About something. – galloblog

George

I lost my puppy last week. He was over 2 years old, but all my dogs are forever puppies in my eyes. The grief and sadness is intense. For better or for worse, I loved my little puppers like he was my own son. I expected him to be a part of my family for over a decade more.

Then, one morning I woke up as usual to exuberant puppy kisses. I stumble downstairs, my two dogs hopping around me in excitement. I fire off a work email as I heat up water for tea and pour my cereal. I take my cereal bowl and herd my dogs outside to the backyard, where I plop on a lawn chair and start to eat my cereal. My dogs are sniffing around per usual.

Suddenly I hear a loud rustle of leafs. At first I thought it was a squirrel, as they also sound like they weigh 100x more than they do. But it registered in my sleepy brain that these leaf rustles were far too loud even for a squirrel. I look up and I see two pit bulls barreling down the hill that leads into our backyard grassy area.

From there, I got complete tunnel vision. I heard my 6 lb. dog Harry give a frightened yelp and I see him hunkered, with a look of surprise and hurt on his sweet face. One of the pitbulls is standing next to him with his tail wagging. I run to him and pick him up, putting him under my right armpit. I look for George, my 15 lb dog. His neck is in the mouth of a big pit bull.

I run over and try to reach him, and manage to kick the black pitbull but he dances away with George in his mouth. I try this at least 2 or 3 times while Harry is crying in fear. I realize I need to get Harry out of the way. I run to my basement door and stick him inside. Then I run back to George.

The black pitbull is having a ball. He is gnawing on George’s neck with absolute relish. Every time I get remotely close he just ran away. George is motionless with his precious tongue sticking out of his mouth. I don’t really know how much noise I was making or what I was saying. I do remember feeling a panicked dread when I realize I couldn’t protect him. At the top of my lungs I scream “ANDREW WAKE UP” hoping my husband would hear from upstairs and help. Then I just kept screaming. At some point I remember seeing my neighbor who owns the pitbulls coming down the road. The black pitbull eventually released George when he heard his owner. I pick up George and run to the gate for the neighbors to get his dogs.

My neighbor looked shocked. “Is he hurt?” I look down at George who is motionless and has streaks of blood in his fur. “He’s bleeding,” I said. He asked me which dog attacked George and I pointed to the black one. “What? He has never..” my neighbor started to say. At some point another neighbor had run up but just backed away when he saw me talking to the pitbull’s owner. I murmured something like “I have to get him to Andrew,” and closed the gate. I went into the basement and I didn’t see Harry. My heart dropped in fear as I called him and he didn’t run up. I ran up the stairs and he was at the basement door leading to our ground floor. He started crying in fear when he saw me. I ran into the downstairs and again screamed for Andrew to wake up. Andrew came running down the stairs, gun drawn. When he saw George he put it away. We confirmed George had a heart beat and was breathing.

From there we had a quick conversation about what to do. We agreed to take him to our local vet first. The vet checked out George and said all his vitals were fine just mostly dehydrated but he needed emergency services. We took him to the ER. On the way he moved a little bit and even stuck his head out the window. I felt a flicker of hope. When we got to the ER, they told us George was lucky. He needed stitches and would be very sore for several days but he should be okay. They would do a quick procedure with George anesthetized and it would take a few hours.

We go home and wait, trying not to freak out Harry with our apprehension. We realize Harry has some blood on his back and a swelling in his abdomen. We decide to go back to the ER and have Harry checked out while we wait for George.

They check Harry out, tell us he has a little puncture but should be okay. Keep an eye on him. They tell us George is done with his stitches. They bring out a completely floppy George in a half body cast who has obviously not woken up from anesthesia yet. At this point I should have questioned. But we were still exhausted and shocked. They give us his discharge information and we leave.

At home, George is still very drowsy. Every once in a while he opened his eyes and seemed conscious. He finally moved his pale, swollen tongue back inside his mouth. I think his breathing seems labored and weird. I call the ER and ask if I should be concerned. They tell me he’s been through a lot of trauma and just needs to sleep. About 30-60 minutes later, his breathing is still weird and sounds like a whistle. I call again and they ask when he had surgery. They seem concerned he hasn’t recovered from anesthesia yet and tell me to bring him in.

We drive to the ER. George seems more alert and of course his breathing is slow and steady now. A technician comes out and barely looks at him but tells me basically what the first person on the phone said – he has been through a lot of trauma, he seems fine, just let him sleep. Okay then. We go back home. I decide to sleep with George on the floor so he doesn’t wake up and get scared that he’s alone. I hold his paw in my hands. His breathing seems a little funky to me but I remember what the ER told me and try to just let him sleep. Around 2:30 a.m. he chokes up some peanut butter we had tried to give him earlier and starts breathing extremely labored. This did not seem remotely normal by any means. I wake up my husband. He sees that George is struggling to breath and tries to give him mouth-to-mouth. A few seconds later, George stops breathing. I pick him up and start wailing. Andrew runs to the bathroom and vomits. Harry is barking and scared. I make him sniff George so he understands he is gone and doesn’t think he’s just been abandoned. I think I may feel George’s heart beating but I realize it’s just mine racing. I feel an explosion of sorrow and disbelief.

We drive back to the ER with George in my arms for cremation. Andrew picks him up and I call him back to the truck so I can pet George’s soft ears for the last time. Andrew disappears into the ER and I never see my puppy again.

My sweet baby George. He was the epitome if someone who knew me better than I knew myself had hand-designed a dog to fill every place in my heart. He was a cuddle-bunny, was obsessed with playing but not very good about the release part. He had the strongest little front arms that he would wrap tightly around his toy and it was so much effort to get it away from him. He occasionally would just play with himself – find a toy and throw it up in the air and then pounce on it,or bring it to the top of his doggy stairs and let is roll down so he could chase it. He could be a nervous nelly – decided he was very afraid of loud noises, even the sizzling of a pan made him shake with fear. I loved comforting him. i loved snuggling him. I loved playing with him. I loved teaching him.

I can’t believe I had no more chance to help improve his interactions with humans, become a more confident swimmer, learn to overcome his aggression with visitors and aggressive dogs.

George, George. You were taken away way way too soon. You were healthy as a horse, you were extremely happy and loved more than most children around the world. We were ready and able to take care of you for your entire life, which we hoped would be very long.

The pain from losing a dog is so profound. In some ways it is worse than losing a human. It has nothing to do with valuing their life over a human, but it’s for two main reasons I think. One, they are part of almost every hour of your life, especially if you work from home. There was basically no part of my daily life they weren’t a part of except going to the gym and grocery shopping. So their absence is incredibly felt as your entire house and entire day is full of the memory of their sweet presence. Two, they are so so innocent. All George wanted to do was play with toys, sniff things, and love on his pack (me, my husband, and our little dog Harry). He had no evil in him and no understanding of evil. He often slept on his back with his belly exposed, a sign that he felt exceptionally safe and secure.

It is not fair that this precious life was ripped from him by a dog that also wanted to play, but had no bite inhibition. I hope with my entire heart that George was actually conscious a few times after surgery so that his last moments were not of being attacked by a huge monster, but of us loving on him,

Oh George my heart aches for you. I want to hold you so bad. I can’t conceive of never holding you again, never scratching your soft ears, never feeling your exuberant sloppy kisses.

George, George. I hope you are in heaven. Some people think that’s goofy but I think it could be true. The bible talks about Jesus restoring all creation, not just humans. Also the lion will lay down with the lamb.. maybe a metaphor, maybe not? I really really hope there’s not a “dog heaven” but just a heaven, that includes all animal souls not just pets. And I hope I get to see George again, and that all wrongs including his very very wrong death will be made right. I hope he’s now playing with Desi and Lucy (our dogs that passed in 2022), Zorro (2008) and Valentine (2002). I hope he never has fear and nervousness in his heart ever again. I hope to see him jumping crazily up beside me as I enter heaven.

Please Jesus I beg you – please let me see my loved ones again. Even if it’s different from what I expect, please please.

I know that compared to you I am a dumb flea, and there’s this massive gap in my understanding and ability to understand. I’m sorry I don’t trust you more, but heaven seems creepy and cold without the people I love. And not in a generic ethereal unembodied sense but actually there. If not, what is the point of human relationship, invidivual identities here on earth? Why? Scripture seems to point to individuals keeping their individuality in Heaven. Jesus please let it be so. Please let me see, feel, know that you love me. Please let me rest in your embrace. Please don’t let me be deceived.

Gallo claps back at a her own video

👏👏👏

I stumbled across an old YouTube video that I participated in 6 years ago. It was a google hangout (remember those?) that some friends and I put together to discuss the perils and philosophies of Christian dating.

It was personally cringeful. Mostly because I couldn’t say 1 sentence without using “like” 7 times. Get a grip, Dr. I was also apparently cursed with a bad phone and bad cell service so my most frequent contribution was “What?”

But it did make me laugh out loud several times. What silly gooses. I almost wished we could do a follow up discussion since now we’re all married, I assume happily. Unfortunately due to budget restrictions of Galloblog – and more importantly, a complete failure to maintain adult friendships – I have instead spearheaded this opportunity to do my own personal follow up and answer the questions I now think are more interesting.

What belief did you hold about dating when you were single that you do not anymore?
Great question. There are two major things. One, I used to think I wanted someone who fit snugly into my single life. I had no idea that so many ideas of “must haves” were not musts at all. When you fall in love 100%, it becomes way less about how they fit into your current life and way more about how you’re going to live together as a unit. Two, there is a relationship prosperity gospel that goes something like this : if you get right with God, He will bring you the right person. This is false. God doesn’t withhold relationship blessings because he is waiting for you to achieve an upper echelon of Christianity. That’s not to say that being close to God doesn’t have relationship benefits, but you can be absolutely saintly and that does not mean God owes you a dang thing, much less an awesome relationship. The opposite it also true -you can meet someone at a “low point” and they bring you up and out and you have a fabulous relationship. I think Christian leaders often ignore this element because they think their message to 16 year olds (prone to savior complexes and general goofiness) shouldn’t be adjusted for nuance and more depth when they’re talking to actual adults. But I digress.
If you had the chance to meet your spouse earlier and bypass the relationships you had in high school, 20s, etc., would you? I actually would not. I’m glad I got the chance to learn and grow before I started dating my husband. I wouldn’t be the same person if I had bypassed all of those relationships and so the question is somewhat meaningless. I will note that my husband said he would, if he knew at that time that I was the most perfect person ever (wording mine). That was so sweet, I wavered in my resolve a bit. But I can say with definitiveness that I’m a *not* plagued with regret that I dated prior to my husband. Some relationships were better than others but “ it was what it was” and we’re all marching to the future now!

3. Did you date differently with your spouse, or were they just different?

A little bit of the first, a lot bit of the second. The main thing I did differently when I started “hanging out” with my hubs is that I cleared the field, so to speak. I remember thinking to myself this might not turn into anything, but if it does let’s make sure it is free and clear of unnecessary drama. I wish I had done this with others too. I think I hurt people with the technically-correct-but-not-wise insistence that I didn’t owe anyone any devoted attention until we were in an official relationship. So I used to go on casual dates with multiple people. Again I wasn’t technically wrong, but it could get confusing for all. Another thing I did was allow things to progress naturally without constantly checking our relationship status. It didn’t matter, because he wasn’t being handsy and I didn’t have to decide if I needed to cool it with Jo-Jo because me and future hubs were getting more serious. So that carefreeness about relationship status allowed everything to be fresh and frickin fun. But, I would never ever claim that we got married because I used a different strategy at the beginning of our relationship. It worked because we both wanted it work, because we loved the socks off each other. And we loved each other because our souls fit together like peas and carrots. I hope you’re crying right now because that was freakin poetry.

I apologize you didn’t get to hear me say this on a live video but I’m starting to think that’s not the best media for me to shine. *snorts*

When to quit, and when to sit (still)

When I was in grad school, I lived in a continual state of existential crises. I realized that the career I dreamed about in undergrad – and practically killed myself for during the first few years of grad school – was making me miserable.

I had some high points and a few victories, but in general I took every failure or set back as a sign that science wasn’t for me. I wasn’t one of those kids who categorized bugs in their backyard for the pure thrill of scientific discovery. As an adult, I didn’t consume scientific talks or articles for fun. Nay nay, I went into science with a purpose – to help find a cure for Alzheimer’s disease. When I discovered the chances of me breaking through the Alzheimer’s field were the same chances as me cooking a successful side dish for a family gathering, my purpose collapsed. So then came the dreaded question I asked myself pretty much every day – “Should I quit?” This question haunted me.

Eventually after a whopping 9 years of riding the academic wagon, I leapt off to try my chances in the wild plains of corporate America. Now that I have a little distance from this decision, I have graciously chosen to share the wisdom that I gained from my should-I-shouldn’t-I quitting saga.

I’m glad I quit when I did. I had a new job offer that was exciting and different and I was completely and utterly burnt out in academia. On the other hand, I’m glad I didn’t quit earlier than that. I hate quitting as an admittance of failure. It also would have been more of a tantrum than a rational decision at the time. I also had built up the academic career path in my head so much that maybe I needed 9 years to really convince myself that it wasn’t the best fit and not just me pitching a fit. Maybe most importantly, I didn’t have anything I wanted to run toward. I just wanted to run away. If I had quit too soon, it’s likely I would have waded through a series of entry level jobs that discouraged me and gotten me completely off course from any professional career that I hoped for myself. So by not quitting, even though I was quite distressed during most of my time, at least I was obtaining something that holds real weight – a PhD – and would perhaps give me a leg up outside of academia as well. If I had quit before I got my PhD, I would have far less to show for all the time I had already invested.

To summarize, here are some solid questions to ask yourself if you are caught up in a quitting quandary:

Do I want to quit simply because what I’m doing is difficult? HINT: as opposed to truly not aligning with my long-term goals.
Have I truly given this pursuit a true effort? Am I being too hasty?
If not this, what do I want to do instead? HINT: recommend your alternative pursuit be quasi-realistic
Is there anything I could gain by not quitting? HINT: doesn’t have to be a degree. It could be something as simple as learning how to face and resolve conflict or sticking a job out for a decent amount of time so it doesn’t raise a red flag with future employers.

Ask yourself these questions, and you can quit your quandary! BOOM!

Life is rude

When I was 16, I was a cashier for a family owned sporting goods store. Almost all of my coworkers were burly surly men with hearts of gold. Being 16, I became quite attached. I remember one day someone let it slide that one of the burly surlies was leaving. I burst into tears. “You know he’s not mad at anyone or got fired, right? He’s just leaving,” I remember my boss explaining with a bemused expression on his face. “I’m just going to miss him!” I sobbed. I remember thinking that worklife was inconceivable without this man. I was convinced the next time I drove into work, I would find the building in a heap of rubble.

Lo and behold, the building stood firm. The next week work was fine, maybe even fun. And I was so sad about that. It didn’t seem right that customers kept coming, camo pants kept selling, and I kept ringing people up with my signature charm. The store should have stuttered. It wasn’t right that someone who was such a big figure in that store could just suddenly be gone and nothing skippped a beat.

I have since recovered from my first work-departure trauma, but this same idea still holds true. This year has been majorly suck -o. We’ve lost a kind caring Grandpa, two dogs that we practically considered our children, and a nephew with a sweet purity and strength that my heart is eternally seared. Each loss was so heavy. And of course we had some sweet friends and family who expressed sympathy, but after a few weeks everyone moved on. Including me, in some sense. I still get up in the morning, I still get very stressed about work, and I still get excited when one of my favorite tv shows drops a new season. I guess I should be grateful that I’m not in a dysfunctional depressive state, but I almost want to be. I don’t want the universe to think it can get away with that sort of crap and it not change anything. It doesn’t seem right that people or doggies that I loved that much can just vanish and I keep functioning like they were random bugs that splattered on the windshield.

Whatever happens, life will go on. And I think that’s incredibly rude.

Privacy is not shame

There are many behaviors that were historically taboo, but currently are widely acceptable. For example, a woman showing off her delicate ankles used to be considered quite provocative. Then of course, a woman wearing slacks was seen as very inappropriate because I suppose it revealed women actually had legs instead of an amorphous blob of flesh (?). In some societies, it’s shocking for a man and woman to hold hands in public.* It’s easy to mock the idea that these innocent body parts and behaviors could ever resemble anything remotely titillating.**

Now, many people have adopted this idea that any sense of propriety is absurd, misguided, or somehow promoting the subjugation of women and other bad things. We have Kesha going to lunch with her mom (!!) wearing basically a mosquito net. Furry conventions exist. There are mothers who think that sharing pics of their bosoms is fine as long as their baby is somewhere in the vicinity. And if you dare suggest like “yo, maybe keep that to yourself?” then you will be accused of being a rude, closed-minded, patriarchy-promoting, homophobic, bigot-y poop head.

I think part of the outrage here is that when I suggest someone not go public with their body – or what they enjoy doing with their body – it’s interpreted as me casting shame. And that has a certain logic – we often hide parts of ourselves that we are ashamed of. But saying “keep that to yourself” doesn’t necessarily mean I don’t approve. It doesn’t necessarily mean I think what you’re sharing is fundamentally gross.

I think about it a different way. Take the word treasure… or savor, maybe. When I’m savoring a moment with my hubs, it’s not a public thing. It’s private. And if I went public and posted something like “my husband just gently caressed my derrière,” it would be met with indifference at best and voyeurism at worst. So, I don’t share those sorts of things because it gives other people the opportunity to evaluate it (even ignoring something is a vote of value, just negative!). It also detracts from the moment itself because it wasn’t meant for anyone else. Sharing that moment would dilute and cheapen.

Although I do not advocate putting cauliflower in your hair, I do advocate to “keep it secret, keep if safe,” when it comes to these little intimacies.

So even more so with our bodies and sexuality, aye? All morals aside, I don’t want to know what gets you sexually revved up. I don’t need to know what your nips look like. I don’t need to witness your tender family moments. Am I repulsed by these things? Sometimes, not always, it really depends. But it’s actually the beauty and specialness – or at least, potential beauty and specialness – of bodies, sexuality, and intimacy that makes them cringey to witness in public.

Don’t exploit yourself, your body, or your privacy by offering it to the public like a desperate sacrifice to the gods of attention and validation. Treasure it. Savor it. And if you find that you cannot savor or treasure your body, sexuality, intimate moments without sharing them with the world, well.. maybe that’s something to mull over during your next poo time.

❤

— EDITORIAL NOTES —

*My family visited Zimbabwe when I was 9, and I remember the local friends we knew there warning my parents to not put on this shocking display of affection.

** speaking of, I always thought titillating was a particularly unchaste word. [blushes]

Love and morals ❤

this will be a quickie. So quick I didn’t bother to capitalize the first word. Take that, losers!

I’ve been thinking about love lately, in relation to my husband (awwww).

There was a time in which I compared guys I was dating to an Ideal. The closer they were to that Ideal, the more interested I was. If they showed signs they were not Ideal, we would break up.* Because you know, standards.

But then I met my future hubbadubs, and then blah blah we fell in love 🥰 But at some point, Ideal died. And there was just my future hubs. And I loved him not because he was Ideal, but because he was Him. And every other man’s proximity to ideal became irrelevant. The new standard was him. And no one could be him better than.. him 🙂

— weird graceless transition–

I wonder if this is how we’re supposed to approach God and biblical morals. I know some people who delight in picking out distasteful old testament passages to prove that God is an evil jerkface. I don’t disagree there are some passages where I’m like “ehhh, did all the women and children need to die too?” But as Beth Dutton on Yellowstone said “Right and wrong, there’s no such thing… I believe in loving with your whole soul and destroying anything that wants to kill what you love.” From an individual human perspective, I don’t endorse. But could this be how God operated.. operates ? His right and good was protecting his people and destroying people who were their enemies. (Jesus is stunning because what he did made all people God’s people, and what was destroying us was sin. So Jesus let himself become sin and be destroyed by God in our place. Yowza.) So at some point, instead of comparing God to our standards of morality, God becomes our morality. What he does is moral because he did it and he is morality and morality is what God does. And no one or idea can be more God than.. God.

The only thing I never quite understand is why the delay– like why not Jesus from day 1? And why this group of people originally versus this other group? I don’t know, that’s above my saint grade I guess (dad joke FTW ! )

One thing I can’t question is love, and how it changes everything you thought you knew.

C Anders (née Gallo) out !

*Obviously I was always more than anyone could ever imagine thus NEVER happened in reverse 😉😉

Free to love (freely)

About oh .. 51 days ago, my best friend and love of my life asked me to marry him. (In classic Gallo weirdness, I said “si!” instead of yes.) It was the best of contexts – at the top of a mountain after a glorious hike. His proposal was the perfect mix of silliness and deep sincerity, and it was the easiest answer C Gallo has ever given.

Actual pic of the event. I was so amazed when a little cartoon heart popped out of the ring box!!

The type of happiness that filled me was a unique sort. The other most significant event in my life where I felt incredibly happy was right after my dissertation defense, but that was the happiness that comes from a heavy, ever-present burden being suddenly lifted. Being engaged might be a tiny bit about the removal of the “burden” of singleness (although I actually enjoyed being single for most of my life), but it’s much more about the addition of something awesome and literally life changing. Sure, we dated for 2+ years, so you might think that a “long-term” dating relationship is similar to being engaged. It is absolutely not.

Pretty much all my other dating relationships that lasted any length of time required vigilance to suppress my exuberant heart and wild expectations. I always had this stern voice in the back of my head telling me to pull back, curb my expectations, and keep enough mental and emotional distance so that I wouldn’t be completely distraught when the inevitable end came. Even if that inevitable end was initiated by me, it still sucked.

A stoic I am not.

But being engaged! It is no longer weird or creepy to think about the future. It isn’t even weird and creepy to talk about the future with the very man I want in it! It’s even.. recommended?! I don’t have to worry that I love him too much or want to be around him too much. For the first time, the depth of my feelings and inner commitment are not an inverse measure of how miserable I will be down the road, but a measure of how happy I will be down the road. Craziness!

Granted, at some point while dating my fiance I said to myself “Girl, if this ends you are going to be a total mess for a loooong time. But whatevs. He — and this zany, amazing, heart lifting relationship we have built — is truly worth it.” So even though* I was pretty terrible at tempering the wild romantic within me as I dated my forever Galloboo, there is still a difference that now there’s nothing remotely foolish about it. And that is incredibly joyful.

This may seem a rather awkward transition, but I can’t help but connect this whole experience to my faith. Being engaged hasn’t made me forget other men I dated or even how I felt about them at the time. Now, the sadness or angst I felt during/after those relationships is no longer tragic but kind of .. humorous? I look back at myself sobbing over some idiot and I want to tenderly pat my shoulder and say “girl, you have no idea. Keep it moving.” I wonder if this is what is meant by “there will be no tears in heaven.” That statement has been speculated to mean we won’t have memories of anything that happened on earth, because there’s no way we could remember all the sadness and angst of our lives and not cry. I disagree. I modestly propose that perhaps we actually will remember – everything. But, in the face of our one, complete true Love the contrast with our former sadsies and angsties will not subtract, but add to our joy.

❤

— EDITORIAL NOTES —

*or because of? Hmmm…!

Eye hope this helps

Dear readers and internet bots,

I have been writing a post for the past month that I kept on writing, deleting, and re-writing. It was going to be about racism, marxism, Christianity, freedom, all that stuff. Then I realized that there are many people out there with (relatively) huge platforms that are already expressing my opinions on the matter, and with much more eloquence and prudence than I can muster right now.

The news has made me a hot little potato. I feel like I wake up angry and go to bed anxious most nights, and very rarely from personal life matters. It just seems like everything sucks, but no one can agree on why it sucks and how to change it. In fact, ways i can think of to make it suck less would be used as evidence for many other people on how it’s sucking more.

Eeks.

What to write during such a time as this?

I have only one tiny positive thing to say or recommend during times like these.

Look people in the eyes

This is probably what I look like these days.

That’s right. The only bright spots I’ve had recently in the public domain have been when I’ve made eye contact with some stranger and shared a laugh about something. I had an appointment the other day and the attendant woman cracked me up with a raunchy story, and then I bonded with the front desk lady over how long higher-education degrees take and was able to give her a word of encouragement. These little brief flashes of positive human interaction bolstered my spirits and helped me have a little less deep disgust and dislike for the general population. ( keepin it real!)

I’m sure this will come across very naive and over-simplistic to many, but if it impacts one person then that’s good enough for me. If you are currently depressed/anxious/angry/all the bad things right now, I highly recommend limiting yourself to consuming any and all news (including “news” from social media friends) to 1-2x a week, and try to stop seeing all people as disgusting potential carriers of disease and look them straight in the retina. And I don’t know, maybe try to be kind or something.

We are all being squeezed right now. The harder you’re squeezed, the more of what’s deep inside you comes out in your words and action. That’s why we’re seeing a lot of fear, violence, hostility – it’s not new, it was there all along. Just hidden. But let’s try to be optimistic and assume that there’s some admirable, great qualities deep inside people, too. Especially if you carry the spirit of Jesus within you, may the light and hope that’s inside you come out!

The death of a dream

WARNING: If you can’t tell by the title, I’m in a melodramatic mood.

I’ve come to the realization that I’m an absolute nutto about my career. I’ve known for many years that I don’t want to be a professor, but now the reality of cutting the uni apron strings is really setting in. Tying to map out my “next steps” has not been a delight. It has been more of a drudgery. It has brought out all sorts of feels – anxiety, sorrow, guilt. Eeks.

The anxiety I understand. I expected some anxiety about changing careers, especially since I spent 10 of my 30 zesty years in the same field. The sorrow and guilt, though.. they have taken me by surprise. Where did this devilish duo come from?

Well, one factor is a somewhat absurd but persistent idea of mine that I’m letting down little Gallo du ancienne- the spunky optimist who set her sights on curing Alzheimer’s disease when she was a delicate 16 years. I can imagine her being disgusted with Gallo du présent for quitting her dream. “You’re there! Why stop now?” she would demand. Similarly, I also feel like I’m letting my Grandpa and Grandma down. Grandpa had Alzheimer’s disease, and a prevention or treatment would have changed his and my grandma’s life. They would have been so excited to know that my research was in Alzheimer’s disease, and maybe a bit disappointed that I’m choosing to leave it.

On top of that, there is the jadedness (jadosity? Jadociousness?!) of academic research. Yes, I’ve completed experiments. Yes, I’ve analyzed data and wrote up manuscripts that were published in peer-reviewed academic journals. Do I think my research has significantly advanced the field of Alzheimer’s disease? Not particularly. My entire academic career was way less impactful and dynamic than I hoped it would be.

That is my summary of gloom, my friends. I bring all of this up because I think it’s worth noting that there is actually a degree of real grief involved in burying a dream. Especially when that dream was tied to specific people that you love(d). And – it’s difficult to create a new dream (or goal, for you less romantic types) when you don’t have the advantage of boundless optimism, time, and naive willingness to be poor for several years as you work your way from the ground up that you have when you were a youth.

Nevertheless, she perspired. Wait, that’s not right. She.. resisted.. the man! No, she insisted on having her own way!! She desisted.. the pity party?! There you go. Okay leave encouraging comments! Thanks! ❤

Are you guilty of righteousplaining?

There is a trend in the Christian community that drives me bonkers. It can be applied to an infinite number of ways, but it has the same logic structure.

I am a Christian.
I have thoughts.
Therefore, my thoughts are Christian Thoughts.

Note that the implicit extension of point 3 is that if you don’t agree with said thoughts, you’re not Christian. Or, at the least, you’re not thinking Christian thoughts. We’ve seen this time and time again with all sorts of issues. Whether it be the issue of suffering, immigration policies, war, poverty, Kanye West – just wait a day or two, and you will see a flood of articles written by pastors, music artists, and devo debbies who proclaim that they have searched the scriptures and come away unequivocally with what the correct Christian Response should be. This would all be well and good, if there weren’t an equal number of articles from different camps of Christians claiming they have the real insight into how the entire kingdom of God should respond to a particular issue. They all are, in effect, righteousplaining.

This is where the chaos and confusion lies. People from all sorts of different nations, cultures, political ideologies, family structures, moral upbringings, intellectual strengths, and personalities are drawn to the character of Jesus. They make a decision to follow him, and usually get involved in a local church of like-minded people. They talk about their faith with those people, and how it influences how they see the world. Then, they begin to see these opinions and views as representative of Christianity. Then they feel bold and brave enough to righteousplain the Christian Response. Then Christians from other backgrounds get offended and outraged, because their faith is being represented and applied in a way that is foreign and offensive to them.

It’s a tricky thing, because our faith has very bold, well-defined tenets (e.g. love your neighbor) that demand action. But, different people have very different ideas about what those tenets look like IRL. For example, one camp might say “I love my children, so I would never strike them because that is a violent, aggressive act.” A different camp may say “I love my children, and if I see them tottering towards something dangerous I will smack the crap out of them to keep them from harm.” Both of these groups have heard and received the concept of love, but they have different ways of applying it.

So, in light of this, I advise against public proclamations that your response to the societal problem du jour is The Christian Response. Obviously, you are free to explain how your Christian faith motivated your current position, but I urge you against concluding that opponents are workers of the devil. In some issues, they just might be, but in some issues your opponents may simply be the tricep to your bicep in the body of Christ.

Let’s leave righteousplaining to Jesus! Woo!

— EDITORIAL NOTES —

My sister wrote a post that was similar in nature – check it out! WWJD: Who Would Jesus Diss