and Wine. That confession alone just cost me a few music friends.

We all desperately try to be these people we create on social networks or dating sites. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, we are all guilty of it. I wonder what our networks would look like if we posted honest evaluations of ourselves. Probably not as picturesque. But then again, please don't take away my dreamy pink and yellow hued photos on Instagram that make me look incredibly artsy. No seriously, please don't.

So what now? My guess, is that as a shy 28-year-old my options are starting to diminish. Looks as though I'll have to give the old fashioned way a shot again. Meet a man, flirt, do that thing with my eyes that says I'm interested and hope I see you again somewhere. But maybe this time when I meet you, I'll hand you a business-sized card with my likes and dislikes and maybe a few extra photos of me (doctored to make me look artsy). 

Fingers-crossed.


Or there is always arranged marriage.

Guest Post - Joyce Huang's Gratitude Journey

Yoga is, for me, one of those activities that looks really good on Pinterest boards and sounds fun to talk about. When I actually do it, though, my mind starts to wander a lot, and I tend to start feeling hungry for my next meal. I doubt very much that I'm doing it correctly. 


My friend Tasha, God bless her, has tried her best on me while finishing her yoga teacher training practice. She's held bootleg classes on her rooftop and at the beach while practicing on myself and our friends, and she's made significant progress on her confidence level, I might add. However, while I enjoy the social hour and the skyline from the top of her house, yoga makes me feel distinctly how I've been generally feeling in life lately: that I am missing the point. Around the fourth or fifth chaturanga dandasana is when I start thinking about In-N-Out.

Chaturanga Dandasana Sequence

I do love Tasha, though, and I was glad to receive her invitation to the final "graduation" class of her yoga training, taught by herself and her fellow trainees. I always enjoy Tasha and just about anything she does, because when we're just hanging out, sprawled on her living room couches, she has an uncanny ability, with her slow Texan drawl, to inject wry humor into very astute and matter-of-fact observations. We can spend hours talking about work, the ups and downs of dating, the psychological makeup of our various friends and co-workers, all while self-medicating with frozen yogurt. We're both easily crippled by uncertainty and indecision, and often feel the need to discuss many things in minute detail. We're both Christians who know God is holding the steering wheel, but we are also backseat drivers with a number of suggestions. 

When Tasha is teaching yoga, however, everything about her changes. Her body straightens and her voice rings out clearly and calmly; she owns the room, she controls the pace, the tone, the music playing on the speakers through her iPod. As I sat in her class on Saturday, breathing in and out with my eyes closed, I listened as her voice washed over me: "Helen Keller once said, 'The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched - they must be felt with the heart.' I encourage you all to pay attention to what your heart is telling you during this class." I wanted, instinctively, to do better, to pay attention. 


My body had felt tight like a spring all week, holding in the stress of work, and the feeling that what I was doing in life lately wasn't enough, and yet also the fact that I was running on fumes. I listened closely to my body. During the class, I felt the trainees' hands on me, adjusting me, radiating warmth into my tense muscles. I felt myself engage, my shoulders relaxing, my body both stretching and resting. At the end of the class, one of the trainees intoned, "Happiness does not create gratitude, but rather gratitude creates happiness." 

Tasha's Yoga on the Beach

In the last few months, I had not only forgotten to be grateful, but I had also forgotten my God to whom I am meant to be grateful. I go to work everyday, focused on what I don't like about it (but grateful for employment, she hastens to add), and then I go home too exhausted to do anything but eat dinner and watch TV, feeling vaguely like I once had interests and hobbies, and indulging in self-pity that I was too tired to do them. 


Concentrating on the lives of my friends, enjoying their company, being fascinated by THEIR hobbies, being concerned about their problems, has been my way of dealing solely externally, never addressing the dissonance inside. This weekend, I took time to remember my God. I took time to read the Bible, I thanked Him for all that He had done on the cross, and for my many, many blessings, I sat quietly and enjoyed His presence. I took time to remember that life without Someone to express gratitude is empty indeed. And, I resolved to engage in a fuller life, and not forget so often to be thankful.


In short, when someone asks me what I did this weekend, I can finally and honestly say, "I did some yoga."

Tasha (left) and Joyce (right)

Written by Joyce Huang

Musician's Daughter

As I finished up my vocal exercises tonight, I opened my computer to find my friend's new blog post. Reading her journey through her third album tugged at my heart. She spoke of a truthfulness in her lyrics and described a vulnerability in her songs that she had not known she could produce. And through all of it, she has found her love of music once more.

With the same feeling of love, I've come to realize my own potential in my music. I've been taking vocal lessons this past month for the first time ever. Repeating scales, exploring "guh's" "gah'" and "nah's", while adding "dumb cries" (as my vocal coach calls them) to my songs, has my voice responding to me in a way I've never experienced.

And through it all I've fallen in love with the voice I didn't know existed. Just like any other art, learning to sing well takes practice and discipline. It takes frustration over the high notes that I still can't seem to reach, and, heart-pumping joy when I hear a sound come from inside that is rich, strong, and all mine. 

Singing has been a passion of mine since I was young and I'm thankful daily that I was created to sing. Every inch of me loves music and while I may never sing for large audiences at Carnegie Hall, I am still just as excited to pursue the depths of my voice. Singing has always been just for me and never for others. It's a place I go to make sense of life and to praise the good times.

As I write, I feel embarrassed to write so candidly about my own voice. I do not mean to decorate my voice or its abilities, but rather to celebrate the way singing has made me see beauty in myself. Many times we focus our attention on the things we want to change about ourselves or the negatives we see. But tonight, my words are open and free and without abashment.

I am thankful to the One who created me and for His own love of music. I am a Musician's daughter. 

C.S. Lewis

Forgotten Places

In dreams you visit.

This day you sit amidst a crowd,

The years have matured your brow.

Quietly you listen to a man speaking of our God.

Our eyes meet beyond the doors.

A heavy tone fills the blue.

But love beseeches to color your view.

“Blessings!” you shouted

“Release me from your grip,

For our years have been counted”

Free from his rule,

Unwinding from its tightly wound spool,

Your heart races through forgotten places

And familiar spaces.
Until you find me once more.

Under the shelter of the tree

With letters on a page, your love spills free.

In that moment I awoke.

An echo of words you spoke

Fill the empty room.

Close my eyes again

Wait for your return.

Sunday

There was a boy.

And a $20 bill.

There was a smile.

And a spark.

Does fate exist?

I hope so.

Madrid, My Secret European Romance

You know those times you're showing off pictures from a recent trip to your friends and with each image you try to explain the vastness of the image or the intensity surrounding the image? And you try and try to make it appeal to them in the same way it hit you when you first laid eyes on it? And then you ultimately realize no words can describe what you saw, experienced or felt? Yeah. That's where I am with my post-Europe blog.
 

I've written this blog a few times, thought it out in my head while listening to "Medicine" by Daughter (on repeat), flung my legs up in the air while laying upside down on bed being certain this act itself would cause the words to immediately spill out of me. Ten minutes into this activity I realized the words flowing from me were actually in the form of blood to my brain. Flip. Blank slate. Again. There is no chance I'll be able to successfully explain my feelings about this trip but it's still worth sharing.

For those looking for a brief overview of my trip, the next few sentences are for you. It was wonderful, it was tiring, it was scary and exciting. I visited Paris, Florence, Venice, Rome, Barcelona and Madrid. I ventured out alone, got lost along the streets of Italy and explored local bars in Spain with another California native. Madrid was my favorite of all the places and Spanish men...well, they were also a favorite. Swoon. It was an experience I'd love to do again and one that I am beyond blessed to have been able to experience.

Now, for the long version. I'm a shy girl, I never know how to initiate conversation with strangers, I blush when I talk to men (all men), and I have no sense of direction. So of course a trip to Europe alone sounded liked a brilliant idea. I'm scared of many things but I have held true to at least trying things once, facing fears even when it makes me want to throw up all the butterflies in my stomach. So on November 9 I left San Diego with a backpack the full length of my body and my passport, ready for whatever came my way.

I had a lot going on life before my trip and it came at just the right moment. I needed an escape. Arriving in Paris was surreal. The lights, the crowds, the language, it was so beautiful and I instantly felt small. There is so much of the world that I want to see and so many cultures I want to be a part of. At least in France, I had friends that eased me into the new journey. Paris led me down streets of cobblestone and through sights like the fog-covered Eiffel Tower, the Lourve, street cafes with foamy cappuccinos and a Brazilian bar where we worked on our dance moves.

Italy proved to be more of a challenge as I entered the country without knowing a single person. In Venice I found myself longing for a friend to speak with about the sights I was seeing, I felt lonely. I imagined my whole trip would be like a solitary journey, one where Kerouac and I could reminisce about our time "On The Road" but you know...without one-night stands and {less} whiskey. In Florence I made my way to the sights and enjoyed some Italian pasta and wines along the way. And I met a friend, through her I was reminded of the reason I agreed to this trip in the first place. I wanted to prove to myself that I was not my shyness, that happiness was not determined by the amount of friends I had surrounding me at any moment.

In Rome, I regained my enthusiasm. The architecture, the culture, the foods. How can you not love a place where the Colosseum sits? The Vatican City, the Sistine Chapel, the Pantheon, every building, every vespa that sped past. It was overwhelming to be in such a beautiful place. Italy won for the best wines of the trip.

Finally, in Spain, I fell in love. I had wanted to travel to Spain for years, considered packing my bags and moving there a few years back. Barcelona was breathtaking. The Gaudi buildings made my heart race and I was speechless at the sight of La Sagrada Familia. The delicate details that went into the construction of it, the stories behind the images and the light that made it's way through the stained glass windows of the cathedral flooding the white pillars with rainbows of color, these images will last with me forever.

My last stop landed in Madrid. I had hoped to like Madrid as much as Barcelona but I hadn't expected it to surpass my love for Barcelona. Immediately upon arriving in my hostel I was able to meet my roommate Jessika who was from Fresno traveling alone. From that point on, we walked all over Madrid together drinking cappuccinos and cafe con leche. Jess had a notion of wanting to look like a local which meant me shielding her from anyone walking by as she searched a map with directions on where to go next. 

We spent a few hours in a little cafe chatting as we hid from the dropping rain outside. We explored Spanish bars and were bought drinks by men much too old for us inside a quaint, artsy bar reminiscent of Vesuvio's in SF. And I danced, with no cares and reckless abandon. If I had a choice, I'd have set up shop right then and there in Madrid. During my time there I had the feeling of a new love in my stomach. It was as if I had recently discovered a new crush and the butterflies would show themselves around every turn and with each new encounter. It was my own secret European romance.

And now I'm home. I'm still shy. I still blush when I talk to men. I still use my GPS to get places in San Diego. But one thing has changed, I found that I could survive on my own without the comfort of friends, family or a home and be just fine. I'm ready to take on new countries without fear.

There's a chance I will find the spirit to write more in later posts but I am still trying to figure out how I was changed from this trip, how I stayed the same and how I felt about the new chapter in my story. It seems like one big tangled mess, so for now, I'm settling for getting out some initial thoughts before it all becomes one big blur. 

Safe travels.

Madrid

Venice

Paris

Cappuccino