More Than Defined: Using the "F" Word

During freshman orientation, they warned us to keep everything. The university wasn’t trying to create a generation of packrats; they just wanted us to be prepared for that inevitable last assignment: a senior portfolio.

Four years later, as I waded through stacks of papers and essays, I picked out my favorite pieces of writing and research. As I began to list and describe them, I noticed a theme.

Children’s Literature & Gender (PSYC 332: Child Development)
Gender Communication (COMM 458: Rhetoric of Women’s Rights)
Women and Authority (ENG 314: Composition II)

It seems I’m a bit of a feminist.

Shhh. Don’t tell my conservative friends. Because, honestly, things haven’t changed. I believe all men and women were created equal. Different, yes. But equal.

Do I think that women and men are wired differently and often gifted differently? Sure. No, not “sure.” Absolutely.

But do I think some women have skills and gifts typically attributed to men? Yep. (And vice versa. I happen to know some truly compassionate, sensitive men, as well as men who are crafty and creative and better cooks than me.)

Fine. This is all well and good. (To me. Maybe not to you. I know.) But what does it mean, really? I mean, "feminist" is definitely a hot-button word, but in reality, it has different meanings for different people.

So, what am I saying here?

Am I saying that a woman could be president or – here’s the real kicker – a pastor? Yes, I am. I’m not saying that I would ever vote for a female political candidate just because she’s a woman. But if a woman is qualified and believes in (and votes for) the same things I do, then yes, I will support her.

And as someone with the spiritual gifts of teaching and leadership, I get all riled up every time the “women as leaders in the church” issue comes up. I’ve never belonged to a church with a woman pastor (we’ve been members of a Baptist church for 7 years, so you know that’s out of the question), but I wouldn’t be opposed to it. I might even like it.

Uh-huh. I said it.

Next question: Am I saying that women should make as much money as men? Yes. When they’re in the same position and doing the same work with the same level of proficiency, women should absolutely earn as much as men.

I also think there are many reasons why women, statistically speaking, don’t earn as much as men, including our education system, our society’s value for various industries, and most importantly, life balance choices.

Oooh, life balance. You know what comes next, right?

Am I saying that women should work outside the home if they want to, even if they have young kids at home? Yep. I sure am. I do (work outside the home). And I think it’s a fine decision. However, I think that women should stay home or work from home, if that’s what they want.

Basically, I think each woman should be allowed to choose what’s best for her and her family. Without judgment.

I think that covers the main issues involved in making a bold statement like, “I think I might be kind of a feminist. Sort of.”

For those of you concerned, I have never burned a bra, I shave my legs when they’ll be seen in public, I know how to cook, clean and sew on a button, and I’ll teach my children to do those things as well.

But I’m still sporting a pretty big girl power badge. And I’m okay with that.

As I mentioned last week, I’ve been afraid to be honest about this topic, even though this was one of the first things that popped into my head when I developed the More Than Defined series.

So, as you comment or even just reflect on what I’ve written here, please be kind. I’d love to answer any questions you have or discuss this topic with you. As long as we can all speak with respect, I think we’ll be just fine.

Here goes: Are you a feminist? Or do you consider that an "f" word?

Don’t forget to read my other More Than Defined posts, too. Though I’d planned to continue this series throughout the summer, I’ve changed my mind. (Another woman’s right, right?) Next week will be the last installment of this series, and I’ll include a link-up for anyone who wants to share a little bit of how – or why – they’re defined.

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More Than Defined: Meow! I’m a Scaredy Cat.

“She turned off the TV!”

My new friend (Nony from A Slob Comes Clean) called me out, right there in the pizza buffet line. I think she may have even pointed her finger.

Of course, I’m joking. She said she just got caught up in the excitement of my tiny little rebellious move. The pizza joint we ate dinner in was noisy, and the over-sized flat-screen above our heads didn’t help matters.

So I turned it off.

I know. I am So. Brave. Right?

Or…not.

I might be nervy. Or, sometimes, too big for my britches. But I’m not really brave. I’m really a big scaredy cat.

I mentioned to a co-worker that someone I’d met intimidated me. She said, “What? I can’t believe you would be intimidated by anyone!”

Apparently, I’ve got people snowed. Because while I might put on a brave face and talk tough and stand tall, well, the truth is I’m scared of everything.

{You know, just like Baby: "Me? I'm scared of everything. I'm scared of what I saw, I'm scared of what I did, of who I am, and most of all I'm scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I'm with you."}

This summer, despite my best intentions and grand plans, I’ve been afraid of writing honestly. I started this series, More Than Defined, intending to share and explain some of the specific – and sometimes strange – ways I describe myself.

But some of those things, it turns out, aren’t so easy to write about. And so I’ve stalled. Because I’m a scaredy cat. I’m afraid of what you’ll think. I’m afraid that you’ll disagree with me, or judge me, or stop liking me. I’m afraid…

No more, I say! Next week, I’m going to dig deeper and write more. So consider yourself forewarned.

What are you afraid of? Do you find it difficult to be transparent, either in person or online?

The cat photos are by Eirik Newth. His cats were seeing his new Roomba for the first time.

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More Than Defined: Must a Big Reader be Well-Read?

“Yeah, it IS a nerdy thing to do. I mean, to read for your job all day
and then read a book at lunch? On your break?”

That was, basically, what a co-worker said to me yesterday. And she’s right, I suppose. Reading is a nerdy hobby.

But it’s my hobby.

According to my mom, I started reading at a young age and pretty much haven’t stopped since. Growing up, I heard this phrase all the time: “Get your nose out of that book!”

Actually, I still hear that phrase. In my head.

I don’t think my love of reading is an addiction or anything, but on the other hand, I can’t NOT do it. If I’m sitting at the breakfast table without a book or magazine, I will read coupons, cereal boxes, anything.

Okay, so maybe I have a problem.

But that’s not the point of this post. My point is that I consider myself a reader. I read all the time. I read a ton of things: parenting magazines, mysteries, self-help books, marketing articles, blog posts, women’s magazines, and yes, even the occasional romance novel.

However, when it comes to the classics? The books that other “big readers” assume you’ve read?

Um…I haven’t. (Don’t tell!)

I don’t know what happened. I think I’ll blame my small-town education. Then again, the few classics I’ve read – Of Mice and Men, To Kill a Mockingbird, Romeo & Juliet – were a result of assignments in high school. I read a few short stories and plays in my American Literature and Theater Appreciation classes in college.

Other than that, though? My list of classics is embarrassingly short.

Do you think a person can be a “big reader” even if she’s not classically well-read? And what classics should I put on my to-read list?

Is she bright, so well read? Are there novels by her bed?
(Natalie Merchant, Jealousy)

For more More Than Defined, read about why I consider myself Generation X, Southern, patriotic and cool and nerdy.


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More Than Defined: I am SO cool. {Or not...}

As I’ve been thinking about the things I consider myself to be, one adjective keeps coming to mind: cool.

That’s right. I think I’m pretty darned cool.

[Of course, anyone who says “pretty darned” anything might be a little delusional when it comes to a cool factor. Likewise, if you have to tell people that you’re cool, it’s possible you might not be.]

Regardless, I have moments every now and then when I honestly think, “I am so cool.”

Stop laughing. Just stop it.

When could I possibly think this, you ask? Well, this is where it gets really funny. I think I’m cool when:

I drive with my windows down and the stereo cranked up.
I drive through downtown at night.
I wear high heels and swishy pants.
I travel alone.
I wear a suit.
I sing along with Top 40 hits. From the current year.

I know. It’s not my definition of cool, either. But for some reason, I truly feel like I might be cool when I do those things.

Of course, I more often find myself feeling the opposite of cool. Nerdy, you might even say.

A few days ago, I realized that I might be . . . a science fiction geek. No, I can’t debate the pros and cons of the Star Trek movies and the TV shows. And I have never in my life played War of the Worlds or Dungeons & Dragons.

Actually . . . Is that science fiction? Okay, maybe I’m not a sci fi geek. But I do really enjoy a lot of those types of things. In two days this week, I convinced my husband to rent the movie, Serenity, and got completely hooked on a SyFy show called Warehouse 13.

Thinking about that reminded me of all the other movies and shows in that sci fi/fantasy genre that I love. And that brought me to the conclusion that I’m a GEEK.

So, which is it? Am I cool? Am I a nerd? Can you be both?

I think maybe you can. Or at least I can. After all, I am the same girl who was captain of the academic team and member of the jazz band. (Yes, I’m considering the jazz band cool. Deal with it.)

What do you think? Can you be cool and nerdy? [Are YOU?]

For more More Than Defined, read about why I consider myself Generation X, Southern and patriotic.

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More Than Defined: The Patriotic Version

And no, I wasn’t just looking for any excuse to post this cute picture of Annalyn. Nope. Not me.

When my friend Triple’s husband was deployed to Iraq with the Army Reserves, I made the mistake of reading a Karen Kingsbury book about a soldier. I can still see myself, laying on the couch with that paperback and sobbing my eyes out.

Another time, I sat in my car, parked in the garage, crying the ugly cry to Trace Adkin’s song, Arlington. (You’d better believe I never let that one play on my radio again!)

A little part of me didn’t breathe the whole time he was gone.

Maybe that’s why Ashleigh’s posts (here and here) describing her husband’s deployment to Afghanistan bring me to my knees.

Or maybe I’m a patriotic sap.

In the sixth grade {I think it was sixth grade. Smitty, is that right?}, our class had a patriotic concert. I don’t remember exactly why we were celebrating America that year over any other. But celebrate we did, with matching t-shirts and everything.

We sang all the usual patriotic songs (Battle Hymn of the Republic, America the Beautiful, America by Neil Diamond. I’m kidding. We didn’t sing Neil Diamond.), but what I remember most is rehearsing and performing Lee Greenwood’s God Bless the USA.

Every time we practiced that song, some of the more annoying boys (and let’s face it: in middle school, they’re all annoying) would literally stand up when we sang, “And I’d gladly stand up, next to you, and defend her still today.” Every single time.

And, okay, sometimes the [completely mature and not at all annoying] girls did it, too. So now, when I hear that song, I have this crazy urge to stand up. Which could be disastrous, considering that I most often hear it in the car.

Once I stop giggling at my junior high ridiculousness, I always find myself singing along. Singing along – and crying.

Because patriotism and this country and soldiers and Lee Greenwood get me all sorts of emotional.

I’m not sure why. A lot of it probably comes from my family’s military heritage. My granddad was an Army man, and that really influenced my family. As in jump when I say jump and quarters better bounce off that bed made with hospital corners. But also as in respect and honor this country and the men and women who protect and serve it.

Some of my patriotism also comes from my years in Camp Fire Girls. I learned how to fold a flag, and I know the words to Taps – although I won’t sing it for you, because that’s another one that never fails to make me cry. Since it was played at my granddad’s funeral, I don’t really need an explanation for that one.

I think my love of country is a good thing that doesn’t need analysis. But it’s possible that it gets a little out of control sometimes. In addition to the crazy tears over fictional soldiers and a commitment to watching Every Single Episode of JAG and NCIS, I recently found myself playing the Flag Watchdog at work.

More than once, I’ve questioned whether the flag should be flying at half-mast. Once I was right and they pulled it up. The other time…also known as yesterday…it turns out a senator died and the President had made a proclamation. I just hadn’t gotten the memo.

Oops.

So, welcome to another installment of Meet My Crazy. I’m patriotic and a big bawl baby who cries over anything involving flags or camouflage. How about you?

How will you celebrate our country this weekend? And have you ever told your company’s CFO that he needs to hoist the flag to the top of the pole??

For more More Than Defined, read about why I consider myself Generation X and Southern.

Affiliate links were used in this post. Feel free to click away and help me earn a couple pennies!

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More Than Defined: 10 reasons I consider myself Southern

I was born in Kansas. When I was four years old, my family moved to Missouri. After graduating from high school, I branched out on my own for college. In Missouri. Then I briefly moved to Kansas for graduate school. And then moved back to Missouri.

Clearly, I’m from the Midwest.

And yet, in my heart of hearts, I consider myself a Southern girl.

I know, I know! It doesn’t make sense, and my truly Southern friends are no doubt rolling their eyes and blessing my heart right now.

But here’s the thing: half my family is from the South! And I’m not talking about a 1/32 type of ancestry. My mom was born in southern Georgia (and I am well aware that’s “suth’n Jawjah,” for the record) and only moved north because my granddad was stationed at Fort Leavenworth.

So between my own mother, my grandparents and all oour extended family, I feel well-versed and immersed enough in Southern culture to claim it as my own. Just a little. Can you all (AHEM. Y’all?) give me that?

No? You want more evidence? Fine. Twist my arm. Here are 10 reasons I consider myself Southern:

1. Grits: I not only know what grits are, I like them. And I’ll take it a step further: I’m even particular about how I take them. (Lots of butter and salt, please! And believe it or not, keep your cheese to yourself.)
2. Talkin’: Phrases like “conniption fit,” “catty-wampus,” “bless her heart,” “come sit a spell,” “gooder’n snuff,” “ornery” and “her people” don’t confuse or amuse me. I simply know exactly what they mean.
3. Good times: I have been known a time or twenty to shout, “Don’t look, Ethel!” or “He’s everywhere! He’s everywhere!” Furthermore, I don’t think it’s weird at all to sing about sitting up with the dead, and I know exactly which Mississippi church had a squirrel go berserk. Because in my family, we do love our Ray Stevens. I have two VHS tapes to prove it.
4. Good food: While I may never (and I mean NEVER) enjoy the taste of fried okra, collard greens and pecan (“pee-kan,” of course) pie, I am well aware of their many virtues and wouldn’t dream of actually turning up my nose at these delicacies.
5. Funeral food: When someone dies, I immediately pull a casserole dish out of the cupboard. Because if there’s something worse than grieving, it’s doing it on an empty stomach.
6. The sweeter, the better: As I have mentioned, I like sweet tea – and I like it reallll sweet.
7. Suppertime: If you invite me over for dinner, I might ask you to clarify. Because in my world, that could mean lunch or supper, and I want to make sure I’m there for the right meal. (Because if you haven’t noticed, half of this list seems to be about food in one way or another. And I’m afraid that’s just about right.)
8. Timberrr! One of my favorite things about my job – and I’m not exaggerating – is the group of pine trees surrounding the back door of our building. Unless someone’s sitting on the back porch smoking, I get a whiff of those pines and am immediately transported to the many vacations we took to see “our people” in Georgia.
9. Yes, ma’am: I might be sarcastic, I might be forthright, and I might be snarky. But I know how to mind my manners, thankyouverymuch. Now, northern friends, please do not get upset with me. I’m not saying you’re rude. I’m just saying that I was directed more than once as a child to say “yes, sir” and write another thank you note. 
10. Pop culture (and I don’t mean Coke): I’m a big fan of Designing Women, Steel Magnolias, Alabama (the band) and the Savannah series by Denise Hildreth.

What? That last one doesn’t mean anything? Well, I could tell you about how easily I slip into a Southern drawl when crossing the Mason-Dixie line. Or how I am familiar with Piggly Wiggly stores or often hear my family refer to Driving Miss Daisy. I guess I could mention how, as a freshman, I impressed the drama teacher with my flawless (if I do say so myself) reading of a play’s dialogue filled with Southern dialect.

But really, what it comes down to is this: My family is from the South. And I love them. They are all sorts of crazy, but the truth is, I’m just like them. If that makes me crazy, so be it. If that makes me Southern, well then, I guess that just proves my point.

Where are you {and your people} from? What region do you most identify with?

For more posts about being Southern, check out these fine ladies:

• The Other Mama – Top 5 Reasons I Love Alabama
• Robin at Pensieve – Song of the South
• We Are THAT Family – My Guide to Country Vernacular
• Ronda Rich – How to Know You Have Southern Blood
• Sweet & Southern Life – You Know You’re From North Carolina If…

And for more Southern fun, here are two more sites:

• A Yankee Test (I scored “45% Dixie. Barely a Yankee.”)
• Southern Slang from About.com

P.S. I'm linking up to OhAmanda's Top Ten Tuesday.

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More Than Defined: Generation Gap

Shortly after I transferred to the copywriting department, the ad agency hired another writer. He disappeared for hours at a time to nap on the downstairs couch, and he once convinced me to drive him to the hospital. Because he’d broken a needle in his arm.

I mean, he fell on the stairs and cut his arm open. Whatever.

He was a weird person to sit next to, but aside from the hospital road trip, my most vivid memory of him is the day he decided to debate whether or not I was a part of Generation X.

He did not know who he was messing with. (Although to be fair, I did not know how irrational a strung-out creative could be.)

Since getting engaged at age 19, I’d been fighting for an older image. I did everything I could to seem mature and wise. Because getting told, “But you’re so young!” gets old well before you do.

Besides, I actually was a little bit mature. Some might say boring. But we’re going to say mature.

I blame my cousins. Five, six and eight years older than me, they were my role models, the older siblings I didn’t have – and the reason I have always felt comfortable with people a few years older than me.

So when my co-worker thought it would be funny to call me “Generation Y,” I was having no part of it.

I double-checked my facts, since it’s now been a few years since I researched this topic. And the consensus is still that Generation X consists of anyone born between 1965 and 1980.

Yes, some people say the cutoff is 1976, but I’m not buying it. [Because I was born in 1978. Okay? I’m not going to beat around the bush here.]

But we don’t have to go strictly by the numbers. Let’s take a look at some of the characteristics of my generation.

Talking ‘bout my generation . . .

It’s interesting. After an extensive round of searching on Swagbucks, the most common kind of sites that popped up were management sites (“How to manage different generations” or “How can Baby Boomers work with Gen X and Gen Y?”) and marketing sites (“How to sell stuff to Generation X”). But I think the information still applies here.

Generation X is the first generation of “latchkey kids.” One site described the typical family structure like this: “Mom, Dad and 2.47 kids. Three bedroom, two bathroom home with double garage and a dog. Your parents were divorced by the time you were fifteen. Then it was mom and your new dad, your real dad, his girlfriend and her two kids.”

Well, my parents aren’t divorced, but we did dive headfirst into some dysfunction about halfway through my childhood. And I was definitely a latchkey kid for a few years, doing extra chores and taking care of my little brother and cousin. So this one is pretty spot-on for me.

However, the same site says Generation X views their parents as absent workaholics who were too permissive. No, no and no.

Generation X created independent individuals who disdain authority and dislike bossiness. Hmmm. Am I independent? Yes. Do I disdain authority? Well, okay, sometimes. Sometimes I have an attitude. It’s not pretty, but it happens. I think I know everything – or at least more – than whoever is trying to boss me around.

Grrr. I don’t like this one. On the upside, the description goes on to say Generation Xers are generally pragmatic (as in practical? I’ll take it.) and risk-takers (I’d like to be. And maybe I was once or twice.).

Generation X likes sharing, spending time with friends and hanging out. They also like “activities where you can die doing it, like bungee jumping and white water rafting.” Wellll . . . we’re batting about 500 on this thing. Do I like “chilling,” as one definition put it? Sure. I’m more of a doer, but I enjoy my sit on the couch and watch a movie time. But life-threatening leisure activities (and that’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one)? No thanks.

Generation X is likely to have several careers during a lifetime, and a work/life balance is important. Clearly, I’m all over this one. Several careers? Check. Quit a job after getting completely burned out? Check.

Several different sites credit this attitude to growing up in the 80s, when they saw their parents remain loyal to companies that didn’t return the favor when the economy tanked.

I don’t know if that’s where my own tendencies came from, but I definitely fit this part of the description.

Generation X has diverse musical tastes. Ah yes, the statement that started me down this path. Kansas City’s new “Gen X Radio” says it plays music that Gen Xers love: retro, grunge, hip hop and hair bands. And they say it in a British accent. As I do love those genres and the music the station plays – and a British accent – I must be Generation X.

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Almost every one of the sites that described Generation X ended with a disclaimer that we shouldn’t stereotype anyone in any generation. So apparently I’m not the only one who doesn’t fit perfectly into the box!

Given all this, it seems that the only reason I have clung to my Generation X card is because I was desperate to be seen as older – or at least wiser, more responsible and to be taken very seriously.

Of course, since turning 30, that doesn’t seem quite as important. Or is it since having a baby? Either way, I’m feeling my age more every day and might not balk so much if someone considered me a part of “the younger generation.”

But the numbers don’t lie. And 1978 falls smack dab in the tail end of the generation span. So no matter how much older my cousin, my college advisor, my friend’s husband, my brother-in-law, my cousin and my weirdo co-workers are than me, I’m still a part of their generation.

Am I an angry slacker who wears flannel shirts and pants on the ground? Nope. But I am cynical enough (of, you know, “The Man”) to disregard some of the definitions I read while researching my fellow Gen Xers – and independent enough to create my own definitions.

What generation do you identify with? Do you attribute negative or positive connotations to any generation?

For a thorough – and somewhat humorous – look at several different generations and their characteristics, check out this chart. And don’t miss the disclaimer at the bottom!

Sources:
http://www.sustainable-employee-motivation.com/generation-X.html
http://www.demandmade.com/terminology.html
http://legalcareers.about.com/od/practicetips/a/GenerationX.htm

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More Than Defined

A few weeks ago, I wrote that I consider myself a part of Generation X. Since I suggested my dear readers not question that belief, of course one particular friend did just that.

While she probably thinks I’ve been ignoring her, I’ve actually been thinking about it a lot. Why do I consider myself part of one generation but not another? Why am I willing to accept certain labels, while others are seen as judgmental, rude or just plain wrong?

Why do I consider myself a lot of things? After all, you might be surprised to learn some of the ways I describe myself. For example, I was born in Kansas and have lived in Missouri for 27 years. But I actually consider myself Southern. And even though the results of both Myers-Briggs personality tests I’ve taken put me firmly in the ENFJ camp – and the description of that type could not be closer to the truth – I consider myself an introvert.

That’s weird, right?

All of this got me thinking about how we describe ourselves. How we classify ourselves and label ourselves. And then I started keeping a list of all the things I consider myself to be. It’s an interesting list, and this summer, I’m going to share some of those labels, as well as the stories behind them.

I’m going to write my way to becoming More Than Defined.

I guess I could have called this “More Than Labeled.” And I tossed around “For Your Consideration.” But honestly, I liked the way this little button looked:

My original intention was to start this project two weeks ago, but it’s been harder than I expected to put my thoughts about labels, classifications and definitions into words.

Shortly after Annalyn was born, I worked part-time at a scrapbooking store. I’d been laid off from my full-time job, I needed to pay the bills somehow, and my sweet friend (and store manager) was kind enough to give me a few hours a week.

One day, as I was putting away cardstock or stacking boxes of adhesives, I heard a familiar voice. I looked up and saw him: my high school guidance counselor. Now, he may not have been much as a guidance counselor, but he was also my coach on the academic team.

Go ahead – call it the “nerd bowl” if you want, but that’s where he knew me best. That team of smart kids who were destined to go far and do great things.

And there I was, running a cash register and stocking shelves with beads and stamps.

I considered hiding, ducking behind a display of page protectors and albums, but I summoned the courage to, you know, act like a grown-up. I walked up to him and said, “Hi, Mr. Rafferty,” and said my maiden name.

The second I saw a flicker of recognition, I dove right in, the words rushing from my mouth: “I just had a baby, and I’m working here part-time. See, I’m in public relations now, but I got laid off, so I’m looking for a job. And just working here until I find one.”

We made awkward small talk and then I rang up his wife’s purchases. He left the store, and I released the breath I’d been holding for several minutes.

Later, I thought about how his voice sounded the same as it did back in high school. In an instant, I could hear him lecturing us about Romeo & Juliet. (I lived in a small town; he was also my freshman English teacher.)

I started wondering, Did my voice sound the same as it had 10 years before? And then, Do I seem to be the same person I was 10 years earlier?

That was the moment I realized that I might be going through an identity crisis. Losing your “dream job” in the same month you deliver an unplanned baby seven weeks early does that to you!

Even though it’s been more than two years, I’m still figuring out exactly who I am today. So over the next 12 weeks, I’m going to look at some of the labels I’ve given myself, some of the ways I’ve defined myself. Maybe they won’t stick after some hard examination; maybe they will.

In the final week of this series, I’ll include a link-up. So if you’d like to write along with me, you can share with us then. Maybe I’m not the only one who hesitates when faced with the question: “Who am I?”

Have you ever had trouble describing yourself? What are some of the labels you give yourself?

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