Don't Sweat the Landing

Welp . . .

He’s gone.

I mean, he’s been gone since right after the New Year, but I’ve been keeping those feelings to myself for a few weeks now, rolling them around in my head like a pair of Baoding balls, trying to let their tune emerge organically, to flow as it may . . .

It’s an unfairly bittersweet melody, to be honest.

I think I knew it would be, going in, but nonetheless I am struck by its lilt.

Something I know I know, though, is that life handed me a moment. One of those moments you get the chance to walk the walk having talked the talk – to find out who you really are, and, if you’re lucky, to be the person you’ve always hoped you were.

Personally, I’ve always hoped I’m one of those people who, at least in the movies, does “the thing” – that brilliant thing – that saves the day, but that no rational, sane person would ever do because it would never even occur to them.

“I’m bringing ‘em in closer, Merlin.”

“You’re gonna do what?!”

And, romantic that I am, I’ve always hoped I wouldn’t only be able to that thing for survival – I hoped I’d be able to do it for love, too, love being the essential non-essential, one of those differences between living and being alive.

Not just any love, of course.

SATC fans will know what I’m taking about when I say a “great love” . . . one that changes you, that summons forth the best and brightest version of you, the only person capable of making you do said crazy thing(s).

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that even a year and a half ago, getting on a train that I knew was going to get me here seemed crazy at best; now that I’m actually here it seems Johnny Utah (Keanu Reeves) screaming “FUCK IT!” and jumping out of a perfectly good plane with a gun instead of parachute kind of crazy.

It certainly wasn’t that I thought it was a good idea. It’s not like I woke up everyday between then and now thinking everything was going to be okay.

It was simply that I HAD to do it – for no good reason other than the fact that I couldn’t NOT do it.

I didn’t care what happened, so long as it happened with him.

Something happening, however badly or well it went – and it really could only go so well – was the only way I was going to be able to sleep at night.

I mean, no one would’ve blamed Johnny for letting Bodhi (the late and great Patrick Swayze) go, for listening to every self-preserving cell in his body and not jumping out of the plane . . . but he would have. He would have kicked and blamed himself and wondered every single day.

So he jumped, I jumped, and that’s the thing about jumping:

No brakes, no changing your mind.

Once you’re out of the plane, it not-so-simply becomes a matter of keeping your cool, evaluating your options, and making the best of a difficult situation.

It becomes about getting comfortable “free-falling” because you won’t always have a choice. Sooner or later life pushes us all out of the plane, like it or not. It’s about doing something only you know you need to do, because your gut tells you it’s somehow going to make you a bigger, better, wiser person, even though that something scares the sh*t out of you, even though it’s going to hurt like hell, even though everyone’s going to call you crazy behind your back and then say told ya’ so . . .

Were these last few months of “free-falling” hard . . . ? Abso-fucking-lutely.

(I ugly cried a lot.)

But they were also beyond wonderful. Some of the best moments of my life where lived, and – call me messed-up – but I find myself appreciating the contrast.

Not too long ago, my ex (?) sent me an e-mail describing a gale storm that trapped him at anchor for 3 days and how “foul” it was . . . but in the spaces between his words I discerned a certain rueful joy.

“Feeling alive,” is what he wrote, and nothing else he could have said could have reassured me about our decision to ride it out more.

It’s been a long time since I felt as I do now, stripped down, freshly torn, raw and exposed to myself like a nerve ending, but as a writer I experience that same rueful joy in this feeling as my whatever-he-is finds in bad weather; that laugh-out-loud feeling somewhere between “FUCK IT!” and “Well, this was a great idea.”

The ease and quickness of the flux is terrifying, for sure, as is that moment when you realize that the good in life is often inextricable from the bad, that the only real difference between living and being alive is jumping or not jumping, and that for the jumpers amongst us it never really gets any easier . . .

Hopefully we just get better at it.

XO, Mal

~

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Buying for Bookworms

“Holy snowballs, Batman, it’s Christmastime!”

But seriously, now that that’s out of my system, I love Christmastime.

I mean, what’s not to love . . . ?

“Shopping!” a lot of people might say, but not me:

1) I’m a girl. It's what we do.
2) I'm freakishly good at it.

Starving writer that I am, you’d never know it by my shoe collection.

But most of all, I love giving the “perfect” gift. You know, the gift that person didn’t know they wanted until they unwrapped it. So what if the OCD child in me screamed as they tore into said wrapping, my painstakingly perfect folds and handmade bows . . .

Giving the perfect book is especially tricky, though, unless the “givee” has specifically mentioned an author, series, or title. But as I’m on a one-woman mission to find homes for as many real books as possible, here are some tricks of the trade for those of you with less time to obsess:

Make an educated guess

Basically, creep a peek at their bookcase.

It’s less obvious than asking "So, read any good books lately . . . ?" and it’ll give you a broader sense of the authors and genres that they like. If their bookcase has multiple personalities like mine, with Jack London sandwhiched between Homer and Neil Gaiman, go to Amazon.com, search a book you know to be a one of their favorites, and then refer to the "People who bought this also bought . . ." section.

And probably give them the gift receipt – just in case!

Adopt a used book

And I don't mean a paperback copy of that James Patterson “novel” they made into a movie that you picked up at a garage sale.

I mean like a 1^st edition of a book that is special to them, or perhaps one with beautiful illustrations or an especially ornate binding . . .

I promise you they’re out there – for a decent price, too! – and while their vestige might be lost on some as they sit quietly on a bedside table or on a shelf amongst dusty knickknacks, it won’t be on the person whose life was touched by their story.

For those interested, I highly recommend Maxwell's House of Books in my hometown of La Mesa.

There’s nothing wrong with plastic (unless you’re ocean life)

Some people call gift cards impersonal, I call them a godsend – especially ones to Barnes & Noble.

Like makeup and clothes, I struggle with spending money on books; they’re nonessentials, it pains me too say, and with the exception of some of the newer titles, there aren’t many that can’t be found either at Maxwell's or my local public library.

Now, having said that . . . the only thing sexier than a virgin book is a guilt-free virgin book ;)

Until next time, shop & be merry!

XO, Mal

~

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Donning the Cape

Hi.

My name is Mallory – “Hi, Mallory!” – and I’m a control freak . . .

Or at least I used to be. 

The line is both fuzzy and gray, to be honest.

I begin today’s post with that somewhat lackluster confession, though, because therein lies one of the biggest deterrents of dreams; the fear of failure, of the unknown.

Pre Mal Adjusted Mallory was an honor student and a 3^rd Degree black belt – a calculated risk-taker at best.

She thrived on structure – a side effect of being bounced around a lot during the post-divorce years, I suspect – and was as Type A as the stereotypically Type A eldest child can be.

But then she . . . I found writing (though sometimes it feels more like writing found me) and I didn’t need to be a calculated risk-taker to know the odds were rough.

Way rough.

I mean, if some of the “best” writers EVER – and by that I mean actual writers, not some celebrity or Navy SEAL or Twihard who happened to write a book – died penniless and obscure, then I was in the same boat as that snowball in hell, up Sh*t Creek and without a paddle, basically.

I had already committed to writing on the inside, but on the outside I managed the anxiety of that commitment by downplaying writing as “just a hobby.”

When asked what I planned to do with my English degree, I would say, “Oh, I don’t know. Work for a magazine or something, I guess . . .” and pleasantly leave it at that.

That way, no one would be the wiser if I failed. It would suck less, somehow, if I were the only one who knew what I really wanted, and how badly I wanted it . . .

But then I was pretty dumb for an honor student.

Young, dumb, and insecure, but oh the difference your twenties make!

Success, I’ve since learned, is a moving target – a target you can’t hit without pulling the trigger first.

So, a few weeks ago, with little ceremony but plenty of pride, I changed my information on Facebook from HR Assistant at Veridiam to Starving Writer at Mal Adjusted . . . DUN DUN DUN!

No big deal, really, but it meant something to me to raise my freak flag that extra inch, to “don” the cape of Mal Adjusted and make it Facebook official. If I were Tony Stark I’d hold a press conference, too, but hey, a girl makes due. 

And speaking of press conferences:

I am very excited to announce my upcoming “Crusader Series,” during which each week’s post will feature an interview with someone else rockin’ their cape, taking life off the beaten path one day at time.

I’ll ask the questions, they’ll give us their answers, and you’ll take away from it what you will.

Here’s hoping it’s something inspiring :)

XO, Mal

~

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I Stand With Beattie

There are a million and one ways I could dive into this one, and make no mistake, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to decide which way is the “right” way, if there is such a thing.

But you know what . . . ? F*ck it.

They can burn me at the stake for all I care. I wouldn’t be the first writer, and bad press is still good press, right . . . ?

Right.

So, let’s start with the “facts,” as best we know them.

The following article was published online by KPBS last Friday:

The University of San Diego revoked a British theology professor’s speaking invitation last week because the professor signed a letter supporting civil marriage rights for same-sex couples in the United Kingdom.

The visit was planned for more than a year.

Tina Beattie, a professor of Catholic Studies at the University of Roehampton in London, was scheduled to give a lecture on how women are represented in art depicting sin and redemption at the University of San Diego on November 8.

The Catholic university withdrew that invitation on October 27. In a letter, University President Mary Lyons explained it was because Beattie publicly dissents from the church’s moral teachings. That dissent, she wrote, is inconsistent with the mission school's Center for Catholic Thought and Culture, which was supposed to host Beattie's lecture, and "with the intentions of those who have financially supported the Center.” 

"I only question those questions of morals and social ethics that Catholic theologians have always questioned or we would never change," Beattie said. "We'd still be living as they did in the Middle Ages." 

Beattie said the withdrawn invitation raises concerns about the school's commitment to academic freedom. The University of San Diego did not respond to requests for an interview by this story's deadline.

Now, here is the University of San Diego’s "Mission and Vision" statement as posted on its website:

The University of San Diego is a Roman Catholic institution committed to advancing academic excellence, expanding liberal and professional knowledge, creating a diverse and inclusive community, and preparing leaders dedicated to ethical conduct and compassionate service. 

Core Values

The University of San Diego expresses its Catholic identity by witnessing and probing the Christian message as proclaimed by the Roman Catholic Church. The University promotes the intellectual exploration of religious faith, recruits persons and develops programs supporting the University's mission, and cultivates an active faith community. It is committed to the dignity and fullest development of the whole person. The Catholic tradition of the University provides the foundation upon which the core values listed below support the mission.

Academic Excellence 


The University pursues academic excellence in its teaching, learning and research to serve the local, national and international communities. The University possesses that institutional autonomy and integrity necessary to uphold the highest standards of intellectual inquiry and academic freedom. 

Knowledge 


The University advances intellectual development; promotes democratic and global citizenship; cultivates an appreciation for beauty, goodness, and truth; and provides opportunities for the physical, spiritual, emotional, social, and cultural development of students. The University provides professional education grounded in these foundations of liberal learning while preparing students to understand complex issues and express informed opinions with courage and conviction. 



Community


The University is committed to creating a welcoming, inclusive and collaborative community accentuated by a spirit of freedom and charity, and marked by protection of the rights and dignity of the individual. The University values students, faculty and staff from different backgrounds and faith traditions, and is committed to creating an atmosphere of trust, safety and respect in a community characterized by a rich diversity of people and ideas. 

Ethical Conduct

The University provides a values-based education that informs the development of ethical judgment and behavior. The University seeks to develop ethical and responsible leaders committed to the common good who are empowered to engage a diverse and changing world.

Compassionate Service


The University embraces the Catholic moral and social tradition by its commitment to serve with compassion, to foster peace, and to work for justice. The University regards peace as inseparable from justice and advances education, scholarship and service to fashion a more humane world.

And now, with all due respect to my alma mater . . . I call bullsh*t.

It’s the first word that comes to mind, frankly, along with a few more "colorful" expletives that I promised my mother I would stop using (or at least putting down in writing).

But I mean, c’mon, I can read – the hypocrisy is rampant.

Beyond said hypocrisy and the questions it raises about the university’s “commitment to academic freedom” is the fact that for some faculty, staff and students, this is a deeply personal affront.

I’m not gay, to be clear, but then I’m not 100% straight, either.

When I fall in love, I fall in love with a person . . . and at least once – once for sure – that person happened to be another girl.

To this day, it’s easy for me to imagine – had life gone a little differently – being with that girl in a loving, monogamous, open relationship . . .

It's almost as easy to imagine how members of the LBGT community in attendance at the University of San Diego (as well their families, who are ostensibly paying for them to go there) feel right about now.

As easy as it is to imagine, though, only makes it that much harder to swallow.

So why swallow then . . . ?

“That’s what she said!”

But seriously, without any further adieu or “smart-assery,” here is my open letter to President Mary Lyons, but one of hundreds written by those standing in solidarity with Professor Tina Beattie for what we know to be right:

Dear President Lyons,

By rescinding the Center for Catholic Thought and Culture’s invitation to Professor Beattie you have done the unconscionable by denying the next generation of leaders the opportunity and right to think for themselves and change the world accordingly.

When faced with one of the “complex ethical issues” you claim to be preparing young people for . . . you took the money and ran.

From your moral obligations as an educator and, worse, from your better judgment.

In doing so you have sorely disillusioned the body of both faculty and students that look to you as an example, and although it makes me sad to say, in this matter I too am ashamed to call myself a Torero.

Here’s hoping your donors' pockets are as deep as you think they are, because until this wrong has been righted the University of San Diego won’t get a single a cent from me, assuming as a starving writer I ever even make as much.

I hate to nickel and dime you, but apparently that’s all it takes . . .

Sincerely,

Mallory Lynn Albrecht

Class of 2011

P.S. You can learn more about this situation as it develops at the student-run Facebook page Toreros Stand With Beattie :)

~

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Starving (Professionally)

It's occurred to me that while I’ve been shoving tough love and my particularly twisted form of  “wisdom” down your throats, I’ve overlooked certain logistics of life off the beaten path, most of them stemming from the fact that – like me – you’re probably broke as a joke. It’s definitely been harder out there as of late, especially for those trying to take risks . . .


The menial part-time jobs that used to keep people like us financially afloat while we put our better energies elsewhere are now mobbed like life rafts; it's a scene straight out of Titanic.

And here you though it was a tough to make ends meet before, right . . . ?

But still, it’s not all that bad.

This isn’t exactly a third world country we’re living in, after all. Your broke is still somebody else’s filthy rich.

Your quality of life doesn’t suck.

Now, having said that . . .

Here are some steps to take when tiptoeing around that exaggerated hole in your pocket:

Shop in your closet

As this first one is mostly – okay, entirely – for you ladies “roughin’ it” in between shopping sprees, I’m just gonna go ahead and get it out of the way.

(Somewhere my boyfriend is rolling his eyes as he reads this, but oh well.)

The urge to splurge can usually be satisfied simply by taking inventory of that which you already have, because there’s probably a few things still in bags or still wearing tags, things you've forgotten about or were saving for a special occasion.

Consider said occasion arrived.

Eat Right

And I don’t just mean eat “healthy,” which can be difficult even when you’re not on a budget. I mean pick when and where carefully.

Familiarize yourself with the best happy hours in your area and eat out accordingly. All those ½ price appetizers and drink specials will add up – in your bank account.

Seem like too much research . . . ? The King of Happy Hour can help :)

And anyways, grocery shopping is where it really gets tricky.

In addition to using coupons and getting a rewards card, you’re actually going to have to look at prices, past the brand name, and pay attention to how much something costs per ounce to get more bang for your buck.

In doing this you’ll probably notice that the cheaper foodstuffs tend to need certain “embellishments,” as in they need to be baked, marinated, sautéed, spiced, and so on.

Subsequently:

Learn how to cook

One, because you’re a grown-up (so grow-up already!) and two, because more often than not a cook can MacGyver something palatable from even the sparest of kitchens, where in times of great famine the non-cooks can only pray that their stores of Top Ramen don't run out.

Those who can't even boil water have to eat it dry, like animals . . .

I went to college. I’ve seen the horrors, and trust me when I say that you don’t want that to be you.

Take care of your ride

And I don’t just mean get it detailed. Check your fluids regularly, change your tires, and carpool whenever you can.

A mechanic’s bill is the last thing anyone needs, least of all you.

SAVE YOUR MONEY!

I say this because I’m the worst at it.

I say it also because you never know what’s going to happen, when and where you may be met with an opportunity, and what you might have to put upfront to pursue it.

“You can’t gamble scared,” but you can’t gamble period if there’s nothing to gamble with.

And be grateful . . . 

Yeah, there are downsides to your current lifestyle, but there are upsides, too.

I may have to pinch pennies, but on the days I’m writing from home, whether it’s in bed under a pile of dogs (and one cat) or sitting on my parents’ deck with a cup of coffee, it’s worth every penny not spent.

It settles me in a way a steady paycheck earned in a cubicle couldn’t.

It reminds me that all the things that I don’t have are just that:

Things . . .

Remember that and all that you truly “need” will come to the forefront.

XO, Mal

~

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The Pledge

I pledge allegiance to life off the beaten path, and the choice for which it stands, a dream, one that is mine and mine alone, and do solemnly swear never to give a shit or ever look back.

XO, Mal

~

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If the Stiletto Fits

Much of Mal Adjusted has so far focused on stepping off the beaten path and into the shoes of the fully realized, truest version of you.

When it comes to the style of those shoes, though, other people in your same neck of the woods might have a difference of opinion as to what's fitting.

I, for example, am a stiletto girl – the higher the better!

And I don’t hobble, thank you very much. 

I strut.

(In my dreams, I can fight in them, too. Like Catwoman.)

My mother gave me some serious stems, along with the rest of my looks, and I never felt the need to apologize them.

That is, until I became a writer . . .

While I’m sure most women have at one time or another felt pressured to dumb themselves down, it never once occurred to me that the rest of the “package” would be the biggest thing standing between me and the respect of my peers, writers and non-writers alike.   

I mean, I really was a good writer – a damn good writer for a recently converted art major – and that was all that mattered, right . . . ?

Yeah, right.

In the beginning, it was much more about working around peoples' assumptions of me than it was my work. If I gave a note in workshop (even a constructively critical one) I was being the mean girl. If I received a note and that note was positive, there was eye rolling . . .

This one girl, a bigger girl who only wore death metal concert tees and only wrote heavy-handed erotic fantasies, took particular glee in nitpicking my drafts to death with a red Sharpie.

She would always hand them back to me looking like a crime scene, and I would leave class wondering what I had ever done to her and what ground she thought she and all her horny heroines, their bosoms “overflowing” from their corsets, had to stand on . . .

I can only speculate as to her reasons – though I think I have a pretty good idea – but it wasn’t just my “packaging” that was getting me into trouble.

Once, I burst into tears because a poem that meant a lot to me, a poem I had worked harder on than any other poem that semester missed the mark in workshop. It was good, everyone said, better than good, but they hadn’t taken away from it what I had meant them to, and I was so frustrated.

My reaction was treated as a serious no-no, though. 

“Professional writers,” I was told, ought to be more detached from their work – 100% objective.

Well, objective I am not. Not when it comes to writing, nor have I ever been accused of being professional. Alas, in Writer World, where my writing was holding its own, I still didn't quite fit in.

For a while, I simmered in self-doubt.

Then, slowly, I boiled over with indignation. After that I just felt silly. Who I was as a person was not and never had been up for editing, least of all by other students – students! What did they know . . . ?

So what if I wasn't the consummate professional.

So what if I connected my thoughts with "like" a little too much.

So what if I liked to look cute, not like a librarian. If I want to wear stilettos so high the altitude would make Gisele herself feel faint everyday for the rest of my life, I'm allowed to because:

1) It's America.

2) It has nothing to do with my writing!

Just because a certain type of person tends to excel at a certain something doesn’t mean other types of people can’t also excel at it.

It also doesn’t mean that annoying constructs, like peoples’ reliance on social stereotypes, don’t still apply on some level.

It's not going to stop people (even the ones who are supposed to be on your side) from judging you, because they don’t like you, because they’re intimidated by you, because they don’t “get you,” or just because.

Blogging in stilettos, because I can.

Whether you’re an artist or a dancer, an entrepreneur or a rock climber, sooner or later there will come a time when, in a way you least expected, it feels like there’s even less wiggle room for individualism within your niche off the beaten path than there was on it.

When that happens, stick to your guns (or stilettos) and toss out the old saying; a duck doesn’t always walk like a duck . . .

Sometimes they strut ;)

XO, Mal

~

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