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andrea_beth
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Name: andrea beth :)
Interests: thinking, dreaming, loving, traveling, dance, theater, music, French, poetry, philosophy, writing, broadway, art, dessert, old-fashioned romance, and tequila.
Occupation: Teacher, student, Princess
Message: message meEmail: email me
Member Since:
10/22/2003
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| Pulling out of the parking lot tonight I spotted a mother-daughter pair dressed as cowgirls. They both were wearing white shorts, white blouses, and cowboy hats. Cute concept, right? Wrong. The mother was wearing a crop top blouse and booty shorts - as in, far more of her was showing than was covered. Yes, she had the body for it, and I'm sure she enjoys looking perfect in a bathing suit. But is that the example you want to set for your daughter? Do you want her to think that she has to over-sex and expose herself in order to be beautiful, happy, and loved? Daughters mimic their mothers' behavior far more than they listen to their advice. Maybe we should stop blaming the media for the distorted body image of today's young girls and start taking responsibility for setting a decent example. | | |
| Miss Becky was the mother of my very first dance teacher, Miss Joyce. While Miss Joyce was slick and scary, Miss Becky was all warmth, hugs, and heart. She used to hang around the studio, giving advice, help, encouragement, and smiles. She had an unforgettable chuckling laugh that made all things positive percolate inside of every little girl who walked through the studio door.
Today I learned that Miss Becky died, and I cried.
Death seems to make you realize the obvious: that we are all mortal, life is unexpectedly short, etc. etc. But I was offered another truism today, with striking clarity and relevance: It's nice to be important, but it's more important to be nice.
Miss Becky was not famous. I only discovered her passing because my mother has a habit of skimming the obituaries in our hometown paper. She read this particular obituary a few days late, (backlogged from the holidays), and almost missed it at the bottom of the page. The funeral had already passed. A typo in Miss Becky's name even managed to sneak in, right under the noses of the unconcerned editors. By the world's definition, my dear Miss Becky was not an important person.
If Madonna died, it would be on the front page of every paper in the world. Everyone would know, but would the 'general public' really care? I like her music as much as the next dancing fool, but I wouldn't be emotionally distraught at her passing. I wouldn't cry, and I wouldn't say a prayer for her.
As much as we all claim to "live in the moment" and "experience the here and now," it's only natural to wonder how our death would affect those around us. It's almost an objective measure of our impact on this world. I can only hope that I end up like Miss Becky when I die: no state funeral, no press release, but a young woman, who I haven't seen in decades, weeping for the loss of the goodness I brought to her life and this world.
זיכרונה לברכה, may her memory be a blessing. | | |
| I’m currently reading The Happiness Project, both executed and written by Gretchen Rubin. The book falls somewhere in the intersection of self-help, autobiography, and novel, and details Gretchen’s personal inquiry and experiments into what makes us happy in our everyday lives.
In chapter 3 she starts a blog, a source of challenge, novelty, and self-expression; research shows that each of these leads to happiness. Her venture into virgin Internet territory brought parts of me (namely the writer part) to shame for having abandoned my own blog. But shortly after the blog chapter (and my self-loathing) had passed, she presented me with the following quote:
“Between the ages of twenty and forty we are engaged in the process of discovering who we are, which involves learning the difference between accidental limitations which it is our duty to outgrow and the necessary limitations for our nature beyond which we cannot trespass without impunity.” –W.H. Auden
And suddenly, I had the perfect segue into my newly resurrected blog. 
What is an accidental limitation? I see it as something that can be isolated and improved upon; it is something you picked up along the way, and it’s your job to lose it again. Accidental limitations might range from low self-confidence to fear of flying to a thousand others I haven’t thought of yet.
But what is a necessary limitation? Unfortunately I know its kind too well, yet I grapple with its nature, power, and extent every day. The reason I abandoned my blog so suddenly is that I was terribly ill. I suffer from a form of bipolar depression, as well as from an anxiety disorder. Thankfully, I am so much better now, better to the point that I can write about it here, but it still presents me with an array of “necessary limitations” every day….
I am often in conflict with myself – there are things I want to do, places I want to go, different lives I’d like to lead – and I always end up banging my head against the brick wall of “necessary limitations.” ARGH!! I have to keep my sleep cycle, I can’t become too stressed, my stomach will only digest certain foods, I always need a back-up plan, I can’t necessarily commit because who knows how I’ll be feeling….the list goes on.
We live in a culture that encourages us to grab the bull by the horns, push ourselves harder every day, and “just do it.” But this is a dangerous way to educate the public. The notion that any child can become anything he/she wants is an inspiring but completely ridiculous one. What happens when that child gets to be a young adult, and runs into his or her own “necessary limitations?” What happens to the girl who wants to be a gymnast but develops ALS, or to the boy with dyslexia who wanted to study languages? With this rampant endorsement of “you can be whatever you want to be,” we have given birth to a myriad of disappointments and have left our peers without the means to cope.
I feel both Auden and Rubin have hit the nail on the head. We need to accept and respect our necessary limitations, but never let ourselves give up on challenging our accidental ones. It’s like my Grandma always reminds me, “Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change (necessary limitations), the courage to change the things I can (accidental limitations), and the wisdom to know the difference.”
So even if I can’t change the big things about how my life works – for example, I can’t go back to work full-time yet – I can at least change the little ones. And my first change is facing the self-doubt and possible ridicule of the net, and taking up my blog again. I try to practice what I preach, and this seems like a perfect example. So here’s hoping, and happy reading! | | |
| It's nearing my 3-month anniversary in the Cidade Marvilhosa, so I thought I'd reflect on the most important lessons I've learned so far. Some have changed my outlook on life; others are just curious or useful pieces of information.
1. Life is a struggle. Be ready to work hard.
2. Count and enjoy your blessings while you have them.
3. All men lie. The cuter they are, the better they are at it, too.
4. Don’t leave personal items in places to which you do not have the keys.
5. The most beautiful things in life are not man-made.
6. Despite our big hearts and altruistic notions, man’s primary instinct is self-protection and survival.
7. However, the opposite is also true: never under estimate people’s capacity for kindness.
8. There is nothing too ridiculous or obscene to occur in the streets during Carnaval.
9. There is more than one variety of mango. (!?!?!)
10. Wherever you go, there’s always someone Jewish.
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| Everyone says Rio’s carnaval is “the greatest party on earth.” I’ve never been too much of a party animal, but even I have been jittery with anticipation for this momentous occasion. And yesterday it all began.
The basic concept is as follows: the city goes bat-shit. Really. Logistically speaking, the majority of carnaval celebration is made up of blocos, individual street parties that revolve around a band playing or a float moving. They are pre-organized and announced so people can show up and make merry. Other celebrations sort of just happen. For example, the street perpendicular to my block has been immovably jam-packed with people all day. It is the center of gay Rio and a crazy place at the moment.
You may ask, what happens at these parties? Well, there is music – usually drum-heavy samba type beats that make your feet move without you even noticing. So, there is obviously dancing, which I adore. (And I do a mean samba, I shock all of my Brazilian friends.) And tooooons of drinking. Tons, tons, tons. I’ve never seen so much alcohol in my life. There are also costumes – though they are mostly of the light decorative variety, fairy wings and headpieces and the like. But you know the pictures you see of extravagantly dressed gay men at carnaval? They are true to life too, a mere block from where I sit writing this. There are downsides though: the gorgeous city become filthily lined with trash, and the normal smell of fresh sea air turns into a bitter mix of urine and beer. So if I had to summarize, I’d say carnaval is basically one enormous drunken dancing street orgy, costumes optional.
People also use carnaval as an excuse to do anything and everything that would be considered socially or morally inappropriate at any other time of the year. Because they can shrug and say (as I’ve heard a hundred times already) “Eh, it’s carnaval.” I’ll never forget being at my first bloco and thinking, “WOW, when did it become okay to do that in the street?!” I’ll spare you the details.
It’s strange, sometimes it seems like people are celebrating because they are so full of joy and passion for life. Other times it seems like the complete opposite, as if they are celebrating out of desperation. There’s one song lyric I keep hearing in my head over and over…
“Dance and drink and screw, because there’s nothing else to do.”
The song is “Common People,” which in part preaches that the essence of life is strife as opposed to happiness for most of us. And this is the impression I’m left with now. Life in Brazil is tough. Yes, you see beautiful hotels but hookers lining the sidewalk. There are gated apartment buildings with homeless people sleeping out front. Brazil has one of the world’s highest recycling rates, but only because there are always children picking through the trash to find and cash in on your old beer cans. Poverty is depressing, and South America is poor.
Don’t get me wrong!! I love Brazil- the people, the nature, the energy, the attitude, the fact that you can buy fresh popcorn on most street corners…it’s fantastic. And most of all, I love that Brazilians enjoy every moment they can- but I’m starting to realize why. It’s because they understand that there are no guarantees, that they could be miserable tomorrow. They understand the fragility of happiness. So it seems carnaval is just a magnification of an underlying Brazilian impulse: dance and drink and screw, because there’s nothing else to do.
“Sing along with the common people,
Sing along and it might just get you thru'…” | | |
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