Multitudes

I've been in email banter with my ex recently, which is a blatant bad idea. That being said, I love email banter, and he is very good at it, so it's been enjoyable in that baby-pool depth that is banter sort of way. The other day he said I was inconsistent, and I agreed, saying that I found people who weren't inconsistent not only boring but liars (and aren't boring liars the worst kind? If someone is going to lie to me I'd much rather have it be a great story than something mundane and banal). But then I started to think about the comment about being inconsistent. I believe it was Walt Whitman that said, “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.” which I have always loved and found to be true. Of course I contradict myself, of course I'm inconsistent, of course on some issues I stand firm and others I waiver sporadically. Of course I can beat you at a carbomb and then talk to you about the gospel; they are not mutually exclusive and neither am I. I contain multitudes; I am much. I think that's what being a dynamic person is about; part of being a true person is understanding the contradictions and inconsistencies that make up who they are and then being able to reconcile or apologize for them. I am not saying inconsistencies are reflections on the best of us; hardly, they often make clear the cracks and crumbles within. And I have many that require explanation and many more that require apology. I guess that is the burden that comes from containing a multitude.

Tuesday Notes

• New Years was insane. But even being in the same room as Margarita, Rita and Jane seems to make everything better, so of course it was. And then there was this South African UN Pilot that played into the whole thing but that's what I'd like to call a side story.
  

• All of YL staff is currently in Orlando at the All-Staff conference, which is why I am currently watching Slappy and Homer, which means our little house has a pack of dogs running through it this week. Whoa boy.

• One of my favorite things about living in Asheville is breathing in the same air as some of the most creative, passionate and kind people I have ever met—people who believe creativity is not a hobby, but a lifestyle. I love this. It makes me feed my creative side, which very often has a serious case of stage-fright. When did a fear of rejection and failure override my sincere desire to simply create?

• Joe Gibbs resigned as head coach of the 'Skins yesterday. When he returned to the 'Skins in 2004 it was the closest thing I've ever experienced to Christ's return, and I say that without any sort of exaggeration or irony. I was at my dad's house and we watched the news on every channel, just to hear it be said again. Then we pulled out the VHS of the 'Skins Super Bowl run of 1992 and watched it. Ok, so I'm a bit of a fan. Whatever. To say I'm upset to lose him again is a bit of an understatement. I hate the owner of the 'Skins, so I can't wait to see how he messes this one up.
  

• Dear Seattle: I sort of hate you. For the second time in 3 years you knocked us out of the playoffs. Take your strong coffee, computer programs, fairy boats and grunge music and shove it. Your “Real World” season sucked.

• I won another t-shirt on a shout-out question at Quizzo on Monday. It was about the Wyoming primary, which no one paid attention to as it was only for the Republican side. I paid attention because of the presidential drinking game I have going on with about 12 people from college. Mixing politics, competition and drinking is a wonderful idea. Booyah. Drink for freedom, bitches.

Go Skins

So my dear friend Brandt got drunk in a bar last night in Ashburn, VA. Ashburn is where most of the Redskins players live, so you see them around fairly often. I got a voice mail from Brandt telling me the Skins were in the bar with him and he was playing darts with Andre Carter...big #99 and was winning. Then this morning I get a message that Brandt gave my phone number to Jason Campbell, our star quarterback, and tried to set us up. He thinks we would be a great match.
I am perfectly ok with that.

My People

My friend Hatcher called me on Wednesday night to see how I was doing with the whole breaking up and moving on thing. I was busy trying to decide between cowboy boots or chacos (you know, the more important decisions in life) and she asked me why. “Oh, I'm going on a date,” I said. She laughed and didn't quite believe me. I told her about the strange and hilarious rash of dates I've had recently and her reasoning for it was so fitting. “Well, you are finally with your people. I shouldn't be surprised.” I thought that was a perfect explanation for what I've sought for years: my people. I think we are all searching for our people, those who get us, who we get, who make introductions easy and free flowing. And that really is how I feel about Asheville: it is full of people I understand and those who push me a little bit. I don't have to dress up, dumb down, hide passions or walk the line of decorum—I don't have to hide who I am in order to fit in. I feel like it's freed me up to be much happier, much more tolerant. Feeling home has killed my fight a little bit—my edges aren't quite so sharp, my fists aren't so keenly clenched. And that is good for everyone.