I would love to continue the conversation started yesterday, and unpack the question, “Why do some women have the expectation that men should be the initiators?” (I don’t use the word “pursue” – to me, it connotes primal images of a hunter, ear to the ground, tracking a herd of elk.) I would love to talk about any double-standards that brings up. I would love to tell you why I have made the decision to not ask guys out. I would love to explain that I am not a man-hater, man-basher, cynic, OR idealist.

But that post is for another day. Today, I bring to you another subject that I, um, don’t really expect men to resonate with, either…

Yesterday, I threw away my scale.

Just like that. Trashed. Into the dumpster.

I am a compulsive weight-checker, always keeping tabs on my poundage, and consequently tempted to feel either good or bad, happy or sad, proud or ashamed, jubilant or angry. It’s amazing how a great day can be ruined by a number – a NUMBER – like an ever-shifting scorecard for whatever level of healthful diligence I have demonstrated.

In the last few months, I’ve found myself increasingly frustrated at the number on the scale RISING – despite my ability to run further than I could ever run before, despite my capacity to carry on a conversation throughout a 60 minute jog, despite my clothes fitting the same, despite my energy and improved attitude. In the face of all of these accomplishments, the scale says that I weigh 10 lbs. more than I did before I started running last fall.

And for a girl who has been a dieter since age 11, this is traumatizing news.

Miranda has been telling me for years to just throw the damn thing out. She would get outwardly angry when she would see it in the corner of my bathroom, and, knowing the emotional stranglehold the scale has on me, would order me to get rid of it. But for me, to get rid of the scale would be to give up control – and then, maybe, to expand, expand, expand like bread dough.

At first, I thought that I would just take the scale and stash it beneath my bathroom sink – out of sight, out of mind, right? Wrong. For me, keeping my scale would be like staying friends with an ex-boyfriend on Facebook – an unhelpful temptation “just to check.” Sorry boys.

And sorry scale.

It’s time for a new chapter in my life – one in which I have no idea what I weigh.

Who knew that tossing out my scale would be one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever done?

Today, I’m wearing all black. My high heels are caked with mud from my front yard. I feel significantly un-cute. I’m in a bad place financially – but this is no one’s fault but mine. I haven’t gotten enough sleep. I’ve made some really terrible decisions. I’ve slacked on my running schedule this week, and over-achieved at consuming calories. I forgot to take an allergy pill this morning. My to-do list feels overwhelming, and my brain feels like a wimpy, deflated balloon.

I am in jeopardy.

I am so tired.

And when I get tired, my mind starts playing tricks on me. It starts trying to convince me that I am a total loser, and that everything is falling apart. And everything just MIGHT be falling apart – but I am not a loser. Even when I act like one. I’m not.

I’m a child of the King. So I refuse to act like an orphan.

At church on Sunday night, the pastor mentioned that in all of his interactions with people of my generation, the overwhelming majority of us feel apathetic and bored. I know that I do – at least, very often I do. We’re all wrestling with the questions, “What is my purpose?” “What am I good at?” “What is going to fulfill me?” “What am I doing with my life?”

I have no idea. It freaks me out. And I have to admit – when I was 13, I wasn’t exactly envisioning a future of being several years out of college, single, uninsured, totally broke, and working a dead-end temp job. I must make my parents so proud…

On Monday, I had lunch with some girlfriends. One is a gifted freelance writer – on her own schedule, working on a book that is going to be incredible. One works with the baseball team of a local university – the lone girl surrounded by cute boys all day long. One is legitimately famous – all over CMT – gorgeous and glamorous and currently nominated for, you know, a GRAMMY.

And after lunch, I went back to my silent, hourly-wage temp job – the one that is rapidly sucking my mind dry, like that tube at the dentist that catches all of your extra spit.

It’s hard to not play the comparison game. It’s hard to not look around and consequently feel lame. It’s hard to not give into the voices that say that my life is purposeless. It’s hard to fight the urge to allow my circumstances to define me. It’s hard to not feel apathetic and bored.

But I don’t want to be too big to do something small.

I have a choice – to focus on all of the bad things, or on all of the good things. Today, I choose to be grateful for a job that pays my bills. For a quiet room to sit and write in. For no one hanging over my shoulder. For the opportunity to be in touch every day with the people that I love. For the gift of no job-related stress. For a bottomless bowl of office candy.

And… for the abundance of good things that I have going on OUTSIDE of work.

I have no guarantee that I’ll ever have a job that is fulfilling – but maybe my job isn’t SUPPOSED to fulfill me. In the meantime, there is something to be said for patience.

This morning here at work, there are four repairmen walking in and out of the lobby – in and out, in and out – carrying ladders, tool kits, wire, and generally, looking confused. I have no idea what they’re doing – but they keep climbing ladders and removing the ceiling tiles and disappearing from the waist up into the space above, yelling back down to their comrades on the ground. They were here yesterday, too.

The glass doors in the lobby swing one way. Since they have probably used these doors 80 times in the last hour, one would think that they would know which side to push on, and which side to pull. But they don’t. Every single time that they walk up to the door, they do the wrong thing: push when they should pull, or pull when they should push. And a few minutes ago, one of the men ran straight into the door.

Who could blame him? Glass doors: now you don’t see them, now you don’t.

I feel agitated. These men have invaded my domain, my private sanctuary, and are disrupting my peace and quiet (and, let’s be honest: nail painting) with their… clanking. Hammering. Shuffling. And whenever they pull when they should push, or push when they should pull, I fight the urge to roll my eyes and yell, “IT’S NOT THAT HARD.”

Why do we make the same mistakes over and over again? We know better. We’ve been there before. We’ve experienced the consequences. And yet, we still mess up. We struggle with the same thing we struggled with yesterday, and the day before, and the day before. We fail to choose the right path – we forget the fallout.

Sometimes, I start to think that my struggles are hopeless – that I will never rise above, that things will never change. I push when I should pull, and pull when I should push. I know the right answer – I know the TRUTH – but I allow myself to be distracted just enough to trip. To throw my weight in the wrong direction. To run smack into the wall.

To change our behavior and our way of thinking, it takes awareness. Vigilance. Dedication. Attention.

There are many areas of my life that I could apply this to. But this morning, I am coming back to the same issue that I have struggled with year-in and year-out: the relentless issue of “beauty.” I believe lies. I buy into the world. I trust the media, and the voices in my head. And since such a large percentage of the female population feels the same way, there is no escaping it. Will it ever change?

Yesterday, my beautiful friend Emily posed the questions:

Am I willing to be the odd-woman-out and love the shell that God has given me to inhabit while on this earth? Am I willing to talk nicely to myself, in private and in public? Am I willing to ruthlessly edit the messages that I receive through media – cancel magazine subscriptions and delete shows from my DVR, if that is what it takes? Am I willing to let others compliment me and receive those kind words as truth? Am I willing to train my thoughts to dwell on the positive and stop comparing, stop chastising, stop chasing?

THIS is what it looks like. This is awareness. Vigilance. Dedication. Attention. And I want to be willing.

Push and pull, push and pull. Maybe one day I’ll get it right.

In general, I am not a forgetful person. I remember important dates, items on my grocery list, and words both tender and toxic. It’s a rare occurrence for me to miss an appointment due to negligence. I can hear a song one time, and be able to sing back the chorus word-for-word. I don’t need a recipe for chocolate chip cookies. No, when it comes to the important things, I do not easily forget.

Which makes it very odd that I left my keys IN MY FRONT DOORKNOB overnight. I slept soundly, thinking that I was safely locked inside my apartment, when I truly could have been murdered, had my house ransacked, and my car stolen. I suppose they would have been justified, though, because have you seen my hot ride?

Nightmarish scenarios aside, there’s another realm in which I can be forgetful. When it comes to the past, I tend to be a revisionist. I look back at certain times in my life with great nostalgia, under the illusion that everything was perfect when it wasn’t. I forget the hard times – I forget the reality. I convince myself that my life in Seattle was flawless, when in all actuality, I know that I struggled with the same things that I struggle with now: insecurity, loneliness, lack of purpose, lack of discipline. Instead, I remember the friendships. I remember feeling needed. I remember feeling seen. I remember the cozy weather. I remember medical insurance. I remember the water and the mountains and the drive-up coffee stands. And as shallow as it is, I remember my hair being long.

Ah, yes, times were good.

It’s easy to forget the bad, in the same way that it’s easy to forget that your ex-boyfriend wore sweatpants with elastic around the ankles.

I want to remember my past for what it was – being both grateful for the gifts, and mindful of the pain. But more than that, I want to accept the present – with everything that it brings, good and bad, ugly and awesome. I want to be here now. I want to live.

Which will probably require never forgetting my keys in the door again.

We are all responsible for our own happiness.

Not to say that life isn’t going to throw us some catastrophic curve balls, or major disappointments, or unjust circumstances. These letdowns are inevitable, and if you haven’t been hit yet, then you will be someday. Pain and discouragement are a part of life, and there is no way to evade or avoid or ignore them.

I look at my life, and there are a lot of things that I would like to change. A lot. I could list them, but it wouldn’t change the fact that they are.

But we always have a choice – a choice of how to respond to what life offers.

So I choose fortitude. I choose hope. I choose courage. I choose gratitude. I choose contentment. And yes, today, in the face of the tedious monotone of a desk job that I am over-qualified for, of the nebulous unknown of my future, of a limited bank account, of the temptation of discouragement and forsaking, of my many inner-demons and growing edges and ugly ducklings that have never blossomed into beautiful swans, I choose happiness.

Because if I don’t, then who is going to do it for me?

I recently ran across Paul Bradshaw’s 2006 interview with Rick Warren, the best-selling author of “The Purpose Driven Life” and a pastor at Saddleback Church in Orange County. Typically, I’m very suspicious of the Christian “it” celebrities and their latest-and-greatest books – or, as my dad calls it, “pablum” (fantastic word – if you don’t know it, look it up… and then use it in a sentence). But I have to admit that I have a hard time finding a whole lot of fault with Rick Warren. There is much to respect about the man, including his role as facilitator for last weekend’s interviews with Barack Obama and John McCain.

Much of what Warren said in this interview from 2 years ago jumped out at me. I think you should read it – I think everyone should read it. Here’s an excerpt:

Life is a series of problems: either you are in one now, you’re just coming out of one, or you’re getting ready to go into another one. The reason for this is that God is more interested in your character than your comfort. God is more interested in making your life holy than he is in making your life happy. We can be reasonably happy here on earth, but that’s not the goal of life: the goal is to grow in character, in Christ-likeness.

I used to think that life was hills and valleys – you go through a dark time, then you got to the mountaintop, back and forth. I don’t believe that anymore. Rather than life being hills and valleys, I believe that it’s kind of like two rails on a railroad track, and at all times you have something good and something bad in your life. No matter how good things are in your life, there is always something bad that needs to be worked on. And no matter how bad things are in your life, there is always something good you can thank God for.

You can focus on your purposes, or you can focus on your problems. If you focus on your problems, you’re going into self-centeredness, which is “my problem, my issues, my pain.”

But one of the easiest ways to get rid of pain is to get your focus off yourself and onto God and others. (For the entire interview, go here.)

We live in a self-centered culture, and my eyes are being opened more and more every day to my own glaring obsession with myself. I look out for my own well-being, and think about my own needs, and have a journal and a calendar and a prayer life and a thought life and conversations related solely to myself. But if I see the meaning and purpose of life simply “to be happy” or “to enjoy myself,” then I am missing the point.

Life gains significance only when we give ourselves away.

And for a beautiful illustration of this, rent “Bella” and watch it tonight.

When I was in Kansas City last weekend, I confessed to my mom that I am really angry with someone. Really mad. I am harboring some strong unforgiveness toward this person for wronging me – and trust me, I was wronged. This person did some sloppy things, and I was the recipient of the mud-to-the-face.

But my mom, as usual, had some wise words. She said that forgiveness is letting go of your “right” to harm the other person, no matter how justified your anger might be. She said that forgiveness is being willing to carry the pain, until the day that it doesn’t hurt anymore. And she said that forgiveness starts with choosing to forgive, and then praying that someday, your feelings will match that choice.

I believe in forgiveness. I believe that choosing to love rather than harm is always the right decision. And I believe that our hearts can be healed, no matter how bad it might feel right now.

Regarding yesterday’s post, here’s what I am learning. When I am feeling super lame and lousy, I should ask myself the following questions:

• Have I gotten enough sleep? (Usually, if I am feeling terrible, the answer will be no. I am becoming more and more convinced that getting enough sleep should be my number one act of spiritual worship. Seriously.)
• Have I had enough caffeine? Have I had too much caffeine? (Caffeine is my drug of choice – two cups of coffee every morning. But when I miss those cups, or overdo it by drinking an ENTIRE POT, then I’m in trouble.)
• Am I eating the right things? (A meal of salty chips and queso, along with margaritas, does not constitute a well-balanced diet.)
• Am I exercising? (But. Guys. It’s just SO HOT here right now.)

And finally,

• Am I being overly sensitive?

Oooooh. Sensitive. Here’s the thing. Ever since I was a little girl, it has been pointed out to me that I am strong-willed. Stubborn. A perfectionist to the core. With a granite-like resolve, it’s hard to change my mind, or my behavior, or my beliefs. But every so often, something will strike a nerve, and I’ll have a meltdown. Contrary to my rock-solid façade, I can be thin-skinned.

It’s a good thing to be able to feel. The ability to feel allows me to experience empathy, and compassion, and joy. But to open myself up to the good inevitably means that I will occasionally experience what is at the opposite side of the spectrum: suckyness. The capacity to feel pain is actually a healthy thing; it’s a sign that my emotions are alive and well. The trick is to keep those emotions in check, and stop the downward spiral of negative self-talk before it gets out of hand.

Oprah, I’m available for your show anytime.

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Tonight, I am Kansas City bound. Tomorrow, I am 14-hours-in-a-Camry-with-my-family Colorado bound. I’m not sure when I’ll have the chance to post again. And given the fact that my mom called my weekend update videos “creepy,” I can’t promise that you’ll have another one on Monday. Then again, a Parsonspalooza Road Trip video might be in order… especially because this guy will be in the car.

Some things have happened lately – some things that have left me feeling really lousy. Worse than lousy. I would say “shitty,” except then some people might get upset. So I’ll just leave it at lousy.

What are these “things” that have happened? Well, take your pick – there’s a panoply. But I don’t want to talk about them, because then you’ll know how lousy I am. And that would only make me feel lousier. But they involve miscommunication, and pride, and fear, and insecurity, and rejection. Aren’t those the worst things ever? Maybe not worse than war and famine and death. But still, pretty bad feelings.

Times like this make me want to throw in the towel. I feel like throwing my hands up in exasperation, and saying, “Fine, I GIVE UP.” I’m tired of trying, tired of tripping, tired of failing, tired of disappointing.

Sometimes I wish that Jesus would just come back.

I feel lousy. But today, I’m going to try to choose hope instead. I’m only a little ragamuffin, making my way as best as I know how. None of us will escape the hard times and the pain and the quiet moments where we question the value of who we are at our very core. But we are called to a long obedience in the same direction, day after day, no matter what. So…

Courage. Onward. And praise the Lord, really.