Kleenex interviews

Sometimes when I finish an interview, I walk away with a somewhat unsettled realization that I would never want to be on the opposite end of what I do day in and day out. I would not want to answer my own questions.

What is this complicated issue? How do you see it impacting these people? Are people angry about this? What are you doing about that? Do you feel like a scum bag? Why is this important? What, how, when, who, why, why, why?

Don't get me wrong; I see great value in the work of journalists around the world. I regret that bias has swept into the industry so rampantly, but I still believe in my profession. 

I believe the presence of reporters in city council meetings and court proceedings keeps people honest. I believe in informing the community and in telling stories because humanity can be so moved by story. I think those tough, probing, revealing questions need to be asked. And I think the dumb questions need to be asked, too.

But still, it can be awkward.

I am a private, introverted sort, and I marvel at what I ask people to do. Would I be as open as they are?

There are times that I feel so humbled to be hearing what someone is saying to me. Who am I that they trust me with their words, their image, their knowledge, their hurts, their joys?

Several years ago, I did a series of stories about domestic violence. I began my work, as I often do, with tons of research. I had stats about the freakish commonality of abuse and studies about why women stay in abusive relationships. I KNEW stuff.

Or so I thought.

And then I met a woman at a coffee shop for an interview. As she told me her story of being abused, I dutifully took notes and nodded and hummed in all the right, compassionate places. But I remained detached. Or, in journalism speak, objective.

But then, as this woman told me about what if felt like to have the corner of the coffee table punch into her ribs as she was pushed down by her husband and about the guilt and sickness that boiled in her stomach when she crawled into bed with her husband that night, knowing full well her plan to finally leave the next morning, something happened.

She began to cry. I stoically grabbed her a Kleenex box and murmured reassuringly that she should take her time.

She used one, and then two, and then three Kleenex.

The silence became awkward. She apologized as the tears streamed down her face.

And I suddenly didn't know why in the world she was sorry. She was apologizing for becoming emotional about recounting a hellish night, a hellish relationship smothered in confusion and shame, a hellish life.

But it was I who had asked her to relive it. I was the one who should have been sorry.

I put my pen down. And I grabbed a Kleenex.

That was the first time I've cried in an interview. It was not the last.

Ever since, I have prayed before almost every interview that I will hear with my heart and honor the honesty I am asking for. I pray that my heart will be behind my words when I write, but also that my words will remain objective as my profession demands. It's a hard balance to strike.

But I try. And now, as I've been pondering the questions I ask people every day, I've been trying to turn similar questions on myself. Why do I believe that way? What will I do about this problem? How can I help, and when will I do it?

It's been a good practice. It stems apathy and cynicism, and that is crucial in an industry where it becomes easy to hide behind skepticism and blockade oneself from the humanity behind the story. But I don't want to hide. I want to be human, too, even if it means carrying Kleenex with my pen and my notepad. 

Tidbits

Random observations:

My dirty dishes get done more often when I take time to put away the clean dishes in the dish rack.

I am more of a people pleaser than I ever realized. I hate letting people down or feeling like someone thinks less of me. I have a really hard time letting go of mistakes that make me look bad. This is a pride issue, and I've been taking it to God in prayer.

Seeing the flowers on the table that my fiance brought me is a highlight many times in a day.

I don't miss caffeinated coffee in the afternoon as much as I thought I would. Decaf Americanos do just fine for me.

I am quicker to judge than I thought I was. God help me see with your eyes and love with your love.

I feel better when I drink two glasses of water in the morning when I wake up.
 

Wow your guests

First, a confession.

A couple weeks ago, I was at the grocery store buying yogurt, cereal and bananas. You  know, the standard working woman's fare for a woman who lives alone and considers cereal with a dessert of a different kind of cereal a balanced meal. (Ah, how life will change come June when I am a married woman with a husband for whom to cook!)

Anyway, the confession. The bananas are rather close to the magazine section in my nearest grocery store, so I meandered casually over and picked up a TIME magazine. But I didn't really look at it. It was a ruse. I then set TIME back in its slot and reached for...a bridal magazine.

Believe me, in that time when Justin and I had looked at rings but he hadn't yet proposed, I had wanted to look at those bridal magazines so badly. But, I just felt too self conscious doing so without a ring on my finger. It seemed presumptuous, and I worried I'd look a little sad and sorry flipping wistfully through a magazine full of wedding dresses without that reason sparkling on my hand.

So, I refrained.

But now, I held the magazine so that diamond and that gold band would be visible and started to leaf through the pages.

Thick and glossy, those pages were painted fairy-tale white. Yards of satin and tulle, glistening with sequins like dew on a white rose, made me squeal very, very, very quietly. Page after page cooed to that little girl inside every woman who dreams of twirling beneath a starry sky with her Prince Charming...in yards of satin and tulle so long and lavish no eye in the room can look at anyone or anything else.

I leaned against my shopping cart and turned page after silky, white, fairy-tale page.

After a while, though, I began to notice that none of the 6-foot-5-inch brides were smiling. Their bodies were contorted into completely unnatural poses that flaunted the curve of a hip, the firmness of a thigh and the suppleness of a low neckline. The flowers, and baubles, and table settings seemed stiff and lifeless. Something, lots of things, seemed off.

Second, a revelation.

About two-thirds through the 100-page magazine, there was an advertisement. It featured a photo of a wedding scene in which the bride and groom were kissing in a completely uncomfortable Hollywood fashion with lights twinkling in fine crystal wine glasses in the background and guests looking delightfully stunned by - if not a little jealous of - the perfection of the moment.

"Wow your guests!" it said in swirly lettering.

My breath caught in my chest, but not because I was sold by the add. On the contrary, I suddenly felt sad and a little angry at it all.

"Is that the point of my wedding? To 'wow' my guests?" I asked out loud.

No.

Don't get me wrong, dear friends and family, I am giddy with excitement to have you all join me and Justin on our big day (June 14!), but I have no intention of wowing you, not with my sexy dress or shiny baubles, anyway.

Since when has a wedding become merely an extravagant party that maxes out a credit card or two for the purpose of wowing people who should instead be awed by God's goodness in bringing two people together in that sweet, almost inexpressible bond called love?

Please, dear ones, be wowed not by the party we throw but by what it represents.

I will be wearing a handmade dress made just for me (Shelley, you're the best!). It will be lovely, and I will twirl in it. It will be white because I will be enjoying sex for the first time in my life the night after I wear it (blushing now).

I will be wearing the most beautiful piece of jewelry I've ever seen, and I'll be looking forward to seeing it every day on my finger for the rest of my life.

We will be surrounded by the people who have walked with us to this moment, and who will hopefully walk with us long, long after it as we learn all the ins and outs and ups and downs of married life. What a beautiful thing to celebrate! I cherish each person who will be at our wedding and hope Justin and I will strive to serve and love them throughout our lives.

There will be flowers - daisies - because they're the most happy flower and I like them. There will be old cameras because my man is a photographer and he likes old cameras. There are rumors of a game of Twister. These things represent nothing deep...just the fun and joyousness of the occasion.

Because a wedding should be fun and joyous. And serious beyond serious as two people pledge to become one in body, heart, faith, love.

Two become one. Wow.

I put the magazine back on the shelf. And I was glad I had looked through its fairy-tale white pages because in them I found that I'm not looking so much for a fairy tale as I am for a little help writing that first page of our story as Mr. and Mrs.

Third, a foreshadowing.

You should be prepared to be wowed by the dessert table.

~Hannah reporting in...

Thirty-two!

I keep waiting for the year when I will dislike turning another year older...but it hasn't arrived yet! I have always been a fan of birthdays, especially my own. It feels funny for me to say that out loud because I worry it sounds egotistical, but I honestly just enjoy having a day in which to look back and go, "Wow! I made it!"

It's not about the gifts. I enjoy and appreciate gifts, but I'll be just as happy with a hug or some time for a cup of coffee together.

It is about the party. My family and friends have always thrown me wonderful parties. I am not an attention-seeker by nature; in fact I would say I'm more of an attention-repeller. But, I do enjoy having one day a year where I get to enjoy the loving words of the people I love. It fills me right up.

It is about the food. I always get to pick my birthday dinner, and that is always fun. This year? Homemade pizza, stout beer and pumpkin pie. Yes, it is a perfect, wonderful, fall-celebratory meal. I can't wait until I get to eat it.

It is about being thankful. It is about celebrating the milestones of the last year.
* My nephew was born!
* I spent my first Christmas with my second family!
* My boyfriend got a job as a photojournalist!
* I got a new job as a reporter at the local newspaper!
* I moved into a new apartment! It is much safer and quieter!
* God helped me through a few scary months of undergoing tests for breast cancer after I found a couple lumps. Praise God! Negatory!
* I camped and hiked a lot!
* I went to the Tetons with the love of my life!
* I GOT ENGAGED! I will never tire of saying that!
* My fiance opened a gallery show of his photographs!
* I started planning a wedding!

It's crazy to think that THIS is the year I will get married. I am so thankful. I know marriage is not the end all, be all of happiness (that must be found in a relationship with Christ), but I think it's going to be pretty stinkin' amazing.

Anyway, I am late for work and best be off. Thanks for listening!

~Hannah reporting in...

Hannah reporting in...

I miss blogging. I blogged for years over at blindbartimaeus.blogspot.com about my travels and adventures as a carefree soul with the "will o' the wisp," as folks said about my grandpa and began to say about me when it seemed I was destined to follow in his wandering ways.

Blind Bartimaeus and I had great times together, but about a year ago, my posts started to sputter like an old VW about to run out of gas. Last March 2013, they just stopped. I haven't looked at my blog since as life took a decidedly steady turn.

My boyfriend got a job as a photojournalist at the local newspaper. I took a job shortly thereafter at the same paper as a government reporter.

We got engaged!!!!!

We are planning a wedding and a life together. Here.

Here.

When I started thinking about blogging again, I looked at blindbartimaeus.blogspot.com, and it just didn't seem right to try to revive it as something other than a travel blog. Even when I wasn't actually traveling, Blind Bartimaeus still had the flavor and energy of traveling solo wherever my feet took me.

(Blind Bartimaeus referred to a blind man in scripture, in Mark chapter 10, who was healed by Jesus. When Jesus asked Bartimaeus what he wanted after he kept calling out, louder and louder, for Jesus to help him, Bartimaeus simply said, "I want to see!" I always thought that was such a simple, yet all-encompassing, plea, and so I made it my prayer as I traveled and wandered that I would see as Jesus would have me to see.)

Plus, honestly, Blind Bartimaeus is a mouthful. It always took me about ten minutes to write out my blog address for someone who was interested in reading it, and then we spent another five minutes sounding out the letters and correcting the mispronunciations. I imagine a lot of folks got lost trying to find my online wanderings at Blind Bartimaeus.

And so, with a hint of nostalgic sadness, I have decided to start a brand new blog and let Blind Bartimaeus be what it was meant to be: a travel blog written by a younger me. Maybe I'll send our kids there someday when they want to know what I was like at their age and await their awe-struck squeals of, "Mom! You were crazy!!!!"

Mom?

Sheesh. One step at a time now.

I have a wedding to plan and a life to look forward to with a man I love so much I can hardly breathe when I think about it sometimes.

I love my life. I am grateful for every moment, good, bad and in-between. I am grateful to God for all the travels and look forward to more wanderings with my husband-to-be.

But for now, I am here. And I am happy.

~Hannah reporting in...

Justin and I on top of the mountain where we got engaged. September 22, 2013.