The End of Wanting

by margaretglin

Photo by margaretglin

Everyone has their Jordan Catalano. Mine was Kurt. I was in the 6th grade, he was in the 8th, but he had been held back a year, I think. We met at a youth group lock-in at church. He went to public school. I went to Catholic school. It was bad news.

That was the summer I wore wind shorts. Everyone wore wind shorts, except the girls who wore jean shorts, and I didn’t like those girls for reasons only sixth graders understand. One of them could put on perfect lip liner without using a mirror. I heard she hung out with Kurt, and I asked her about him. She said, “Ugh, you can have him.”

There were two lock-ins that summer. My best friend went with me to the first one and kept me out of trouble. I admired him from afar and wished he would talk to me. At the second one, my best friend wasn’t there. I made friends with this awkward girl who the jeans short girls didn’t seem to like. There was a dance, and I made out with Kurt while slow dancing right in front of the youth group leader. That night, while everyone was lying on the floor sleeping or surreptitiously fooling around under their sleeping bags, he tried to finger me. We were barely even covered, and I didn’t quite understand what he was doing, so I drew back.

In a bitter moment months later, I told my dad Kurt spent the whole night trying to get his hands in my pants — in reality, he’d spent maybe 20 minutes actually trying, microscopically inching along my leg to see how close his hands could get to my panties. It was bad enough I’d kissed him in front of everyone, and I knew my reputation was about to take a big hit, but if we got caught messing around on the floor at a church lock-in, I might as well die.

On the other hand, I really liked him. You have no idea how cute he was. What I knew about him was just a handful of dubious facts. His parents were divorced. He lived with his grandfather or an uncle. He was troubled. He had a bad reputation. He was probably just misunderstood. Of course. But after I pulled away from him, he didn’t talk to me for the rest of the night, didn’t ask for my phone number, and didn’t acknowledge me again until the day my dad nearly kicked his ass in the church parking lot.

We had a total of five conversations, including the one after choir practice the year we were in Christmas choir. We were standing outside the church waiting for rides home when he repeated some gossip he’d heard about me from someone I never met. I told him his friend was a liar and that he’d hurt me with the way he acted before. I don’t think he got it. We didn’t talk again for a long time. That year at Christmas Mass, he had a solo in “We Three Kings,” and his voice cracked badly. My older brother made fun of him on the car ride home, but I still liked him so I felt bad about it.

One day, after I’d stopped waiting for him to like me, maybe 8th or 9th grade, he called and asked me to be his girlfriend. I told him I needed to think about it, and he said, “Just don’t call your friends and ask them what you should do. Girls always do that, and I don’t wanna date someone like that.” Of course, I called my best friend, and together we determined that he was too much of a gamble and I could do better, even if he was really cute and I still sorta liked him.

In high school, I heard he had sex with a girl from my class in a movie theater. There were gory details I still won’t repeat. Once, they showed up at the house where my friends and I would hang out after school. I knew he was coming, and I made a point to be there for reasons only high school girls understand. When they arrived, he was uninteresting. He acted tough but was too out of place to be convincing. We nodded like old divorcees. She had on too much mascara. Her bangs were too heavy. She avoided eye contact and smiled weakly. That was the last day I wanted him.

Skate Fast and Jump High

rollerderby-112223_640Photo by Greyerbaby

Last night at practice we practiced jumping the apex, which looks like this:

For every cut track, we had to do 5 pushups. I did a lot of pushups.

This is the first time in my life I’ve been so very bad at something yet loved it so much. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been terrible at a lot of things including but not limited to baking, housekeeping, dating, trigonometry, paying bills on time, scheduling, hyphenating, activism, and pretending to like people. But for most of my life, the things I’ve been bad at are the things I’ve avoided. Why is derby different?

Last night, as I watched the other skaters jump the apex (some successfully, some not), I pondered how we all ended up here, and how this sport is not at all what I expected. I knew the league would be a bunch of incredible, strong, driven women. I also thought there would be more fishnets, but what we lack in fishnets and tutus we make up for in dedication and tattoos. But what I really wasn’t prepared for is how the challenge of derby makes me want to be stronger. The funny names and crazy outfits are fun, but the real reason we stick around is that the challenge is intoxicating. I have never pushed myself this way before, and I love it.

You know why I can’t jump the apex yet? Because I’m scared of jumping with wheels on my feet. This seems like a reasonable thing to be afraid of, yet I want to not be afraid of it. I have hope because I saw people do it last night, people who couldn’t always do it, people who were afraid before and overcame their fear.

When I set this “letting go of fear” goal for myself this year, I had no idea what I was getting into. But for some reason, the gods of roller derby smiled on me and gave me the chance of a lifetime. Just go fast and jump, right?

love humans

Where_is_the_love by Tatoli ba Kultura -- CC-BY-SA

I want to tell you to love yourself, but I also want to tell you to love other people. And I don’t mean like putting others first in all things because that becomes painful very quickly.
But practice seeing the good in other people. And beyond that, see that they are vulnerable. See that their anger comes from fear, and love them. See that their bad behavior comes from ignorance, and teach them.

Don’t make yourself their victim. Be prepared to walk away. And yes, you’re allowed to walk away from people you love. It doesn’t mean you love them any less. It just means you can’t save them. But if you can stand to give some compassion without killing yourself, do it. Look another human being in the eyes and accept them for who they are. Don’t try to be better than them; everyone else is already doing that. Realize that they are as good and worthy as you are and that the most important gifts you’ve been given — food, shelter, education — were largely granted to you based on no merit of your own. Realize that if you deserve that kind of goodness in your life (and you do), then they deserve goodness, too. Now treat them that way.

However, if you can’t believe that you deserve goodness in your life, you’re going to find it very difficult to extend that generosity to others. When you catch yourself judging others, ask what it says about you that you are so irritated by someone else’s imperfections. Are you bothered being around people who don’t meet your specific standards for beauty, intelligence, morality, or social status? If they aren’t hurting you, there’s a good chance your feelings about them stem from your own anxiety and insecurity. But if you start to say, “Ok, it’s fine for that person to be the way they are, even if it’s not what I would want for myself. They still deserve to be happy,” that starts to change the way you view yourself. Eventually, you’ll realize that because you’re a human just like the other guy, you probably deserve to be happy, too.

In other words: Loving other people teaches you to love yourself, and loving yourself makes it easier to love other people.

I have this crazy fantasy in which everyone in the world learns to do yoga or meditate or practice seva. Everyone in the world decides, “I’m not perfect, but I really want to live in a more peaceful world, so I’m going to try really hard to love other people and to accept them and myself as we are.” And things get a lot better. It starts out small. Grocery stores are less stressful. Traffic jams still happen, but people honk less. Gradually, gridlock eases thanks to increased carpooling. There are environmental and financial benefits all around. People stop buying products whose advertising tells them they’re not good enough, and as a result, we spend more money on things that actually make us happy. There is a major economic shift toward positive industries — scientific research, environmental repair, health and wellness — and organizations such as nonprofits to alleviate homelessness experience a surge in funding as people realize it really sucks to let some people live in poverty while others have all the fun.

And in this fantasy, we’re still not perfect. We still fuck up. But when we do, we say we’re sorry, and we do our best to make it better, because that’s what you do when you love somebody.

To be Fresh Meat

Nosker's Country Fresh MeatPhoto by timlewisnm on Flickr
You think you wanna play roller derby. You’ve heard about it for years. Your friends have said you’d be great at it. They don’t know anything about it, but they think you’re the type of person who should play roller derby, and you think they’re right. You watch Whip It with your best friend and decide to try out together. You spend $150 on skates and it feels like a big deal because you would never spend that kind of money on a pair of shoes. You spend $80 on pads. You learn to shape a mouthguard. You think about buying fancy leggings. You go to a few open skates and feel self-conscious about everything, and you make an embarrassing noise every time you fall. The avoidance of making this noise will become your first motivator for becoming a better skater.

You try out. You join the league. You feel like this means something, but you still don’t call yourself a derby girl because you’re aware of a vast gap in ability between yourself and the people who tell you what to do at practice. You keep doing your best. You watch them closely. You try to pick the best skaters and mimic them. You learn to look where you want to go instead of at your feet. You fall a little less often.

You take your assessment, which you mostly expect to fail, so you’re not too disappointed when you do indeed fail. For a month, you obsessively work on plow stops and endurance. You retake your assessment and fail. This time it’s disappointing. You try to pick yourself up right away and get back to practice. You’ve spent four months on this, and you really thought you’d be better at it by now. You try to push yourself harder, but it’s hot outside, and you feel tired all the time. For a week or so, you obsess about whether you’re eating correctly. You never seem able to drink enough water. You take a couple days off, but when you go back to practice, people are really nice to you, and everyone has something helpful to say.

The drills start to make sense. You start to apply the things you’ve been practicing. You read your assessment feedback again and again. You think hard about core strength. You put the next assessment on your calendar. You set your financial goals for the coming month based on the cost of new skates. You would still never spend more than $100 on shoes, but now you want a $350 pair of skates. You believe you have a sincere, justifiable need for shiny booty shorts, and you discover a new purpose for those torn up stockings haunting your sock drawer.

There are days when you go to practice because you want to get better, and there are days when you go because you’ve become an exercise addict and you need the endorphin rush. Still, there are days when you go because nothing else seems to be going right. You put on your skates, and nothing else in the world matters. No one on the track knows about the dishes you left in the sink or the bullshit you left at work, and they don’t care. You don’t know if you’ll pass your next assessment, so you try to let go of any expectations about it and just practice.

And you practice and you practice and you practice and you practice.

Sappho Takes a Selfie

Sappho_and_Erinna_in_a_Garden_at_Mytilene

Sappho takes a selfie.
She is studying her face.
She wants to know how she looks
when she wants you to kiss her.
Can you read it?
Will you like it?
She takes a casual pose,
props her elbow on the window,
golden sunset behind her,
practices the look of surprise –
her camera has your eyes.