When was the last time you took a look at your own life and revisited some of the choices you made?
Time passes so quickly, especially when you’re busy, that many of us get caught up in the day-to-day life and never take the time to sit back and look at the big picture. We never take a breath and say “Am I in the job I’ve always dreamt of?” or “What kind of compromises have I made and have I made them consciously?”
Anne Tyler’s new novel has a main character who wakes up one morning and realizes that her life has completely gone off track. She sits back and starts envisioning what sort of life she would have had had she not derailed back when she did.
Another recent book I read talks about how a frog will jump back out when thrown into a boiling point of water, but how if you put the frog in cold water and then heat the water slowly it will sit there forever, until he’s fully cooked.
Both made me think of how we lose track of things so quickly and rarely take the time to take a peek at the big picture. This applies to most anything in our daily life: relationships, career, friendships, priorities, etc. Unless some major disaster occurs, many people live the days one day at a time and try to make it through that one day without too much grief. Once the day’s over, we’re all too relieved to have made it.
These books made me think and try to take a big picture look at my life. Especially since I’ve been thinking and planning some major changes in my life, I decided it was crucial to take a look at my life and how much of it is a result of my actively trying versus just falling into the situation. This way, as I plan the next steps of my life, I can take the effort and moment to ensure I can get back on the road or consciously make the derailed path my new choice.
It’s completely fine to change your ideas, priorities and even mind. You’re welcome to want to travel the world one day and get married the next. You can move from being a programmer to a musician and then go study psychology. You can date men and then women. Anything and everything is conceivable and most things are not beyond the realm of possibility in life.
Just as long as you don’t let life drag you along. Take control of your life. Make it what you want it to be. Let your decisions be conscious.
Lead the Way.
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“I like to listen. I have learned a great deal from listening carefully. Most people never listen.” -Ernest Hemingway At the end of my theories of personality class, our teacher asked the class which of the six theorists we studied, (Freud, Adler, Sullivan, Skinner, Jung, and Rogers) we would choose. A few students raised their hands and told their preferences. Most of the choices depended on the specific problem that the student assumed to be facing. For example, if one suffers from a phobia, Skinner might be a good choice since he worked with many phobics. I said I would have liked to go to Carl Rogers. Not to just any Rogerian, but Rogers himself. Even though there are many aspects to Rogers’ theories that I enjoy, he had a specific trait, or maybe we can say a gift, that most practicing Rogerians don’t have. He knew how to listen. There are videotapes from sessions Carl Rogers held with a patient. In the tape one can see that to Rogers, at that moment, all that matters in the world is that very patient and the words he or she is uttering. Rogers knew how to utterly and completely listen to another human being. How often do people do that? And I don’t mean ‘pay attention’, I mean truly listen. Most often as the other person talks, we’re formulating our answer, thinking of something completely different like a problem at work or an important to-do, or even simply tuning out. Most of us never bother to scratch deeper than the surface of a conversation, especially if it doesn’t directly involve us. I don’t mean to say we’re selfish or that we don’t care. I just think that most of us are usually thinking of too many things at once, so we don’t really concentrate on one particular thing at a time. It’s certainly possible to listen to a friend while making a grocery list in one’s head. And I don’t mean just nod, but listen enough to be able to recite the words back to the person. But is that really listening? When was the last time a certain person or conversation had your full attention? And I mean 100%. Being listened to is an incredible rush. You can definitely tell when someone’s listening and not just hearing. When the person is fully there with you and you’re not only their number one priority but their only priority for that moment in time. Somehow we tend to do that when we’re in the process of making new friends or falling in love. Since it’s a completely new environment we tend to be ‘all there’ and we have very few assumptions since we don’t know the other party well enough to assume. So we listen. We really listen. I decided that I want to do more listening. What I can learn from really listening to one person is exponentially more rewarding than simply hearing the words of a hundred people. Previously? Slow. If I were a car, I’d be one stuck on overdrive. During sixth grade, I prepared all year for an exam that would allow me to transfer from one school to a better one. After ten months of obscene hours of studying, private lessons, and a ruined summer, three days before the exam I found out that the school would only accept one person. Almost a hundred of us taking the test and they would let in only one person. I had no chance in hell. But I’d come this far and I was going to take the damn test regardless. On the morning of the exam, I woke up with a fever of 38.5, which is 101.3 for the Celsius challenged. It seemed like all signs pointed to this school not being in my future. I went to the test nonetheless. And because I was so sick, I read each question several times, ensuring myself I knew exactly what they were asking. I took my sweet ass time and I didn’t worry, mostly cause I couldn’t; it was already too much effort to keep my eyelids from closing. And, of course, I got in. (Otherwise my telling this story would be pointless, right?) I know that the only reason I scored so high on that test was cause I was too tired to rush through it. I didn’t make the usual mistakes that come from hurriedly misreading the question. I’ve always done a million things at once. The TV would blast while I did homework. I did my undergraduate degree and graduate degree simultaneously. During the same four years, I held five different jobs on campus, dated two different men (not simultaneously of course!) so it wasn’t like I was closed up in my room studying all the time. Even when I walk down the street I walk rapidly, more concerned with my destination than my route. Always rushing. If I’m not doing a million things, I’m often doing nothing. It’s like a car that can do 0 or 100 but nothing in between. I know that I have my mom to thank for these specific genes. She suffers from the same speed problem and often complains at the end of each day about how she has a million things to do and how she feels overwhelmingly worn out. On Saturday, I lifted one of my nephews in an effort to stop him from jumping into the not-so-clean waters of the Bosphorus. Within twenty seconds, my back reminded me what a completely moronic decision that was. Pains started shooting up and down my left leg. So my back is broke. Again. Now I’m walking, more like limping I guess, around New York City, slowly. Slowly. I am taking my time. I have no choice. But I’m realizing that while fast accomplishes many things, slow is crucial. It makes you pay attention. It makes you see details. It makes you think. It makes you enjoy. I’m sad it took my body’s incapacity to get me here, but I’m trying to make the most of it. I’m learning that sometimes you want to cruise at 40 and appreciate the landscape. Previously? Hatred. If you’ve been following my log for a while you might have noticed the theme of self exploration. On of the reasons I’ve always enjoyed writing diaries is that they sort of make me face who I am. Especially lately I’ve been trying to look within and face some of the major flaws, hangups, issues that I have. Turkey happens to be one of them. Ever since I can remember I’ve wanted to leave Istanbul. I grew up in a crowd where I was continually excluded and ridiculed for being different. While I enjoyed reading, my so-called friends spent their time gossiping and shopping. I was the nerd and the dork. It seemed the only way I could escape these labels was to go to the other end of the universe. One where people would stop treating me as the freak. The thing is I never stopped hating those people. Each time I come back and run into one of them my knees go weak and I become the same girl with coke bottle bottom glasses and extreme lack of self confidence. Which, of course, results in my having violent reactions to their presence and I hate them. Just the thought is enough to make me cringe. Tonight I was sitting at a concert and thinking of all those teenager friends whom I hate and I decided that hatred is a sign of a flaw in myself, not others. If other people can cause such a strong emotion to come to the surface there must be some residual issues within. Many psychologists believe that the things we hate in others are really the reflections of flaws we have within, but I’m not sure I agree with that. I do, however, agree that for me to feel something as strong as hatred there must be something going on. So I spent some time thinking why I hate them and howcome they still have such a strong effect on me. And I came to the same conclusion as I have been reaching for many other things lately: cause I let them. It’s truly amazing how much more is within the range of one’s capacity than one is willing to admit. It’s so much easier to say “Oh I’ve always been like that and it’s who I am.” Just like it’s easier for me to hate those people rather than accept the fact that a part of me still feels insecure/inadequate. So here’s the deal: as of today I don’t hate these people anymore. I might not agree with their choices in life and I still don’t appreciate the way they treated me as a child but the past is past and I am ready to move on and let go. Hatred is a wasted emotion. Previously? Regret. I’ve always been hung up on the past. Logically I fully understand the uselessness of getting hung up on the mistakes or bad decisions that have already been made. The idea is that you learn and you move on. My brain often has problems relaying this crucial and sensible information to my mind and emotions. If I ever hurt someone I tend to feel responsible for the rest of my life. I’ve learned that since I can’t let go easily, it’s best for me to try most anything such that I won’t have to live with regrets. This lesson, of course, doesn’t come cheap. Many years ago, as a teenager, I was completely infatuated with a friend who felt the same way about me. For one reason or another, I thought it best not to date him at the time. It completely broke his heart and he no longer wanted to speak with me. Literally to the day I still feel awful about this stupid mistake that I’ve made over twelve years ago. I still wonder at times how my life would have turned out had I had the guts to date him way back when. It’s not to say that I’m not thrilled with how my life turned out. I adore my boyfriend and I don’t regret a moment of being with him or with any of my previous ones. I just regret that at the time I wasn’t more honest with myself or him about why we couldn’t go out and that I never took the chances as they reappeared later on in our lives. He’s one of the major reasons I take risks today. I know that I don’t want to look back and say “what if” with all the other things in my life. I’d rather try and fail than never try at all. The funny thing is, most likely, had we dated it wouldn’t have worked out and we would have broken up not to really ever speak again. Now that we never did, we’re pretty good friends. So I spose that would have never happened. But still I cannot help but think all the “what if” scenarios. Especially when I’m home where so many of my mistakes were made. Over here what I do is under the scrutiny of too many people. The small group of people with whom my family associates watches over all of us like hawkes. I was often too scared to take risks. Too scared that I would be judged and alienated even more than I already was. Once I made it to the US, I was suddenly free to do as I pleased. And all the risks were mine to take, the mistakes mine to make. And I’m truly thankful for them. Previously? OCD. My father has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. He’s never been officially diagnosed but you can take my word for it. Most of my childhood was spent with his rearranging the small pieces of paper by my mom’s bedside. Or I’d be in my bedroom chatting with a friend and my dad would walk in to say ‘good evening’ when he came home from work. After he closed my door, he’d knock once more and pick up a random piece of thread or anything else tiny that might be on the floor of my room. He’d do this at least three times before he left completely. If a tiny plastic part of anything was lost he’d spend hours looking for the piece or get a new one made. If that was impossible, he’d buy it all from scratch. We never ever had any broken anything in our house. We still don’t. My sister’s son, Jeff, must have somehow taken after my father. Today my sister dropped me off to hang out with the babies while she went off to run an errand. Jeff, Aksel and I put on a movie, Peter Pan, and played games while we watched it. An hour later my sister returned and Aksel ran to the door to greet his mom. Jeff walked up to me and motioned me to turn off the vcr. As I pressed the button, he yelled. I looked at his face, trying to comprehend what bothered him. After a few seconds he walked over to the vcr and pressed the eject button. He was mad that I’d turned off the vcr without taking the movie out. Once I took the video tape out and placed it in his box, he went off to greet his mom. On the way, he picked up her slippers. There is absolutely no way a family member is allowed in the house with shoes on. Jeff will make sure the slippers are set in front of the door as the family member gets off the elevator. Last night, on the way to bed I passed by the hall with him on my lap and he complained that the door to the attic was open and wouldn’t go to bed until he saw me close it. Since my father doesn’t live in the same house and neither my sister, nor my brother in law are all that tidy, it totally blew my mind to see how Jeff might be such a neat freak. I wonder if OCD is inherited. Either Jeff is extremely observant and is somehow imitating his favorite family member, which happens to be my dad or this need for order is something my father’s genes passed down to little Jeff. It’s amazing, however, that the genes managed to skip right over both my sister and me. Previously? Amerika. My sister’s little boy looks at me with eyes shining and says “Amerika!” After a few minutes we all realize he’s calling me. I look in the eyes of Aksel, pronounced the same as Axel, and say “What’s my name?” He doesn’t hesitate. He goes, “Amerika!” We all laugh. My sister has spent the last three weeks trying to teach my nephews my name. She wanted to surprise me so she also taught them a bit more. She’d go “Where’s Karen coming from?” and Aksel would say “Amerika!” And they’d all be happy. So, of course, the poor boy thought that was my name. Yesterday after we found the discrepency out we tried to set the record straight. “No, no sweetie her name isn’t America, it’s Karen.” He looked at me for a few minutes and said “Karen.” And then two minutes later I’d ask him “What’s my name?” he’d go “Amerika!” And I said “No. No. Karen.” Another hour later I asked once more and he said “Ame–Karen.” So we burst out laughing. By the end of the day he’d figured it all out. And called me “Karen.” The little episode made me think of my life and how what I represent changes drastically when I come here. In the States, I am the foreigner. The girl who’s from Turkey. Over here it’s just the opposite. I’m the one who’s in America. I used to think that this duality pointed out the fact that I didn’t really belong anywhere anymore. A foreigner in both of my lands. Never really fitting in in either location and always in between. But I don’t think that way anymore. I figure I’m much better off than many… I belong in both of these countries. Previously? Tick Tick Tick. And we’re down to one. I’m going home. I’m going home. This time tomorrow I will be on the plane. In less than forty-eight hours, I’ll be hugging my nephews. I’ll be walking down the coast of the Bosphorus, licking the best ice cream ever. I’ll be watching the waves and enjoying a delicious conversation with my best friend, Levent. I’ll be curling up in the living room with my mom and my sister. I’ll be sitting on my dad’s lap. I’ll be giving kisses to my grandmothers. I’ll be hugging my nephews. I’ll be eating the special delicious salads that I can never find in New York. I’ll be eating Turkish feta cheese on toasted bread and drinking sour cherry juice. I’ll be picking fruits right from the tree. Erik and Dut, both non-existent in America. I’ll be hugging my nephews. I’ll be hugging my nephews. I’ll do my best to write daily. Home always makes me think of my past. It’s amazing how everything feels like it should be the way it was when I was seventeen. Each time I go, there are new places, new trends, and the money is worth even less. But I’ll be hugging my nephews. I’m going home! Previously? Wasted Emotions. I realized today that I waste so many of my emotions. Of course, on some level, I always knew this. But somehow it just hit me today in a way that suddenly made me realize it well enough to rid myself of this destructive behavior. I guess even though I know something about myself, it takes a certain level of acceptance/understanding for me to do something about it. Anyhow, I was talking to a friend and he said that he worried about his friend often, and I replied, “You shouldn’t worry, that’s a wasted emotion.” He looked at me like I was a freak and then started laughing at me. How dare I, the queen of worrying, give such advice, he said. He was right, of course. Certain emotions are totally valid and people experience them regularly. We all get angry, feel sad or happie. There are legitimate situations that cause one or more of these emotions to emerge and I think that’s perfectly acceptable, assuming your emotion is proportional and correlated to the event. And then there’s an entire set of wasted emotions, the top three in my list are worrying, feeling frustrated and being jealous. I can’t think of any scenarios where such emotions are constructive or worthwhile. Let’s analyze each: While worrying makes your insides rot, it doesn’t actually help you or the other person resolve the issue that’s making you worry. For example, after I took an exam in college, I’d spend hours worrying about whether I passed or failed. Does it matter? Not really, at that point. Regardless of the outcome, it’s impossible for me to change it. Would it have helped if I worried before the exam? Again, not really. It would have helped if I studied but worrying itself doesn’t help me one bit. On the contrary, it might have stopped me from concentrating. You might be inclined to say, “Who worries about grades? That’s so stupid. I worry about important things like getting a job or being sick.” But, trust me, worrying doesn’t help in any one of those situations either. Frustration. Another totally useless emotion. What does frustration even mean? It can be out of boredom, anger, helplessness or many other actual emotions. But frustration itself is not good for anything. It’s most likely an emotion that symbolizes the need to “do something” about a situation that is in some way out of hand. Feeling frustrated doesn’t resolve the issue, realizing what’s causing the frustration and addressing that, however, does. Oh and one of my favorites, jealousy. I used to be so incredibly jealous that it was embarrassing. I’ve always believed jealousy is closely tied with someone’s self worth. Most people who’re jealous of their significant others feel that way cause they don’t think they’re worthy of their significant other and that she or he might leave at any minute when she or he realizes how unworthy the person is. Sad, but true. And jealousy can be overwhelming for the person who feels it and totally unbearable for the party for whom it’s felt. Talk about a wasted emotion. You end up driving the person away just cause you’re stifling the crap out of them. These three are my top wasted emotions. I’m happy to say that I’ve made huge strides in jealousy and it’s almost non-existent for me now. I’ve also worked hard to improve the frustration one. Which leaves me with my worst: worry. This will be extremely difficult for me to let go. For some reason worry is associated with being nice and caring. We worry about the people we care about and that’s a good thing. Actually, I no longer think that’s true. Worrying doesn’t help the other person. Sometimes it stifles him or her and limits his or her freedom in the same way jealousy does. Almost always, it eats you up from the inside and sometimes even makes you feel anger towards the other party for not being considerate of your feelings. I think caring is totally fine and wonderful, and it involves being there for the other person, feeling happy and angry and sad with them. Sharing laughter and making memories, being a shoulder on which to lean. Helping out, lending an ear. All these are acceptable and all show that you care. But worrying, well that’s a waste. Which is why I will stop. What emotions do you waste? Previously? Home. This Friday at 5:30, I’ll be flying to Istanbul. Each time I book a flight to go home, the same thing happens: suddenly I’m incredibly homesick and the date of my flight can’t arrive soon enough. I start calling all my childhood friends to make sure they put aside time to meet with me. I call my family even more often than we already talk and I think of nothing besides being there. My family is one of the most precious things in my life. In fact them and Jake might be it for me. The rest doesn’t really matter. Of course I have close friends whom I cherish and people that have and still do significantly affect my life, but my family and Jake are the list of people for whom I’d die. (or at least alter my life significantly to fit with their needs) So why do I live so far away from a family I adore, you may ask? And that’s a complicated question that would take so much more patience than a regular human’s limit. Let’s just say life here is more in line with the person I am and I realized long ago that without being happy yourself, you cannot spread happiness onto others. My family, although they miss me terribly, completely understands and is even happy for me as they can see the positive effects America has had on me. Of course this doesn’t stop from making my choice to live an ocean away any easier. Each time I speak with my sister and she tells me of another change in my nephews something inside me starts telling me what a mistake I’ve made and how I’m missing some of the greatest moments of my family. Same feelings emerge on each birthday, New Years, mother’s day, father’s day, etc. Don’t even get me started on my fears of not being there for the death of a family member should one occur. (Hopefully no time soon, or, even, ever.) Yet I continue to live here. I continue to believe in my choice. I continue to travel back and forth every three months to show myself that I can still be an active part of my family and live miles and miles away. In Japanese there are three common directional verbs: ikimasu (to go), kimasu (to come), and kaerimasu(to return). When you go to work and are coming back home, they use “kaerimasu” since you’re returning to your home. They also use kaerimasu if you’re returning home from a vacation. Last week in my class, I told my Japanese teacher that I was “ikimasu” home. And she said that I was supposed to use “kaerimasu” and I objected saying that then I couldn’t use “kaerimasu” for New York, which really is my home. She said I can use it in both cases, which would sound like “I am returning to Istanbul for ten days and then I shall return to New York.” Sounds funny in English but in Japanese it implies that both locations are my home. I love that the language will allow me to represent my true feelings about both locations. Because as much as New York City is my home, Istanbul will never stop being my home. Previously? RIP DNA. “Life is wasted on the living.” – Douglas Noel Adams I first came to know about Douglas Adams through a Fast Company article. His firm and ideas seemed so outstanding and fascinating that I put his novel on hold in the library. I am not and never have been much of a science fiction writer, but TheHitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy made me laugh from the first paragraph. I went on to read the rest of the five-part trilogy and even some others. I found his writing refreshing and hilarious and I wish I were half as creative as he is. Or I should say “was” since Douglas Adams passed away yesterday, at 49, from a heart attack. I’ve often wondered whether I’d like to meet my favorite writers. I read pretty much non-stop and have a long list of favorite authors. And Douglas Adams is definitely my favorite science-fiction writer, assuming I can categorize his work as such. On the whole, I tend to like character-driven novels, which must be why I like the works of Anne Tyler, Salinger and Nick Hornby. The combinations of unforgettable characters and interesting plots like with John Irving or Charles Dickens are even more rewarding. And then there are the classics like Little Prince, lovingly provided by Antione deSaint Exupery. There are novels that make me think like Fahrenheit 451 or The Fountainhead. And writers like David Sedaris who makes me laugh and Harper Lee who makes me cry. There also are the nonfiction writers like Feynman who show me the wonders of the world in which we live. Douglas Adams’s death made me realize that I need to be more active in going to my favorite writers’ events. I want to attend readings and find out more about the people behind the novels. It also made me want to go back to writing my own novel. So long and thanks for all the novels, DNA, I hope you have your towel with you. Who are your favorite writers? And which ones would you like to meet? Previously? Out There. If it’s not perfect, it’s worthless. If you don’t completely know what you’re talking about, don’t even start talking. Being quiet is better than being wrong. As I started explaining to him that when learning something new, none of us know all there is to know about something but we just give it a try, he said, “You mean you don’t know what you’re talking about in all those meetings?” I laughed. I don’t. I really don’t. I have some understanding of what we’re trying to do, I have a good idea of what our goals are but I’m not as familiar with the tools as I’d like to be. None of this, however, is stopping me from trying. I come up with ideas, I present suggestions, I offer my perspective. I’m not saying I make it all up. I have thought about the issue at length, but I don’t know all there is to know about it and I am making certain assumptions that might prove to be incorrect. I guess it all boils down to the fact that I’m not scared of being wrong. I think it’s much better to have tried and failed than not to have tried at all. I told him it’s like a kid trying to speak in full sentences before he can say the words correctly. If the kid was too scared to say the word incorrectly, he might never learn how to talk. Same goes for walking and most everything else we learn in life. Sometimes you plunge into the black hole before you can discover the beauties that lie within. I also told him that for every project to become reality, someone has to make the call, the decisions. Often times, the person thinks their idea will work well but they don’t actually know it. If a team member is never willing to make the call cause they’re unsure of the likeliness of success, the project would never conclude. Life is full of uncertainty. It’s not perfect and an amazing number of people don’t know what they’re talking about. But that’s okay. You don’t need to know everything to have an opinion. As long as you’re willing to admit the possibility of your being wrong, I don’t think people get penalized for trying. I also think that you need to put yourself out there before you can reap the rewards of an effort. Sitting in your shell and not committing to anything might be comfy and cozy, but it won’t let you progress. For me, one of the most important things in life is self-progress. So I put myself out there over and over again. I fail, I get hurt, I get mad, I get disappointed. And I pick myself up and do it all over again. And in those rare times when I succeed, the feeling is beyond words. What do you think? Previously? Airplanes and Strangers. |
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