The Feminine Urge

The feminine urge to disappear for a few days.

The feminine urge to announce your presence each time you walk into a room.

The feminine urge to turn your trauma into art.

To compliment other women on their earrings.

To revel in the sound of a loved one’s voice.

To sip your coffee slow, until it gets too cold to enjoy anymore.

To dance alone in your room.

To light a candle after vacuuming.

To stand in the rain for just a few seconds.

To bite and tear at the fingernails you just painted.

To clutch your pepper spray as you walk to your car.

To over-spend on holiday gifts for your favorite people.

To buy flowers for yourself at the supermarket.

To listen to the same song 20 times in a row.

To keep unfinished manuscripts on the desktop of your computer.

To wave goodbye to the person who delivered your Amazon package.

To twirl when you put on a dress.

To steep a cup of tea you know you won’t drink.

To paint one wall a different color than the rest.

To laugh at jokes you don’t find funny.

To fake orgasms even when he’s willing to continue.

To fall asleep rewatching one of your favorite shows.

To drink wine at lunchtime.

To give away tampons to strangers in the bathroom.

To dress in all black.

To decorate everything with stickers.

To take scalding hot showers.

To wear hats even on good hair days.

To collect mugs from thrift stores.

To send a “Thinking of you” text to the person you miss. 

To keep a journal. 

To burn that journal. 

To find beauty in ordinary things.

To try to please everyone and take no shit at the same time. 

The feminine urge to expose simple truths. 

It's Okay...

“Obvious” things I need to be reminded of today:

It’s okay if I stumble through my first year after graduation.

It’s okay if I don’t have a clear sense of direction at 23, or 26, or 30.

It’s okay if I want to try a bunch of different things in a bunch of different places.

It’s okay if I don’t know what a “dream job” might look like for me.

It’s okay if I want to focus on just a few things at once.

It’s okay if I want to keep my options open.

It’s okay to not feel like a real adult yet.

It’s okay to not want children.  

It’s okay to not be ready for a relationship.

It’s okay to fall in and out of love.

It’s okay to make small mistakes, and it’s okay to make big ones.

It’s okay to be new to things.

It’s okay to be bad at things.

It’s okay to fail.

It’s okay to celebrate.

It’s okay to feel unproductive.

It’s okay to rest.

It’s okay to be messy.

It’s okay to be quiet.

It’s okay to be loud.

It’s okay to disappoint people.

It’s okay to want approval.

It’s okay to not know what I want at all.

It’s okay.

It's okay. 

It's okay. 

 

First Times

 

I’m writing a book and I hate it, but I also think it’s good. I hate the characters, but they’re well developed. I hate the dialogue, but it’s fluid and witty. I hate the setting, but it’s vivid and lively. I’m not saying I’m a good writer; I just finally have a solid piece of writing that I’m proud of… but I fucking hate it, and I think I’ve figured out why.

It’s the first draft of a first manuscript about first love. Now that I think about it, the story is full of firsts. I have to write about what I know, and I’m 22, which means all I know are firsts. I have no business writing a whole book. I don’t hate my characters because they’re bad characters; I hate them because they’re naive and self-destructive. I hate them because they’re my age, and their depth is limited to my 22-year-old understanding of the world.

I want to continue working on this book because I think I've started something that might be worth reading one day, but I’m afraid I’ll grow out of this project. Actually, I hope to; I expect to grow out of it. I’m about to finish college and move on from the concepts I’m writing about. Whole new sets of firsts are waiting for me on the other side of graduation.

That’s the thing about first times, we want them to be so monumental and significant, but most of us stumble through our first time doing anything. Our first job, our first serious relationship, our first fight with a friend, the first time we get behind the wheel of a car. Our first time doing anything remotely “adult” or scary might make for a funny story, but it’s rarely riveting or enjoyable. We get more pleasure out of the humor of the anecdote than we do from the experience itself. First times have no precedent. The idea that you have to do something multiple times to get good or comfortable with it is nothing new.

I know you already thought of this, so I’ll just point out the elephant on the page… I have yet to meet a person who has a romantic or even particularly pleasant story about losing their virginity. A person’s first time having sex is almost always awkward, uncomfortable, painful, messy, or (coughs) quick – if you’re lucky. Good sex doesn’t happen until later. The “later” sex is what people want to read about.

Firsts are sort of boring. They have a quality of innocence that might strike a tone of nostalgia or wholesome awkwardness, but I read to escape my awkwardness, not to relive it. So why would I put something into the world that’s already been stamped with a mark of mediocrity?

Maybe I should pay more attention to getting the “first times” out of the way and less attention to making them count. Maybe there’s more value in living for the repeats. I think that’s the problem with this manuscript I’m painfully working through. It’s not going to make it past the file on my desktop because it shouldn’t. It has no right to be read. It’s my first.  

I’m going to move on and experience more things to write about. Better things. More firsts times, but also more second times. It’s the second times that I should be writing about, and the thirds and fourths. I have a whole life of second times ahead of me. So this is me, putting the book project to bed… because at least this isn’t my first blog post. 

Ms. Mess

Ohio Quarantine Day 33 -- I think.

I've always had mixed feelings about marriage, about having children, about committing to a way of life. I vowed never to drop my last name regardless of my relationship status and to never add an “r” to the middle of my prefix. I will be Ms. Pauquette till I die (I would also accept Dr. and/or Madame... in due time.)

So basically, all that is to say I broke up with my boyfriend a few days ago. What a thing to do in quarantine. I don’t want to use this blog to explain my reasoning for needing to be single again. But I think there is something to be said for the way this amplifies the stillness we're all feeling together right now. 

For me, there are no more distractions. The semester is wrapping up, the novelty of underage drinking has expired, I’ve almost finished all my books, and binge-watched every episode of Tiger King and Little Fires Everywhere and Fleabag and That 70’s Show. It's no longer quirky to wear unwashed sweatpants; homemade coffee just isn’t the same; avocado toast is losing its hipster charm, and I’m not sure what I did to deserve a sibling with musical talent, but I’ll be investing in earplugs pretty soon.

With this transition out of a relationship and back into singleness, the stillness has changed its tone. And I think that's a good thing. I feel a spiritual stirring, a priming, an uncomfortable peace. Like I’m being stretched for something that is about to come. I am dropping my agenda to prove that spirituality is or isn’t something, and I’m ready to listen again.

Dad always says that our minds are like parachutes. They only work when they’re… falling out of an airplane.

I no longer have a cause, a plan, a physical community, a classroom, or an audience, and I realized some things. I find so much of my identity in the people I surround myself with. My external support, community, and socialization are how I validated my existence and worth. The way I think other people feel about me directly impacts the way I feel about myself... if that makes sense. This does not necessarily make me an extrovert, it makes me a human, a pleaser maybe.

I think that before we can be built up, we have to be stretched. So I'm hopeful. I'm still a mess, but I'm kind of okay with that. Messy people seem to be the most interesting anyway.  

I've been reading Glennon Doyle's latest memoir, Untamed, and it has rocked my world. Honestly, what are you doing reading this? Go read THAT! Glennon talks a lot about choosing to disappoint other people before you ever disappoint yourself. That a strong woman does not abandon herself. So this is me not abandoning myself. 

Anyway… life is still happening. I need to dance. I need a latte and a hug. Also, wash your hands. That is all.

Sustaining a Life I'm Not Living Anymore

March 24, 2020

Official Quarantine Day 1

I can’t sleep. It is 7:25 a.m. and I have yet to go to bed for the night. I started to hear the birds chirp before I even brushed my teeth. This is the norm lately; staying up for 30 hours at a time until I finally crash. There is no sense of routine, no sense of purpose, only mundane tasks to complete, trying to sustain a life I’m not even living anymore.

I think this is part of the problem with not only “social distancing,” but relocating myself and re-positioning my plans…insomnia. There are no timely obligations to motivate me to keep a healthy sleep schedule. The only regularity and consistency I experience are petty arguments with my brothers, anxiety about school, financial stress, the 6:30 news, and all-encompassing boredom.

This Pandemic is so wildly unsettling because we are all forced to be still; to experience true boredom for the first time in a long time. When Psalm 46:10 said, “Be still, and know that I am God,” I don’t think any of us understood that there is a considerable amount of discomfort in the stillness. We are all suffering in isolation together.

Yesterday Mike DeWine, the Governor of Ohio, issued an official “Stay at Home” order, effective at midnight last night. I support this and strongly encourage everyone to take this order seriously. We are in the seventh hour of the order and my skin is already crawling with angst. I am so worried about completing my schoolwork. It is one thing to sit and write a blog about my perspective on our situation; it is another to study, write a research paper, log into a lecture, and virtually collaborate on group assignments.

Working toward a degree is anticlimactic in general; doing it like this is enough to make me reconsider my “goals” altogether. 

“Work from home.” “Study in your PJ’s.” “Catch up on personal projects.” “Finish the stack of books on your nightstand.” “Finally, binge-watch all the Netflix you want.” It sounds like a fluffy way to describe a vacation, a lifestyle of ease, minimal stress, and maximal comfort. So why does it feel so suffocating?

I am pro-staying home throughout the Pandemic; I believe it is wise to practice social distancing, but I miss the classroom. I miss the interaction, the discussion, the sense of purpose, and collaborative intellect. I miss the excitement of being in uncomfortable spaces and the relief of coming home after a long day.

These times are hectic and uncertain, but they are also a painful wake-up call to how much we take for granted about the luxury of existing in a public, ableist society. I just want to go to a coffee shop and read Glennon Doyle with the white noise of people chattering around me. I want to sit in a lecture hall and worry about going up front to give a presentation to the class. I want to go for late-night karaoke-car rides with my friends. I want to buy overpriced bottles of wine at a gas station and sneak them into the dorms. I want to grab a crappy veggie burger from the dining hall and lather it in ketchup from my minifridge then eat it with a plastic fork because I forgot to get a bun.

As a nation, we are discerning who is truly “essential personnel.” The truck drivers, janitors, shelf-stockers, pizza deliverers, drive-thru cashiers, mail-people, nurses, doctors, caregivers, pastors, reporters, parents, activists, policymakers, and whoever is in charge of making sure Netflix stays operational. 

As individual people, we are learning what is essential to us in a different way. What relationships do I value enough to keep in touch with? How badly do I want this degree? What expenses do I need to cut out since I’ve been laid off? Do I really want to watch Tiger King or am I just bored?

It’s more than re-prioritizing, it’s simplifying; realizing that, when it comes down to a state-wide lockdown, there are far fewer things I’m willing to invest emotional energy into than I once thought.

Nothing feels real. It's a fever dream that's not jarring enough to scare you awake, but just boring enough to keep you asleep in a state of panic. It is stress accompanied by boredom, which just feels like a fresh coupling of anxiety and depression.

Service Site Update!

Happy New Year!

The start of 2018 has come with a ton of new beginnings for me and after the two weeks I spent back home for Christmas, I had some time to reflect on the ways these past few months of living in Chicago and serving with Mission Year have affected me mentally, physically, and spiritually. Now, I am ready to jump back into Chicago life with revived momentum.

And I have some exciting news! 

I switched service sites! I am no longer working at By The Hand Club for Kids! I now work two part-time jobs (still as a volunteer for both) with Communities First Association (CFA) and L!VE Café. Both of these organizations are affiliated with each other and operate out of the same building. The mission of CFA is to enrich communities by blurring the lines between poverty and privilege. The main way we do this is by educating the public through community outreach events and facilitating poverty simulations. Similarly, the mission of L!VE Café is to support the Oak Park community through coffee. The Café doubles as a creative space where events and meetings are hosted. This team is breaking down barriers in the community and providing a safe space to have open conversations.

Half of my time is spent working at the Café as a barista, and the other half is spent working with CFA doing all kinds of things, primarily assisting with administrative work like sending out newsletters, managing social media accounts, and organizing tools for the poverty simulations.

I am super excited about the work I get to participate in and the life experience/skills I am gaining at this new service site!

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While living here, I’ve gotten to spend intentional time learning about my new community, new neighbors, my team, and my coworkers. I've only lived in Chicago for a few months, but I've already had so many opportunities to grow and learn. 

Thank you all for your continued support!

Lessons From A First Grader

I made it! I have taken up residency in the Windy City and Mission Year is happening! Before I get into the details, let's get the logistics out of the way.

1. I live in Southside Chicago (West Englewood) in an apartment with nine amazing people!
2. I work full time at an after-school program called By The Hand Club For Kids where I teach 1st graders.
3. I go to Canaan Community Church, right here in our new neighborhood.
4. My purpose here is to build relationships with people in my community, be hospitable, invest in my neighborhood, live in solidarity with my neighbors and housemates, and learn everything I can about love, justice, and the Southside.
5. I only call myself a "missionary" when I am trying to be fancy.
6. I really like the pizza here.

Alright, now that you are officially in the loop we can get into the good stuff.

Since the move to Chicago, I've been learning a lot about the power of prayer. In the past, I knew prayer was good and I liked having the freedom to communicate with God, but it was often an afterthought, something that primarily happened before tests and during Tornado warnings. However, making the move to Chicago by myself and being thrown way out of my comfort zone has almost forced me to cling to God for stability. Prayer has become like food for me here. I feel like I give so much of myself and my spirit away throughout the day that I need prayer to fill me back up. My mornings spent in prayer have been some of the most sacred and rewarding moments I've had during my time here. A lot of that prayer time is spent lifting up the kids I work with.

There is a first-grader in my class who gets along with me really well. We will call him Tyrone (not his real name). Tyrone is a bit of a troublemaker, but he's adorable so it's difficult to fault him. He doesn't like to listen to authority and tends to distract other students by acting out. Regardless, this little boy has become one of my favorite students at By The Hand. (Am I allowed to pick favorites?) Tyrone gets really excited when he sees me and gives me a hug every single day. He always asks me to help him with his homework and is constantly telling me stories (most of which I know are not true) but I listen intently anyway and act like it is the most interesting thing I've heard all day.

Last week I asked Tyrone, "Did you have a good day at school today?" He nodded and said "Yeah! I didn't even get suspended!" I laughed and said, "That's great buddy! I prayed that you would have a good day today!" He got all wide-eyed and excited and asked, "You did?" I was touched by the expression of gratitude on his face. The next day I asked Tyrone again, "How was school today?" And he eagerly replied, "Great! Did you pray for me?" I said, "I sure did!" On the third day, I didn't even have to ask. The second Tyrone saw me the first thing he said to me was, "Miss Maddie, guess what! I know you prayed for me because I had another good day at school! That's three in a row!"

What a privilege it is to pray for this little boy. 

While working with inner-city kids can be challenging, it is also extremely rewarding. These kids are hungry to learn about God. They are excited to have people care for them and show up for them consistently. I am so blessed to be one of those people.