The fall semester started at the university, we successfully moved to the new house and Petit Joel is in Junior/Senior Kindergarten. A bunch of changes and transitions happened in a pretty short time and I am dealing with it all one day at a time. …
One afternoon ze husband came home with a fancy “this-thing-literally-can-do-anything-even-bake-me-a-cake” scale. Apparently it can be controlled through his phone, watch and whatnot and monitors the exact calorie intake vs what he burns throughout the day (It can feed you too, I reckon). Do I need a…
Everything changes. Nothings stands still. I have moved so many times in my life that I can pack an entire house into boxes with a smart, efficient system within a very short period of time. My moving-highlight and easiest move “accumulated items-wise” is still from Munich to NYC; the “the city that never sleeps” even though I found that I actually did sleep quite well in Midtown Manhattan. I also lived in New Jersey (sigh!) which is a whole other chapter and story on its own. One gets used to anything? In any case, I moved again, and again, and again. All the way to Canada.
I have to add that there was also a short time in my life when I used to live with a “roommate” who let me stay at her place. There are always compromises to be made which has its good and bad sides. For example my roommate used to go to bed very early while I am a night owl and my writing “process” usually takes place while staring at a blank word document and waiting for the words and sentences to pop up magically. In the meantime I might drink a glass of wine or two (for inspiration) or eat some dry Captain Crunch cereal by the handful. This for some reason did not work out with my roommate so our ways parted. Before we parted I thought I am able to write and work at a coffee shop since there were quite some nice cozy, relaxing ones around where she lived. But for some reason, writing at a coffee shop never works out for me.
My attempt to write at coffee shops: I do love Starbucks’ lattes but even with headphones on, I cannot concentrate. There is just so much going on. There is people watching and glancing around wondering what this and that person is working on. I live close to a university so this blue haired girl with her beige cotton pants, tattooed arms and green Greenpeace T-shirt saying “we are all equal” is definitely writing her “term paper on indigenous rights”. I also looked at my “emergency book” that I always carry around just in case. This is the book I read when I have writer’s block while my laptop is seemingly frozen on a blank white word document with the cursor sadly but continuously blinking.
I am on my second cup of grande latte at this point when I pack up all my things because I need to pee. I don’t want anyone to walk out with my laptop but I also have no clue about Starbucks/coffee shop etiquette. I know I won’t trust the guy who is first of all using my outlet to charge his phone and curses the entire time two meters next to me. He types aggressively now (while still cursing) so I won’t ask him to watch or keep an eye on my computer while I am at the restroom for three minutes (two minutes according to my brother!). Is there a moral obligation? I am an anxious, traumatized PTSD person in general so would I trust anyway taking care of my laptop, my latte or my handbag? Most likely not.
What’s with people hogging the outlets at coffee shops anyway? They come over and crawl around between my legs to plug-in their cable (sounds weird, I know) without even saying one word. Now I am in this dilemma. I had way too much coffee, I need to pee and I don’t trust anyone to keep an eye on my things. So I take everything with me. The cord dangling from my shoulder, everything else stuffed loosely in my pocketbook while I try to balance my latte cup (grande) to the bathroom like a trophy fumbling for my phone to check if I put in my jeans pocket or if I left it on the table.
“Where do I put everything now”, I ask myself while looking for a hook on the door to at least put my handbag. I know deep inside that someone took over my awesome table and outlet already. I finish what I needed to do at the bathroom and head back out to the café. I see a guy placing his unpronounceable giant fancy coffee (I understand dark roast but I am rather irritated and confused by most of the coffee combinations and creations they offer) a blueberry muffin and a cake pop (?) nicely, artfully arranged on “my” table to just instagram it.
Long story short, having my own place to write and work is awesome, salient and necessary. Moving again will be fun and exciting. I enjoy moving. I can declutter, minimize and rearrange again which is good.
Also, roommates are okay if you are like 20-something and in college. Moving out and breaking up with someone who doesn’t have his own checking account by the time he is 30 or 40 is only reasonable and necessary. Nobody wants to really live with someone who occasionally gets arrested for X, Y or Z and is brought home by an officer who drives as slowly as if he is in a parade all the way to the front of your house for the neighbours to see who might be sitting in the backseat.
Moving does not wipe away all the problems but new destinations are great and usually improve or change aspects of my life. I am not sad or anxious about the move. I just do it. Or as my son said the other day, “I am done here”.
We are back in Canada and before I even filled up our fridge I checked out my favourite bookstore in Ottawa for a nice cup of latte, good conversations and great used books. Taking a break from studying, researching and course material, I am happy to…
The greek philosopher Heraclitus once said that “everything changes and nothing stands still” (my dad’s favourite). Besides Heraclitus’s quote, I don’t even know how many times I heard “summer is over” in the last couple of days. The summer in Germany was not as great…
I ate at a restaurant in the center of Porto/Portugal and skimmed through my book. It was the last day of the conference and my brain was stuffed with new but inspiring information. While I sipped my strong coffee after lunch I thought about one topic that keeps popping up in my mind: weird family matters that seem to go nowhere and I don’t understand why. At the same time, two men talked and discussed their previous Karate lesson and that their teacher reminded them about the importance to always strive to see beyond their immediate problems and obstacles and keep moving forward to clearer skies which is the main challenge.
I read an article about that it is good and healthy to argue. Further, it is normal to have fights and discrepancies within every family. Not everybody gets along well, nothing is perfect. I have had a couple of relationships in my life and I know that not all arguments are created equally. I also know that it is important to remember that an argument is somewhat a resolution to a conflict. Something happened and I did not agree. However, it is not a tactical outsmarting or some sort of out-talking of “the other” into submission. Emailing back and forth, accusations, he said she said, words getting turned and twisted around, talking in circles for hours or then agreeing to something I don’t even believe in just to keep the peace does not work for me.
However, it is even worse if and when your “opponents” tell you “everything is okay” and “nothing is wrong” after I asked if I did something wrong to upset them. All I get is a poorly, sad unfair silence treatment and I feel resentment or rather a mild form of irritation. Apparently our communication styles are incompatible and I have to understand this. I also know that I don’t have to love certain people just because they are family. This was important for me to discover since I thought family is sacred and always needs to stick together; especially if the family size is rather small. Every family member makes their own decisions and lives their own life. If there are things in common – great. If not – great. And if I feel treated badly, I will eventually distance myself from certain people since the relationship is for me unproductive, empty, cold and unhealthy.
The problem with it all is, that I don’t even know what I did wrong. I am attacked as a person instead of attacking and TALKING about the issue. I don’t understand why talking is so difficult for some. The response I receive conveniently distracts from the real subject at hand. Is it unfair? I guess it just is since there are no logical boundaries, it is all ridiculous and I feel like I am talking to my son’s friends at daycare. In the meantime these are adults (I thought) I am dealing with. Usually, if I did X and it was wrong I should be blamed for it. But I then cannot be automatically blamed for everything else. Also, I don’t even know what I did wrong in the first place or if I even did anything wrong. Well I guess this must be true since nobody talks to me anymore. Philosophical reasoning?
I know that I have to remain objective to describe what the other person did, no finger-pointing etc. but what can I do if the other party just does not talk to me at all anymore and just tells me and acts in front of other people as if everything is okay? Do I need this in my life? The simple answer is: No! I tried to reflect on my own behaviour several times to try to understand what particular action may have upset some people to this extend. I cannot come up with an answer. I know that I only have this one life and I don’t want and need to clutter it with this kind of madness. I reckon that a normal discourse is just not possible with certain people and that is that. Accusations or insults are not my thing since they are usually just a simple way out and result in becoming illogical and dumb. Making my own conclusions here I have to say that I simply move on as I always do. I move forward to clearer skies and I learn from all this while taking appropriate actions and decision. Life is a challenge.
I caught myself many times over- or underthinking emails I write. Sometimes I agonize over every single word: I put too much information or too little but for some reason it is always something. Especially when it comes to professional emails. Do I address an email I…
I overheard a conversation between two women the other day. One was at a bar with her coworkers the night before and they all got a little relaxed after some drinks that followed a rather exhausting business meeting. The woman said she felt good, she…
The Forensic Linguistic Conference in Porto was fantastic and I have been reminded again that the words we speak every day are so important indeed. Also, the proposal for my Masters project is due tomorrow. It seems I changed, rewrote, reviewed, added and edited this thing about a million times and I cannot wait to send it tomorrow to have it off my plate.
I had a recurring thought that popped up at the conference that I will address. There were some excellent presentations of projects, dissertations and research and it mattered so much how the words presenters used shaped their attitudes and perceptions. And mine. It made me realize that using big, fancy words can sometimes confuse more than explain, especially whenever the presenter did not know what they were even talking about. The review and comments some presenters received were hurtful, created pain, sadness but also joy and happiness. I can make the presenter feel good or bad. I can destroy him completely, too. Or like in the recent Michelle Carter case, make people kill themselves via text messages by encouraging suicide. All with one simple things. Words. Or is it rather the case that words alone cannot kill?
To get back to my initial thought from the conference: I am analyzing suicide notes for addressivity and am wondering if words can kill, which words can be used to save a person’s life? There is one particular suicide I tried to prevent when I was a police officer. I spoke for approximately two hours to a suicidal woman who stood on her balcony on the 9th floor of an apartment building. Two hours! I thought about grabbing her and pulling her back to change her mind and make her live but there was no way I could get close enough. After a while she looked at me and thanked me for “the nice talk” but she “has to do this now and I need to stop manipulating her by trying to change her plan”. And she jumped. My police chief told me to never look into the eyes of a person who commits suicide in front of me “because it is the eyes you will remember”. Also, to avoid looking at the person too closely after. Well, as a police officer, one really doesn’t have the option. I looked. And her eyes are still with me to this day re-appearing in my dreams here and there. I never dealt with this problem properly until a couple of months ago. Could I have used different words and saved her?
In my professional life I dealt with way too many suicides. I know that it is always a pressure on me as well as on the families and friends of the suicidal person. In the case of my “balcony woman” I said everything I could think of, offered help, understanding, advice, support and maybe even love. “Life is worth living,” I said. I remember the words clearly. She looked at me and cried. My words just weren’t enough. Would she still be alive if a different police officer would have dealt with her? Coulda, woulda, shoulda! I will never find out regardless.
She jumped from a balcony on the 9th floor. Not a beautiful picture as you can imagine and now the questions: “Who is responsible? Is nobody responsible but the person herself? Do words really matter that much after all? Can words kill or can’t they? Can I simply resist or act differently even though words create and influence certain situations? Would the situation have been different if the “balcony woman” would have realized that I did not try to manipulate her but just save her life?
I think that words alone do not have the power to kill. There is always more involved. It always makes me wonder what a person thinks just before they commit suicide. How hopeless, sad, angry, depressed or whatever else must they be to finally decide to take their own life? The “balcony woman” clearly did not see a different, new way. She decided that “it is time”. Later in a different police report I found out that her boyfriend left a couple of days before her suicide and sent her a goodbye-letter.
“I am glad that I paid so little attention to good advice; had I abided by it I might have been saved from some of my most valuable mistakes.” – Edna St. Vincent Millay I have listened to so many amazing research topics in the…
