forgive me for being honest

i've had a glass of wine (or two. or three.) forgive me, for being honest. i was reminded today of the term 'service.' what it is like to be a service to others, to depend on others, and to serve others. now, although automatically i want to jump to the rewarding aspects of service, i must confess, i've spent the better part of the afternoon wanting to strangle those i'm serving.

i should explain, i've spent four summers working at a country club, serving those who are (some) more fortunate than i, and others (most), who think they are more fortunate than i. i am now working in an industry where we must serve others, every day, to maintain relationships, and build partnerships. i touted the fact that i used to be in a country club setting, i understand the meaning on service, i told them. the truth was, i don't, and i don't think i ever will. i suppose i was raised differently, although i sound like a brat often, and my best friend and i (after many, many drinks), will sometimes exclaim that 'everyone is so stupid but us,' i know that it really, truly, isn't right. i respect those who deserve respect- those who are kind, those humans who have not attempted to hurt me, or my family and friends. and sometimes i even respect those who have tried to hurt me, or my family and friends. yet- i can't get over the fact that some people treat others as though they are less of a person than themselves.

i encountered it constantly at the country club. just recently, while in an elevator in downtown cleveland i saw a former member. i didn't recognize him, but when he said 'hey coach!' in a derrogatory manner, i realized that he was from the club. it was simple. he spoke down on me, therefore he was from the club. it's sad that i can make associations that clearly (and later, i did remember him, and his family, from the summer i spent trying to build a swim team that i had no business coaching, considering i've never been on a swim team in my life). i encounter the patronizing every day just being a woman. sometimes, for a reason i cannot explain, it makes me feel powerful. other times, it makes me feel cheap, and less of a person. i encounter it because i am young, because i wear heels, the list continues. i should be used to it by now, don't you think?

as i said earlier, i've spent the majority of the evening drinking wine, and discussing with my mom and my husband the nuances of those that i serve. those that i indirectly serve as well, and i discovered that at the end of the day, i was done dwelling in the negative (although i think it was necessary to do). i realized that to serve others has a sort of strange meaning, in which you can get spit upon, chewed up, and kicked, and yet, as long as you have served them, you can feel a pride in yourself. it's an odd phenomenon, and i don't understand it in the least, but at the end of a very long day, i can still hold my head up and decide that i am worthy, on my own, just through serving others. that is what service is- giving a part of yourself to help someone.

although my examples from today (of which i will not elaborate) and in the past could seem trivial, i think you cannot compare anothers' journey to mine. it is all relative. it may not be the greatest example of service, but i feel the pain, and the joy, it brings today, and i think that's all that counts.

i said goodbye to a friend this weekend, she is serving in the peace corps for two years. for some strange reason, the new, emotionally-charged me has spent the past few days bursting into tears. husband, even after going through a tough few weeks with me, has told me it is very strange of me to cry so often and so easily about this. it's not like we weren't apart before- she spent her college years hundreds (thousands?) of miles away from me, and we didn't speak that often, save for a few cards/phone calls on birthdays. but the thought of her leaving for something so permanent was so hard for me to handle. i understand her need to serve others, though, and i respect her wish to make her impact on the world. i admire her courage, and her strength. i think for anyone, peace corps set aside, the chance to follow your heart into the unknown takes a special skill, a special strength, a special heart.

i guess this idea of service goes deeper than my issues today, or at the club, but i can see a pattern in my life. service doesn't always feel good, in fact, i'm not sure true service is supposed to, but at the end of the day, when you hold up your head, can you feel worthy? can you feel proud of the person you are, the people you helped, the person you're becoming?

note: the picture above is my time spent on crutches, in a cast, and learning to become a stronger person, with the help of my (then) boyfriend, (now) husband.