alexis in the city

Three years on from “I Quit”

As Ryan reminded me the other day, this week marks the third anniversary of us quitting the last jobs we held and going into business for ourselves. For those of you who didn’t know us during that phase of our lives, I was a producer with Current TV and Ryan was a product manager for the gaming division of CNet.

I find myself admonishing people not to do a lot of the things we’ve done - get married so young, move to a new city with no jobs and no place to live, get two dogs at the same time - and this is no exception. Quitting our stable, relatively well-paying jobs for no “good” reason, within days of eachother has been one of our bolder, crazier decisions. Yet as with most of these types of decisions we’ve made, it continues to work out in ways I don’t expect, ways that are happily surprising (and not-so-happily surprising, to be fair).  I’m not sure I’d do anything differently. … Well, other than give ourselves a bit of a safety net by staggering our timing by more than a few days.

So what the hell were we thinking?

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JPL, I’m coming for you!

Most people probably don’t know this because I never really talk about it: I want to work at JPL someday and I have for a really, really long time. I think it’s due to my space brat upbringing and the knowledge that this is a place where, although I’m not aeronautically or scientifically or mathematically inclined, I could still contribute and - as an added bonus - let my uber space dorkiness run free.

So how come someone like me - who splatters her personal, intimate, mundane life all over the internet via a myriad of social channels - has never let this be known? I was afraid. Superstitious. Unsure.

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obsessive thoughts of an OCD nomad

~ it is not what we carry with us but what we let go that defines who we are ~

my mom has a room full of furniture for me. it’s all the furniture that was in my room when i was growing up (and which belonged to my great-grandparents), along with a couple awesome walnut dining tables that were my grandparents’ and hopefully two green Ethan Allen wingback chairs (if she does, in fact, decide to re-do the living room). all this stresses me out. if you’ve ever seen my apartment - tragically furnished only about a half-step up from a college dorm with craigslist finds, ikea purchases and, yes, even things i’ve found on the street - you’re probably wondering why, for the sweet love of god, i don’t already have all my awesome bequeathed furniture in my apartment. but it’s not that simple ~ as is usually the case with me.

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it takes a village to raise a child

my village was evangelicalism.

let me preface this all by saying: i am grateful (for the most part) for the way i was raised - because what i’m about to write might sound like i’m trying to imply the opposite.  i’m not. just because i question and denounce parts of my upbringing doesn’t mean i don’t appreciate it. it means that i - like so many - am a part (or was a part? i’m not sure yet …) of a culture i have some serious issues with.

over the course of my life, i’ve noticed that most kids raised similarly to how i was tend to fall into three camps. the first are those who either accept what they’ve been taught at face value, or come to a place of acceptance. the second group denounces the religion of their childhood altogether, or becomes ambivalent. and then there are the rest of us, the little village children of a certain type of christianity, walking the fringes as we wrestle with what we consider to be inconsistencies, hypocrisy, and sometimes downright lies.

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why church is like the gym

church is like the gym for me. some people have probably heard my analogy, but here it is:

i get up every morning and go to the gym, 7 am, like clockwork. it’s not a choice for me, it’s not something i evaluate, it’s just something i do. it’s something i’ve always done basically my entire life, and i don’t really think about it. i don’t know how to do anything else from 7 to 8am. i don’t particularly enjoy it - i don’t wake up in the morning thinking, “oh boy, i’m so excited to get up and work out.” like i said - i don’t think about it at all. i show up at the gym and i work the hell out of myself. i don’t have a blast while i’m there, but i don’t hate it. then, after i leave, i’m glad i went - i feel like i did something good for myself and that i made a good decision. and if i don’t go (yes, there have been a handful of times over the course of my life where i’ve **gasp** skipped the gym!) i feel like crap. overall i see the benefits it has in my life and therefore it’s not a habit i’m going to part with.

this is pretty much the perfect description for how i view church. i don’t go every day or anything, but it’s a weekly habit that’s been ingrained in me since the dawn of time as i know it. i don’t really enjoy it, but i’m not miserable - and after i go, i’m glad i went … though - like the gym - that’s mostly because if i don’t go, i feel guilty.

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