So, it has been a year

and like seven days, but I have been thinking about writing this for about a week. So, that counts, right? Whatever, you don't tell me how to live my life. (Unless you're my mother, then you can totally tell me how to live my life. hashtag HiMom)

It has been a year since my last anxiety attack. I have told two very important people to me about this milestone, and both of them responded with a confused congratulations. Congratulations because that is a big effing feat. And, confused because they didn't even know I have an anxiety disorder.

So, I am here to out myself, I guess. I have had anxiety for a long time, and I have worked really hard in the past several years to be a healthier person. I don't always feel like my best self, but I wake up every day with that as a goal. And, for right now, that is enough. 

When I was a child, I was not able to control how I felt about anything. I felt everything, or I felt nothing. I spent hours awake at night telling stories to myself because I couldn't fall asleep. My stories would be about my day usually with some fantastic elements in there--my dragon second grade teacher or my lion best friend. These stories were my emotional processing tools. I needed them because I didn't have the capacity to process things in real time. So, at the end of the day, I had all of these things that happened and all of these emotions, and I didn't know how to feel them both at the same time. This storytelling activity continued for all of my adolescence and most of my young adulthood. It helped me sort out what I was feeling and when I was feeling it. The why was always illusive, though.  

As I am learning to process things more immediately, I catch myself being emotional at inappropriate times, and I don't really know what to do with it. I also don't really know how to pull myself together after any change from the norm. But, I am working on it. Baby steps, I suppose. 

After I told one person about my anxiety-attack free anniversary, she asked me what would set them off. And, I had never really thought about it truthfully. I wanted to lie to myself because I was/am ashamed of it. In my brain, I had never wanted to own up to my part in whatever was happening. But, this person has a way of calling me on my bullshit, and I didn't want to lie to her. 

So, I thought about it. My anxiety manifests itself in feelings of disappointment. Not when others are actually disappointed in me (that is guilt, not anxiety), but when I perceive others' disappointment. Or, it crushes when I think people depend on me for x, y, or z, and I feel like I cannot give hir my full attention. Or, sometimes my anxiety swoops in on the wings of emotional distress, and I stop breathing--scared, sad, and, usually, frustrated.

My road to mental and emotional health have been paved with friends made of gold--women and men who've taught me things like limits, true heroism, and there is always time to dance. I have learned to set realistic goals for myself. I have learned that I can't be everything for everybody. And, I have learned that it is not selfish to say, "No." 

I don't really know what I am trying to do with this post. Or, if I am trying to prove anything. I don't want pity. I guess, I want to give a face to some kinds of mental health. That people you know and love are not always what society deems "normal." That word "normal" in and of itself is absurd. I guess, I wanted to be a little more real with myself, to be vulnerable. I wanted to take a moment of sonder: the realisation that everyone is living a life equally as vivid and complex as my own (dictionary of obscure sorrows). 

And, that, my friends, is enough. 

So, I went around the sun

Mid-spring this past year, I honestly had a moment in which I forgot how old I was. A combination of Korean age systems and not really knowing what day of the week it is, I lost track of the time I'd been gone. There are days when I feel like my reckless 18 year old self (which, lesbiehonest, not that reckless). But, also days I feel as old as Grandmother Willow. I never quite feel my actual age. 

People so often quip, "Age is just a number. Mmmmm, be a dear and pass the wine. Pinkies up." Okay, so, maybe just the first part. But, still. Age and the perception of it are slippery concepts. They shift based on what you're feeling and with whom you keep company. Not literally, of course, that's ridiculous. But, Sandra Cisneros wrote an excellent description of this concept in her short story "Eleven." 

I have learned a lot in my time on this earth. I also have a lot of room to grow. so I am going to make a list of 28 things on being 28. Hopefully, it will be a good mix of things I know and things I'm silly for thinking. Let's take this ride together. All aboard!

1. Confidence is sexy. Over-confidence is douche-y. The line between the two is very thin, and once you've crossed, there is a HUGE learning curve that you have to go up, then down, and when you approach that line again, hopefully you've learned something. 

2. Both coffee and wine are best in big pours. Both stain your shirt when you inevitably spill them. 

3. Carry a Tide stick--even when you don't think you need it. Because you will. You always will.

4. If you learn to fold a fitted sheet, you will impress all of your friends and potential partners. 

5. Learn to say no. Learn to  make sure your no is respected. Respect other people's no.

6. Take time for yourself. It is not selfish. It is necessary for processing. Everyone needs different amounts. Realise where your limit is, and respect it. 

7. Being kind is often more important than being right. I mean, don't, like, walk around saying, "2+2=5. Come on in for a big bear hug, ya old schmoob." But, in arguments and debates, sometimes it is okay to back down to preserve integrity. 

8. Luck is a real thing. So is hard work. They go together like ramalamalamakadingadadingdadong. 

9. Learn a second language. 

10. Read global news. Find media outlets that are not biased. Base your opinions on fact not propaganda. It is important to know things that happen outside of your community. There is an entire world out there that we've not explored. Why are we content reading about the county dog fair and the police blotter that reads "hooligans hooliganning in the new hooligan spot"? Don't be that guy who knows nothing about the world around him. 

11. The weirdest part of the body is the skin on the elbow. Not only for it's funny name, but really, it feels like elephant knees.

12, Being an adult means not eating the pretzels at the bar. It only makes you more thirsty. It's a trap. 

13. Every once in a while, you should stop everything you're doing, look around you, and appreciate that you're the only person in the universe existing in that exact space at that exact time. 

14. If you don't like being tickled, you need to tell partners immediately. If their first reaction to this news is to tickle you, leave. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. (Okay, a little extreme, but who does that? Ass hats, that's who.)

15. The invention of facebook has completely restructured my wasting time strategies. I used to be so efficient because there was nothing else to do but the work I had to, so I did it. I spent my free time mapping out fire escape routes from every conceivable place in my childhood home. I was terrified. Now, I don't even have an escape ladder. I still have a go bag. It still has my beanie babies in it. So, obviously, the important things are taken care of. 

16. Find something about which you're passionate. 

17. Work so you can make money to follow your passion. If your passion and work end of coinciding, that's better. If you find work using your passion, that is the best. 

18. Have a meaningful "Get to know you" question. One that makes a person think before they respond. You can derive a lot more from knowing someone's zombie apocalypse plan than their favourite colour.

19. Unexpectedly catching someone taking a selfie is probably one of the best feelings ever. Another good one is being caught taking a selfie. 

20. Everyone looks good in hats. Some people wear them confidently; some people do not. THAT is the difference between hat people and non-hat people. 

21. While hiking one morning, my friend and I discussed the nature of greater powers. And, she suggested, "What if the Earth was some kind of atom in a molecule of a giant being?" That really got me. I mean, I can't even conceive the universe, nor can I imagine what it looks like. It could literally be anything. 

22. Sometimes, I feel silly when I need external validation. I feel like I should be fine with *knowing* that I did a good job. But, sometimes it is important to share with someone you trust your achievements. It's okay to want to hear, "Hey, I'm proud of you. That was awesome, and you should be proud of it, too."

23. I also feel silly when I ask for help. I feel like I am needy and that my problems are-- for all intents and purposes--rather mild. And, I don't want to trouble people with them. This, my friends, is *actually* silly. Stop kidding yourself. Ask for help. It is often one of the bravest things you can do. 

24. I no longer feel silly when I make mistakes. Sometimes, I feel frustrated, but embarrassment, anger, and frustration do not change the fact that I  made a mistake. I can take what I have learned and grow from it. 

25. It takes so much more energy to be negative than it does to be positive. Well, that maybe isn't true. BUT, negativity often breeds more negativity, which leads to a big giant cluster of awful. Try to manoeuvre  your perspective in a way that allows positive emotions to trickle into it. 

26. After about the twelfth Korean rice cake, you become an expert at finding a better home for them than the mountain on your desk. 

27. Listen to the rain. It has as much of a story to tell as I do. 

28. In big life decisions (where to go next, what to study, what to do), there is no such thing as a right or a wrong decision. It is the decision you make. And, because you made it, you need to live it fully and without reservations. By doing so, it becomes the right decision. Of course, it is always fun to think about the"What ifs?" But, do so with the same whimsy as you would a pipe dream.  

So, there you have it folks. 28 things I've learned from being 28. Let's see where the next twelve months takes us.

--Kat(i)e Bots

So, I said some words in Seoul

A few months back, my friend L had asked some folks to perform at an event for Korean adoptees and Korean adoption awareness. HERE is where you can find out more information on that. I really struggled with this task because I am, you know, neither Korean nor adopted. My only visible minority is being a woman. And, I suppose, people can make educated guesses about my hair cut. But, I was lucky enough to have two very engaged parents who loved me even when I was always dirty and/or falling out of trees. When I asked for guidance on what to write, L reassured me that everything was gonna be okay, and that I should focus on identity, what makes me me.

“Oh, okay. I can do that. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.”

PSYCH.

I spend so much time inside my own head that I forget that other people live inside of their own heads and not mine. I spend so much time analysing how I connect with this person or how does my relationship with that person contribute to my definition of self. So, several months ago I sat down to parse out what makes me me. And, I realised that I am just a sack of cliches and metaphors. But, I think that is okay.

I think that on this three and a half year intense journey of self-discovery, I just have been living the changes, tweaking my sense of self until it fits into the readily prepared box of identity to which I so desperately cling. I have sat down and figured out motivations for specific change, but I haven’t really looked back at everything and measured my growth.

So, in preparation for my pieces, I took up the arduous task of pinpointing when, where, and why I changed. Break-ups, usually, were the most influential motivators of change. Basically, I tried to figure out a way to never feel that way ever again (either breaker-upper or breaker-uppee: neither are a particularly fun experience). In these turbulent moments, I could only measure progress by observing the constants in my life. So, my pieces focused on those things: family, self-awareness, and recognition of self-worth. That last one took a while to sort out, but once I realised that I deserved happiness, I have focused on relationships that celebrate that.

I decided to write from three perspectives of self: woman, child, adult. For my piece on woman identity, I reprised the poem sea glass. For my child self, I thought about what I wish I had been told when I was younger to make things easier for my genuinely awkward self (Dear Me: A letter to my ten-year-old self). And, as an adult, I unpacked what it means to be an adult and not have my shit together in the way my 16-year-old self romanticised, (0 Safety in Numbers 0).

So, I had all of these bad boys written by June 28th. I had exactly one job between Sunday and Saturday. Memorise. Give me a Shakespearian script, I will have my lines with proper intonation and iambic pentameter in like five days. Give me monologues, done. But, when it comes to my own poetry there is a block there. I can’t seem to get the words out in the right way (my guess is the logical part in my brain is always analysing, thinking about performance, delivery, understanding, whereas the emotional part is screaming, “Just open your damn mouth, Botsford.”) So, needless to say, when K walked into the hotel room on the Saturday night of the show, I was underprepared and now self-conscious of practising in front of a friend. Only option was to go get a snack and beer and hope for the best.

As the show came around, I was the third performer and the second poet. The first two acts were great, so I was a walking bundle of nerves as I stepped onto the stage. I will always be my own harshest critic. I performed some poems better than others and some poems worse. But, overall, I was really happy with what happened on stage. Then, there were some amazing performers after me. There was a band, beatboxer, storyteller, poetry, and so much more.

At intermission, I had met a human who was great. Immediately, he and I had a baseline of trust (helped along by citron soju). And, that is what I think is so important about some of the relationships I have made here in Korea. There is less bull shit,less trying to impress others. And, in this very special event, there was a microcosm of shared experience (international adoption) into which I was graciously welcomed despite my non-adopted, non-Korean status.

As I was walking back into the venue, I had overheard some people talking about my poetry. And, one of the people said something like, “Oh, man, I just love her voice.” Someone else spoke up and said, “I know. But, do you think they identify as she? Imma ask them.” And, in that moment, I realised how phenomenal of a community this was. Although I identify as a woman, I definitely like to play with gender and try to achieve androgyny. I turned around and said, “Yes, I do use feminine pronouns, but I am bursting with excitement that you gave a damn.” Ze responded, “Well, gender is a spectrum, and I respect you and your work enough to make sure I get it right.”

That interaction reminded me that family is all around. Family, not in the sense of mom, dad, two kids and a puppy, but family as a group of humans who love and respect each other enough to just give a damn. Family can be lifelong or it can be for a second. What matters is the safety net, the feeling of trust, and knowledge that when you fall, someone will always catch you.

With no further adieu, here are the poems I read this weekend: (If enough people comment/message, I will attach either video or audio of me reading these poems. I just don’t have the technology on my school computer.)

sea glass

My vagina warrior lived inside of me

pressed down and sodden

like the dregs of yesterday’s coffee grounds.

On a ship in a glass bottle,

I admired her—

         A piece of decoration.

The beliefs of not good

         enough

                                    and

not beautiful

         enough

chain her to the mast,

splayed her, restrained her

in a way that rendered her

         helpless

         defenseless    and

         naked

to the onslaught of

wave after wave of perfection—

         perception.

She will never be

         tall.

She will never be

         thin.

She will never be

         beautiful.

My vagina warrior fought these

         shackles.

She rallied the

         force of her arms,

the

         power of her legs

and the cuffs opened

not with a

         click,

but with the

         unadulterated

         wild

sound of the oppressed.

Enough

The sonic sound shattered the glass.

She refused my

         submissions

my

         control

my

         standards.

She defied definition.

She created discomfort

to make me fucking feel.

         something      anything

My vagina warrior turned to me,

not with rage

but with

         pity--

because I’d kowtowed to

rules and    opinions and

         external pressures

changed my self to fit into

society’s

glass bottle—broken

though it may be—

with its missing pieces

and jagged edges

meant to cut me

and keep me from feeling

              whole

My vagina warrior stepped inside of

me,

kissed my edges smooth,

and together became sea glass.

We entered life

refusing to be a

         piece of it—

but instead living wholly and beautifully as

         One.

Dear Me

A letter to my 10-year-old self

                                   

Number one: Drink milk

It is not gross.

And, really, do not listen to your sister.     

Chocolate milk does not make you sick.

She just wants it for herself.

Number two: Don't be anything less than

Kids say things to you.

Don’t listen, Roo.

You are fearfully and wonderfully made.

When you change yourself to be less than, you lose the greater you.                          

Number three: Be graceful

Be graceful with your words.

Be graceful in breaking hearts.

Be graceful in giving yours away.

Be graceful in letting things go.

Number four: Be kind

You only meet people once.

You have exactly one shot.

Be respectful.

Spend time asking instead of answering..

Number five: Give, but don’t be afraid to take

Your heart is so big.

You want to share and help and teach.

But, know that taking is okay, too.

Let people help you.

Let people in.

It doesn’t make you weak.

It makes you learn the value of being human.

Number Six: Walk from time to time

You’re always moving from place to place

You spend so much time running from both problems and solutions

Slow down, baby girl.

Walk.

Number seven: It’s okay to be afraid

Just, find fears that are worth it.

Know that fear is just a moment.

Feel it. Live it. Be it.

It will pass and

Your feelings are valid.

Number eight: Believe in luck

Sometimes, that’s all you have.

Number nine: Trust

Sometimes, you will fail and sometimes others fail you. .

But, I know that your heart is brave enough and your mind is big enough.

I guarantee that trust it worth it.  

Number ten: Focus on what you love

You are going to love so much in this world.

Chase it, kid. It’s the most important thing we’ll ever do.

0 Safety in Numbers 0

Zero

I only know two numbers.

One--a social security blanket tucked

neath my chin reminding me of

where I’ve been.

Two, a pass portal to all the places I’ve yet to go.

Three

They both feel like home.

Three

Neither feels like home.

Four

The only home I feel is

a space halfway across the Arctic circle--

the exact middle between here and there.

And if I stretch just far enough, I can live half lives

in hopes of making me whole.

Four

The only home I feel is

in a metal bird chasing the clouds

because I’m neither here nor there..

I am the journey of the travelled,

a wish on a shooting star,

a wave of child who just happened to look up.

Six

I am Ms. Botsford.

Six

I am 캐서린Teacher.

Six

I am.

Seven

I am a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a teacher.

I am present.

Seven

I am a wanderer, a poet, a lover, a teacher

I am movement.

Eight

I’ve moved through many Katies and Kates.

I am my mother’s daughter. My father’s dove. My sister’s

shadow.

They’ve known me longer than I’ve known myself.

They’ve seen me change.

They’ve helped me don identities, and take them off again when they didn’t work.

They’ve taught me right isn’t winning.

They’ve given me family.

Eight

I’ve moved through many countries.

I am Cambodia’s gazer. Japan’s climber. Korea’s

wonderer.

They’ve known me briefly but deeply.

They’ve seen me stare in awe at their complexities.

They’ve helped me contemplate how small I really am.

They’ve taught me love is greater than hate.

They’ve given me family.

Nine

My blanket stretches, trying to cover all of me.

To keep me secure. To keep me from falling.

To keep me from cold. To keep me home.

Nine

My portal opens wide. I pass

into adventure. Into exploration.

Into questions. Into answers.

Into nothing. Into everything.

Boldly and without reservations.

I pass.