Each year, my parents spend a great deal of time setting up the garage to be a temporary Shopaporium – our annual garage sale. This event generally takes place in the fall to allow apples from the orchard to be sold at the same time. There are a number of regular customers who have learned to watch for the garage sale signs, and who return year after year to make their produce purchase. These people tend to peruse our garage sale selection, and – more often than not – make purchases. This is good. This is very good. The more that we can eliminate from the selection, the less there is for my mother and I to repossess.
We have a problem, the two of us. We’re well aware of it, yet each year we succumb to our weaknesses and begin a reclaiming frenzy as we unpack box after box. The problem, you see, is that we both have such lovely things. That is – of course – why we acquired these things in the first place. It’s even worse when we have to confront not only our own personal discarded treasures, but those that the other has chosen to let go of as well.
Generally, it takes a great deal of willpower (or disgust with the sheer amount of POSSESSIONS that clutter our homes) to bring us to relegate items to the “garage sale” pile in the first place. As the boxes are unpacked, and we are exposed to such delights as vintage-floral serving trays, plastic celluloid boxes, planters in the shapes of assorted animals, and much, much more, our resolve progressively weakens. And really, who could withstand such an experience?
Our unpacking of things inevitably takes an ugly turn.
Me: [Holding up a large mixing bowl] Why are you getting rid of this?
My mother: [Glancing up, one of my discarded shoes in her hand and the other on her right foot] That IS a nice bowl. [She spends some time examining it from afar.] I have too many bowls, though. [She returns her gaze to her foot, turning it this way and that to admire the fit of the shoe.]
Me: Well, I’ll take it.
I place it carefully on a nearby table. Moments later, I happen upon a box of clothing that I had purged myself of a few months earlier. I hold up a lovely purple sweater, and wonder why in the world I had decided that I didn’t need it. I OBVIOUSLY need it. Disgusted with myself for my shortsightedness, I place it next to the mixing bowl. As I do so, I notice that there are a few other things that have accrued there as well. Some of them I must have absently set aside. There is a separate pile of my mother’s hoard, one of my shoes sticking out of the side. Hmmm. This is not looking good.
By the end of the unpacking, the contents of one table tower above the rest. It is – of course – our “holding” table. We know this is wrong, yet find it so very difficult to part with any of our recent acquisitions and re-acquisitions. We stall for a while, then – grudgingly – we pull a couple of things off the table and place them out among the general merchandise. We feel very noble for doing this, and allow ourselves to celebrate by quickly moving the rest of our stash indoors so we don’t have to feel guilty when we look at it.
Unfortunately, the struggle has only just begun. For the next few weeks, one or both of us will sit in that garage for hours on end. Hours that allow us to gaze upon lovely items and consider the hundreds of possible ways in with they might be “repurposed.”
Me: [Returning to the garage after visiting the house for a break and noticing a vintage bread box wedged behind my chair.] What’s this breadbox doing here?
My mother: [Averting her eyes.] I thought it might look nice in a kitchen.
Me: WHAT kitchen?
My mother: [In a defensive tone intended to warn me to back off.] MY kitchen, of course.
Me: But you already HAVE a breadbox.
My mother: Well, YES, but I don’t have to use it for BREAD. I can use it for something else. It’s a STORAGE piece.
My mother and I have implemented key words/phrases into our vocabularies that are intended to justify the obtainment and/or retention of material items. By mutual and unspoken consent, we have agreed that these words allow the user to proceed with the desired acquisition under the guise of having a “good reason,” and that the other shall comply with the ruse. “Storage” is one of these words, as is “basic,” “organization,” and the phrase “layering piece.” If one is going to question the use of one of these special words, one had better have a VERY good reason.
Me: [Working to keep suspicion out of my voice.] Ahhh…. What – exactly – are you going to store in it?
My mother: I haven’t decided. Maybe bird food or something.
This was weak, but I had no choice but to let it go. A key word had been used.
Time would pass, and my eye would happen upon something that I had failed to notice previously. Things would heat up.
Me: [Picking framed print off shelf and casually sliding underneath table.] What are you reading?
My mother: [Clearly not fooled.] What are you doing with that print? I thought you didn’t WANT any more “stuff.”
Me: [Gazing nonchalantly at magazine opened in front of me.] Hmmmmm? What?
My mother: That PRINT you just put under the table. What are you DOING with it?
Me: [Glancing under table and appearing startled to see print.] Oh! That. I’m THINKING about that.
My mother: [Relentless.] What are you thinking about? You said you didn’t want any more STUFF.
Me: [Beginning to suspect that she is bearing a grudge over breadbox incident.] I DON’T want any more stuff. Maybe I’m going to take this print and get RID of something ELSE.
This – we both know – is a lie.
My mother: [In a tone of obvious disbelief.] Uh-huh. Right.
We are distracted by a customer. By the time she leaves, we have moved on to another topic.
My mother: [In a highly offended tone.] Can you BELIEVE that woman? She wanted to pay a QUARTER for that wall plaque. That plaque would sell in an antique store for TWENTY dollars!
Me: [In a tone of disgust that matches hers.] I KNOW. Idiot. That is SUCH a nice plaque, too.
My mother: It IS a nice plaque! I had that in a box for five years before I decided to sell it.
We both sit, staring at the plaque. We are clearly thinking the same thing – that the item should not be sold – but neither one of us wants to be the one to say it. I consider the options that we have for removing it from the sale items without it appearing that one of us is keeping it. There’s the “maybe I should give that to (insert friend or co-worker name)” ruse or the “we could make more if we sold it on ebay” ruse. Those are both options… Before we can do anything, a new customer has picked the plaque up. Without batting an eye, they pay the full asking price. We watch, a bit forlornly, as they leave.
Me: That was a nice plaque.
My mother: Yes, and they got a REALLY good deal on it.
Me: Yeah.
With a sigh, we return to our magazines. As the garage sale season progresses, items will be removed and returned to the garage sale at regular intervals as we play out our internal battles on the garage floor. Each time one of our coveted possessions is purchased, we feel a mixture of loss and relief. By the end, we have so exhausted and confused ourselves that I resolve – every year – that I want to become a minimalist. Returning home, I feel a strong desire to shed myself of material possessions. I pack boxes and boxes of things, which I store in my parent’s attic.
There they remain until the next year, when it’s time to unpack them for the garage sale.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Flexibility
Monday evening, Dan and I had highly admirable plans to take ourselves to a yoga class (very good of us) and follow it up with a healthy dinner. (Dan had not been made aware of the “healthy” portion of this plan, but I felt it would be unnecessary to spring that upon him before the appointed dinner time.) As tends to happen, Life decided to mix things up a bit.
I will admit that I had not been really “feeling” the yoga class. I biked to work, and it felt unusually difficult. This was most pathetic, as it is less than two miles each way. I can only speculate that this lack of physical stamina is a result of my insomnia and subsequent sleep deficit. Regardless of the reason, I was feeling tired and not keen on additional physical exertion. In his typical manner, Dan had set things up in such a way that I could not modify our plans without looking like a twat. He had – that very day – gone out and purchased a pair of athletic pants for the EXPRESS purpose of attending yoga class with me. (It DID seem suspicious to me that he did not own a SINGLE pair of athletic pants, but I could hardly search his closet to make certain that he wasn’t making this up.) Sigh. I was forced to resign myself to sticking with the plan.
At the appropriate time, I trotted off to my car and climbed in. Turning the key in the ignition, I was a bit surprised to find that the vehicle seemed reluctant to start. Sure – it had been complaining a bit about turning over for the past few weeks, but Rob had assured me just a couple of days earlier that my battery would last until winter. Was he ever WRONG!! Within seconds, the battery was completely dead. Even the interior clock tracked the time no more. I considered this for a few moments. Was the universe agreeing with my theory that I should take the night off? The more I reflected, the less likely this seemed. How was I going to relax with a dead car battery? Now I was facing – instead of a yoga class and dinner – a night of greasy engines and complicated thing-ys. What was this about, then?
It all seemed a bit odd to me. On Saturday, I had been in the process of replacing a headlamp bulb (that had been burned out for over two months… some sort of weird mental procrastination going on there) when the other bulb burned out. Yes – at PRECISELY the moment that I was changing the dead one. Strange? Yes. Out of place in my life? No. If it’s weird, and a “freakish coincidence,” it will happen to me. But – once again – I have digressed. At this moment, I had a dead battery to attend to.
I called Dan to inform him of this new development. After giving me grief for some time (he’s been QUITE full of the comments since finishing his classes and finding himself free to sit about and think of smart-ass things to say), he agreed to be my knight-in-dirty-Buick-mobile for the night. An hour later, we were climbing into The Bubomb. I adore this car. It is ancient – a white Bonneville that has seen better days, but they happened so long ago that it has since lost its vision. The white exterior is set off by assorted battle scars, and the engine and internal parts – much like an elderly person – engage in an ongoing litany of all that ails them. Stopped at a streetlight, the car may spontaneously emit a loud and attention-grabbing rattle or squeal for the benefit of those surrounding. This is – in my opinion – a delightful trait. As I climbed in the passenger side door, I admired the black gaping hole where the side mirror once resided. I’ve been working – for a while – on persuading Dan to tear off at least a portion of the front bumper. I REALLY feel like this would add a lot to the Bubomb. Happily I settled back into the cracked finish of the bucket seat. In cheerful greeting, the radio went a bit crazy as we pulled out – refusing to actual “tune” a station in and ignoring all prompts related to volume control. I sent a warm mental greeting back.
This car is made all the more enjoyable because it is a car that Dan CHOOSES to keep for reasons other than necessity. Certainly he could purchase a conformist car if he so chose, but he has not – thus far – chosen to do so. The Bubomb and he get on quite well. I like this about them.
After fortifying ourselves with a tasty Thai dinner, we began our battery-seeking quest. It did not take long – actually – to procure the object that we sought. Really it required only a stop at the Sears auto center. Still, it was clever of us to know right where to go.
Back at the ranch, we descended into the bowels of the underground garage. Lighting was poor, and there might have been gang members lurking in the corners, waiting to pounce upon us. (Or not. I may be taking some creative liberties here, but who’s to know for certain?) I popped the hood of the Ravis and we took a look underneath. Unfortunately, there was a large piece of plastic covering the battery. Even more unfortunately, it was held in place by some sort of torture device clearly invented by the Japanese manufacturers SPECIFICALLY to frustrate the American consumers. As I cursed under my breath and twisted, pulled, tugged, and pushed at the plastic pieces, I pictured the Japanese designers giggling in delight as they imagined this very scenario. (For some time, Dan was NO help at all. He was – actually – a bit of an ANNOYANCE as he smirked and snickered at my efforts. That all changed when I turned the task over to him.)
As we worked, together, through the process of changing the car battery, I reflected on the similarities between what we were doing and what we had originally intended to be doing. In either case, we were – undeniably – forced to be “flexible” – both in mind and body. I watched Dan contort himself into a bizarre angled position that enabled him to use his “stronger” hand on a particularly resistant nut. Was this how either of us had pictured our evening? No. (At least I hope not…) Yet we were in good spirits, and enjoying the experience for what it offered. I don’t know that I could say that I would have chosen that the night go any differently.
At the end, when we had successfully replaced the battery and closed the hood, I paused for a moment. I looked at my hands, covered in grease, and at Dan’s, equally as grimy. I smiled. Whether on the mat or under the hood of a car, life was ensuring that I attended class tonight. For that I was grateful.
I will admit that I had not been really “feeling” the yoga class. I biked to work, and it felt unusually difficult. This was most pathetic, as it is less than two miles each way. I can only speculate that this lack of physical stamina is a result of my insomnia and subsequent sleep deficit. Regardless of the reason, I was feeling tired and not keen on additional physical exertion. In his typical manner, Dan had set things up in such a way that I could not modify our plans without looking like a twat. He had – that very day – gone out and purchased a pair of athletic pants for the EXPRESS purpose of attending yoga class with me. (It DID seem suspicious to me that he did not own a SINGLE pair of athletic pants, but I could hardly search his closet to make certain that he wasn’t making this up.) Sigh. I was forced to resign myself to sticking with the plan.
At the appropriate time, I trotted off to my car and climbed in. Turning the key in the ignition, I was a bit surprised to find that the vehicle seemed reluctant to start. Sure – it had been complaining a bit about turning over for the past few weeks, but Rob had assured me just a couple of days earlier that my battery would last until winter. Was he ever WRONG!! Within seconds, the battery was completely dead. Even the interior clock tracked the time no more. I considered this for a few moments. Was the universe agreeing with my theory that I should take the night off? The more I reflected, the less likely this seemed. How was I going to relax with a dead car battery? Now I was facing – instead of a yoga class and dinner – a night of greasy engines and complicated thing-ys. What was this about, then?
It all seemed a bit odd to me. On Saturday, I had been in the process of replacing a headlamp bulb (that had been burned out for over two months… some sort of weird mental procrastination going on there) when the other bulb burned out. Yes – at PRECISELY the moment that I was changing the dead one. Strange? Yes. Out of place in my life? No. If it’s weird, and a “freakish coincidence,” it will happen to me. But – once again – I have digressed. At this moment, I had a dead battery to attend to.
I called Dan to inform him of this new development. After giving me grief for some time (he’s been QUITE full of the comments since finishing his classes and finding himself free to sit about and think of smart-ass things to say), he agreed to be my knight-in-dirty-Buick-mobile for the night. An hour later, we were climbing into The Bubomb. I adore this car. It is ancient – a white Bonneville that has seen better days, but they happened so long ago that it has since lost its vision. The white exterior is set off by assorted battle scars, and the engine and internal parts – much like an elderly person – engage in an ongoing litany of all that ails them. Stopped at a streetlight, the car may spontaneously emit a loud and attention-grabbing rattle or squeal for the benefit of those surrounding. This is – in my opinion – a delightful trait. As I climbed in the passenger side door, I admired the black gaping hole where the side mirror once resided. I’ve been working – for a while – on persuading Dan to tear off at least a portion of the front bumper. I REALLY feel like this would add a lot to the Bubomb. Happily I settled back into the cracked finish of the bucket seat. In cheerful greeting, the radio went a bit crazy as we pulled out – refusing to actual “tune” a station in and ignoring all prompts related to volume control. I sent a warm mental greeting back.
This car is made all the more enjoyable because it is a car that Dan CHOOSES to keep for reasons other than necessity. Certainly he could purchase a conformist car if he so chose, but he has not – thus far – chosen to do so. The Bubomb and he get on quite well. I like this about them.
After fortifying ourselves with a tasty Thai dinner, we began our battery-seeking quest. It did not take long – actually – to procure the object that we sought. Really it required only a stop at the Sears auto center. Still, it was clever of us to know right where to go.
Back at the ranch, we descended into the bowels of the underground garage. Lighting was poor, and there might have been gang members lurking in the corners, waiting to pounce upon us. (Or not. I may be taking some creative liberties here, but who’s to know for certain?) I popped the hood of the Ravis and we took a look underneath. Unfortunately, there was a large piece of plastic covering the battery. Even more unfortunately, it was held in place by some sort of torture device clearly invented by the Japanese manufacturers SPECIFICALLY to frustrate the American consumers. As I cursed under my breath and twisted, pulled, tugged, and pushed at the plastic pieces, I pictured the Japanese designers giggling in delight as they imagined this very scenario. (For some time, Dan was NO help at all. He was – actually – a bit of an ANNOYANCE as he smirked and snickered at my efforts. That all changed when I turned the task over to him.)
As we worked, together, through the process of changing the car battery, I reflected on the similarities between what we were doing and what we had originally intended to be doing. In either case, we were – undeniably – forced to be “flexible” – both in mind and body. I watched Dan contort himself into a bizarre angled position that enabled him to use his “stronger” hand on a particularly resistant nut. Was this how either of us had pictured our evening? No. (At least I hope not…) Yet we were in good spirits, and enjoying the experience for what it offered. I don’t know that I could say that I would have chosen that the night go any differently.
At the end, when we had successfully replaced the battery and closed the hood, I paused for a moment. I looked at my hands, covered in grease, and at Dan’s, equally as grimy. I smiled. Whether on the mat or under the hood of a car, life was ensuring that I attended class tonight. For that I was grateful.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Lady In Red
During the end of my marriage and the months that followed, my life was filled with numerous tasks and challenges. I had legal and administrative tasks to tackle (these seemed innumerable and unpredictable), notifications to make, conversations to have, and problems to solve. Financially, my situation was altering for the worse, and I needed to make some adjustments to compensate. I needed to look for a new place to live, and I needed to rid myself of many of the possessions that I owned.
In the midst of all this, I became fixated on a particular item: A red flowered dress that I had spotted on a (non)shopping excursion. It was a vision to behold – at least in my mind. A sheer red overlay sprinkled with blue flowers, a long white lace-edged skirt underneath, sleeveless with lace-edged armholes and a slight v-neck. I don’t know how – or what – happened, but I became completely certain that this dress represented the “new me.” This was the dress that was a physical representation of the person that I was becoming – and would be – in this new phase of my life.
It was more expensive than I would have liked under normal circumstances, and certainly more expensive than I could afford in the circumstances that I was in. Still, I could not rid myself of the idea that I should have this dress.
For some time, I would have internal dialogues about the dress while I undertook other tasks. They inevitably went something like this:
Me: You do NOT need that dress.
Me: YES, I DO.
Me: Not only do you NOT need it, but you can’t AFFORD it.
Me: Shut up. Let’s go to the store right now. My life is effectively OVER if I don’t have that dress.
Me: Why are you SUCH a drama queen?
Me: Fine. If you want to live in this hell of a life, without a single ray of light, that’s your choice. I – however – won’t be speaking to you anymore.
Me: Good. Then we can finish cleaning the bathroom.
Me: THAT’S IT! If I don’t get that dress I will DIE!
This grew tiring, and – as it interfered considerably with my productivity – I made the decision to purchase the dress.
I have never – not once – regretting making that purchase. The dress, to me, really does represent the successful transition to a new stage in my life. It symbolizes my ability to transform, to adapt, to grow stronger. It is truly a representation of “my skin.”
Since that time, I have not put a lot of thought into the dress or what it represents. Not – that is – until now. One night this week, I was perusing a favorite website when I spotted The Dress. Until I saw it, I did not even realize that The Dress existed. The Dress represents the “me” now – the “me” that has emerged from this most recent (and in many ways, much worse) break-up. I stared, befuddled, at the screen. How could this be? How could a dress once again be a physical manifestation of my person? This time, I knew the importance of the garment. I debated only one night before placing my order. Certainly, this is a time for me to be fiscally conservative. I am about to undertake some significant changes in my life, and cannot afford to make frivolous purchases. This – however – is no frivolous purchase.
The dresses do – of course – mean so much more than their surface value. In life, many of us use our bodies as palates to express our “selves.” I am one of those people. My daily attire is quite telling, as a general rule. It reflects the mood, or the persona, that I have adopted at any given time. My wardrobe is huge and wildly eclectic, filled with the paper doll versions of the “preppy me,” or the “athletic me,” or the “feminine British me.” I am sometimes a wild western woman, and other times the All-American female. I express those personalities because they all exist within me, and might each be a bit more prevalent at different times. I “needed” each of the post-relationship dresses because they represent a “me” that did not exist in my closet before. Their presence is only called upon once I have finally achieved that new identity – the identity that I needed to reach in order to move forward with my life.
When my new dress arrives, I will place it in the closet with the rest of my wardrobe. One day soon, I will take it out. I will fix my hair. I will put on make up and shoes. I will wear The Dress.
In the midst of all this, I became fixated on a particular item: A red flowered dress that I had spotted on a (non)shopping excursion. It was a vision to behold – at least in my mind. A sheer red overlay sprinkled with blue flowers, a long white lace-edged skirt underneath, sleeveless with lace-edged armholes and a slight v-neck. I don’t know how – or what – happened, but I became completely certain that this dress represented the “new me.” This was the dress that was a physical representation of the person that I was becoming – and would be – in this new phase of my life.
It was more expensive than I would have liked under normal circumstances, and certainly more expensive than I could afford in the circumstances that I was in. Still, I could not rid myself of the idea that I should have this dress.
For some time, I would have internal dialogues about the dress while I undertook other tasks. They inevitably went something like this:
Me: You do NOT need that dress.
Me: YES, I DO.
Me: Not only do you NOT need it, but you can’t AFFORD it.
Me: Shut up. Let’s go to the store right now. My life is effectively OVER if I don’t have that dress.
Me: Why are you SUCH a drama queen?
Me: Fine. If you want to live in this hell of a life, without a single ray of light, that’s your choice. I – however – won’t be speaking to you anymore.
Me: Good. Then we can finish cleaning the bathroom.
Me: THAT’S IT! If I don’t get that dress I will DIE!
This grew tiring, and – as it interfered considerably with my productivity – I made the decision to purchase the dress.
I have never – not once – regretting making that purchase. The dress, to me, really does represent the successful transition to a new stage in my life. It symbolizes my ability to transform, to adapt, to grow stronger. It is truly a representation of “my skin.”
Since that time, I have not put a lot of thought into the dress or what it represents. Not – that is – until now. One night this week, I was perusing a favorite website when I spotted The Dress. Until I saw it, I did not even realize that The Dress existed. The Dress represents the “me” now – the “me” that has emerged from this most recent (and in many ways, much worse) break-up. I stared, befuddled, at the screen. How could this be? How could a dress once again be a physical manifestation of my person? This time, I knew the importance of the garment. I debated only one night before placing my order. Certainly, this is a time for me to be fiscally conservative. I am about to undertake some significant changes in my life, and cannot afford to make frivolous purchases. This – however – is no frivolous purchase.
The dresses do – of course – mean so much more than their surface value. In life, many of us use our bodies as palates to express our “selves.” I am one of those people. My daily attire is quite telling, as a general rule. It reflects the mood, or the persona, that I have adopted at any given time. My wardrobe is huge and wildly eclectic, filled with the paper doll versions of the “preppy me,” or the “athletic me,” or the “feminine British me.” I am sometimes a wild western woman, and other times the All-American female. I express those personalities because they all exist within me, and might each be a bit more prevalent at different times. I “needed” each of the post-relationship dresses because they represent a “me” that did not exist in my closet before. Their presence is only called upon once I have finally achieved that new identity – the identity that I needed to reach in order to move forward with my life.
When my new dress arrives, I will place it in the closet with the rest of my wardrobe. One day soon, I will take it out. I will fix my hair. I will put on make up and shoes. I will wear The Dress.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Feeling Groovy
On Sunday, my family came to visit and we all went out to lunch. We were joined by N, a family friend who I had not seen for a couple of months. Shortly after sitting down, she looked at me approvingly. “You look,” she declared, “happy.”
I laughed, glibly responding that I didn’t know if I could call it “happy,” but she persisted, insisting that the last few times she had seen me I looked awful. Sure – she used nicer words, but the meaning was clear: I had looked like crap, and she and her husband had been very worried about me. (Believe me; this concern for my welfare had come through quite clearly the last time that I had visited them. I was – and am – eternally grateful for their heartfelt interest in my life.) The lunch went on, and periodically I would catch N discussing my improved appearance/demeanor with my mother.
Later in the day, I began to reflect further upon this. I thought about a conversation that occurred Thursday night, with Tiff. We were enjoying a lovely walk, and I remarked upon the fact that six months ago – at the end of last year – Tiff had told me (with no reservation) that I was “not myself” anymore. I had – she asserted – become a different person, and not in a good way. She agreed, remembering, but also noting that those days had passed. While I was still sad at times, she described it as a “happy sad.”
I know that my friends are right. I can feel my Self coming back. In fact, I know that my Self is back, but is tempered by the lessons that it has learned. I owe much of this return to my friends and family – whose affection and love is true and strong, and wraps me within its nurturing folds. This – I know – is a healthy love. I know this because I have been wrapped in unhealthy love, and it is stifling – snuffing, rather than growing, “my light.”
When I was at the worst point of last year (or well BEFORE the worst point, in Britt’s case), my friends noticed and did not keep silent. With their vocalizations and ongoing support, I knew had the strength to do what needed to be done in order to create a necessary – but painful – ending to a chapter of my life. With my friends by my side, I have moved into the next phase of my life, and it is a good one.
I thought about my weekend, and the week, and the way that I’ve been spending my time in general. Wednesday night with Cathy, Thursday night with Tiffany, Friday night on a double date (dinner and opera), Saturday filled with yoga, lunch/afternoon with Rob, and an evening with my friend Daniel (not to be confused with my friend Dan.) Sunday was spent with my family (featuring Special Guest Jared, on loan from Korea,) N, and an evening with Rob. Interspersed between these engagements were lunches, and phone calls, and emails with many other favorite people. When not with others, I am spending time nurturing my body in yoga, or biking, or in kickboxing. At home, I have an animal family that is endlessly delighted to see me, and is thrilled to bask in my presence.
I thought about all of the laughing that I’ve done recently, and the conversations I’ve had. I’ve loved every moment of them. What is the recurring, underlying theme in all of this activity? With each of these people, I feel a genuine and strong current of affection and care – and it goes both ways. Nowadays, the energy that fills my life is positive. It lies in the smiles, and in the gentle touches, and in the shared words and laughter.
Despite the frustrations that I find myself occasionally feeling (the inevitable side effects of life – pants too tight, new job, noisy neighbors, decisions to make), I am able to spend most of my time occupied with things that make me “me.”
I am – I realize – happy. N was right.
I laughed, glibly responding that I didn’t know if I could call it “happy,” but she persisted, insisting that the last few times she had seen me I looked awful. Sure – she used nicer words, but the meaning was clear: I had looked like crap, and she and her husband had been very worried about me. (Believe me; this concern for my welfare had come through quite clearly the last time that I had visited them. I was – and am – eternally grateful for their heartfelt interest in my life.) The lunch went on, and periodically I would catch N discussing my improved appearance/demeanor with my mother.
Later in the day, I began to reflect further upon this. I thought about a conversation that occurred Thursday night, with Tiff. We were enjoying a lovely walk, and I remarked upon the fact that six months ago – at the end of last year – Tiff had told me (with no reservation) that I was “not myself” anymore. I had – she asserted – become a different person, and not in a good way. She agreed, remembering, but also noting that those days had passed. While I was still sad at times, she described it as a “happy sad.”
I know that my friends are right. I can feel my Self coming back. In fact, I know that my Self is back, but is tempered by the lessons that it has learned. I owe much of this return to my friends and family – whose affection and love is true and strong, and wraps me within its nurturing folds. This – I know – is a healthy love. I know this because I have been wrapped in unhealthy love, and it is stifling – snuffing, rather than growing, “my light.”
When I was at the worst point of last year (or well BEFORE the worst point, in Britt’s case), my friends noticed and did not keep silent. With their vocalizations and ongoing support, I knew had the strength to do what needed to be done in order to create a necessary – but painful – ending to a chapter of my life. With my friends by my side, I have moved into the next phase of my life, and it is a good one.
I thought about my weekend, and the week, and the way that I’ve been spending my time in general. Wednesday night with Cathy, Thursday night with Tiffany, Friday night on a double date (dinner and opera), Saturday filled with yoga, lunch/afternoon with Rob, and an evening with my friend Daniel (not to be confused with my friend Dan.) Sunday was spent with my family (featuring Special Guest Jared, on loan from Korea,) N, and an evening with Rob. Interspersed between these engagements were lunches, and phone calls, and emails with many other favorite people. When not with others, I am spending time nurturing my body in yoga, or biking, or in kickboxing. At home, I have an animal family that is endlessly delighted to see me, and is thrilled to bask in my presence.
I thought about all of the laughing that I’ve done recently, and the conversations I’ve had. I’ve loved every moment of them. What is the recurring, underlying theme in all of this activity? With each of these people, I feel a genuine and strong current of affection and care – and it goes both ways. Nowadays, the energy that fills my life is positive. It lies in the smiles, and in the gentle touches, and in the shared words and laughter.
Despite the frustrations that I find myself occasionally feeling (the inevitable side effects of life – pants too tight, new job, noisy neighbors, decisions to make), I am able to spend most of my time occupied with things that make me “me.”
I am – I realize – happy. N was right.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Toe-ing The Line
I have had the most difficult time concentrating on work today. The problem began when – earlier today – I read a news blurb about a man who had dialed 911 with his toe. Intrigued, I immediately clicked through to the story. It was tantalizing short and bereft of key details. What I do know is this: A man in Florida was somehow trapped in some sort of machinery with his arms pinned to his side. He managed to knock his cell phone off his belt, kick off one shoe, and then dial 911 with HIS BIG TOE.
Amazing.
It is OBVIOUS that this man is some sort of super-being. I stared at the computer screen, frustrated by the lack of answers. How had this man knocked his phone off? How had be pinned himself in the first place? How did he get to the phone’s keypad? Did he have to open the phone first? Most importantly, HOW did he dial the RIGHT number with a BIG TOE?? And then he must have hit “send,” no? I sat for a moment longer, overwhelmed by the magnitude of this man’s abilities.
Slowly, my eyes slid to my own feet, tucked under my desk. Could I dial a number with MY big toe? I lifted my gaze and looked around the office space. The cubicles around me were filled with co-workers, clicking away on their keyboards.
Stop it. I told myself firmly. You are NOT taking your shoe off, and you are DEFINITELY not putting your foot on your phone. That’s disgusting.
I sighed and looked back at my computer, trying to focus on the project in front of me. A few moments later, I felt my left foot slip its shoe off. Wicked thing. Well, I thought, my spirits lifting, since it’s off I might as well check out my toe’s dexterity. No sense in wasting the opportunity.
Sliding away from my desk, I peeked underneath into the foot space. There was no phone down there, but there was a bundle of cords. I could work with that, I thought. My foot reached toward a bright orange cord, and my toes wrapped themselves around it. I lifted my foot, but the cord stayed where it was. I poked my head under the desktop for a better look. There was clearly not enough “give” in the cord, so I wedged half of my body under the desk and tugged at it. Mission accomplished, I popped back out and smiled at the co-worker staring at me from across the divide.
Serenely, I pulled my chair back into place and pulled up an important-looking screen on my computer. Purposefully, I scrolled up and down the page, endeavoring to look occupied with strategic sorts of things.
A few moments later, after confirming the “clear coast,” I once again reached for the cord with my toes. Success!! I nearly chortled in delight.
Unfortunately, the glee was short lived. Within minutes, my mind began tormenting me again. Sure, it said, you can pick up a CORD. But who can’t do that? What does that prove? You know what would be REALLY impressive? If you could dial a phone number. Yep. That would be cool. But I guess we’ll never know if you’re capable…. Oh well.
You may be getting a feel for what sort of day it’s been. While I’ve resisted the “lure of the phone experiment” thus far, I have serious fears regarding what might happen when I am safely ensconced in the privacy of my own apartment.
The more I think about it, though, the more I’m feeling as if I almost have a RESPONSIBILITY to see if I can dial a number with my toes. After all, I have no idea of how that man became trapped. What if it happened to me? If I am one day trapped, my arms pinned, I am positive that I would regret that I never practiced dialing my phone with my toes. When put into perspective, it seems that it should be required training, like CPR. I can feel my toes valiantly straining against the interior of my shoes, eager to do their duty in learning this lifesaving skill. Yes, I reassure myself, we will be prepared. Tonight, we will arm ourselves with preparation. No machinery will hold us hostage without reprieve. No tiny keypads will thwart us. We (the collective body parts) are survivors. The phone, unfortunately, will have to be disposed of, as it will be contaminated with toe germs. This will prove tricky when I need it to call for help, but I suppose I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.
Original story: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/24434271/
Amazing.
It is OBVIOUS that this man is some sort of super-being. I stared at the computer screen, frustrated by the lack of answers. How had this man knocked his phone off? How had be pinned himself in the first place? How did he get to the phone’s keypad? Did he have to open the phone first? Most importantly, HOW did he dial the RIGHT number with a BIG TOE?? And then he must have hit “send,” no? I sat for a moment longer, overwhelmed by the magnitude of this man’s abilities.
Slowly, my eyes slid to my own feet, tucked under my desk. Could I dial a number with MY big toe? I lifted my gaze and looked around the office space. The cubicles around me were filled with co-workers, clicking away on their keyboards.
Stop it. I told myself firmly. You are NOT taking your shoe off, and you are DEFINITELY not putting your foot on your phone. That’s disgusting.
I sighed and looked back at my computer, trying to focus on the project in front of me. A few moments later, I felt my left foot slip its shoe off. Wicked thing. Well, I thought, my spirits lifting, since it’s off I might as well check out my toe’s dexterity. No sense in wasting the opportunity.
Sliding away from my desk, I peeked underneath into the foot space. There was no phone down there, but there was a bundle of cords. I could work with that, I thought. My foot reached toward a bright orange cord, and my toes wrapped themselves around it. I lifted my foot, but the cord stayed where it was. I poked my head under the desktop for a better look. There was clearly not enough “give” in the cord, so I wedged half of my body under the desk and tugged at it. Mission accomplished, I popped back out and smiled at the co-worker staring at me from across the divide.
Serenely, I pulled my chair back into place and pulled up an important-looking screen on my computer. Purposefully, I scrolled up and down the page, endeavoring to look occupied with strategic sorts of things.
A few moments later, after confirming the “clear coast,” I once again reached for the cord with my toes. Success!! I nearly chortled in delight.
Unfortunately, the glee was short lived. Within minutes, my mind began tormenting me again. Sure, it said, you can pick up a CORD. But who can’t do that? What does that prove? You know what would be REALLY impressive? If you could dial a phone number. Yep. That would be cool. But I guess we’ll never know if you’re capable…. Oh well.
You may be getting a feel for what sort of day it’s been. While I’ve resisted the “lure of the phone experiment” thus far, I have serious fears regarding what might happen when I am safely ensconced in the privacy of my own apartment.
The more I think about it, though, the more I’m feeling as if I almost have a RESPONSIBILITY to see if I can dial a number with my toes. After all, I have no idea of how that man became trapped. What if it happened to me? If I am one day trapped, my arms pinned, I am positive that I would regret that I never practiced dialing my phone with my toes. When put into perspective, it seems that it should be required training, like CPR. I can feel my toes valiantly straining against the interior of my shoes, eager to do their duty in learning this lifesaving skill. Yes, I reassure myself, we will be prepared. Tonight, we will arm ourselves with preparation. No machinery will hold us hostage without reprieve. No tiny keypads will thwart us. We (the collective body parts) are survivors. The phone, unfortunately, will have to be disposed of, as it will be contaminated with toe germs. This will prove tricky when I need it to call for help, but I suppose I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.
Original story: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/24434271/
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Alignment
Today’s exercise: Realign my focus.
I have decided that I am focusing on all the wrong things these days. In an attempt to alter this, I shall undertake the following exercise: Identify a positive learning experience that has come out of each and every day.
Because I have found myself to possess poor powers of recollection of late (at least in the areas that I WANT to recollect things) I shall only be able to capture one week’s worth of days. Even that will prove to be quite a challenge.
Tuesday, April 29
Well. I’m relatively certain that this is the day that I had an early dinner with Rob at the Hubbard Avenue Diner. I’m almost positive. Following dinner, I’m pretty sure that I went home and did….something….. And then went to candlelight yoga, which turned out to be a lovely, lovely practice. So, a couple of lessons from that night:
1 – There is nothing quite like the ease that is felt when in the company of one who knows you incredibly well, and accepts you completely. There are very, very few people like this in one’s life. Generally you’re either raised together (family) or you marry them. When you are fortunate enough to have such people in your life, you should never forget to put yourself in their presence on a regular basis. It’s therapeutic, all-around.
2 –Allow for the possibility that you are better/stronger/more capable than you believe yourself to me. I distinctly recall feeling as if I did not have the strength for yoga that night. That is, in fact, why Rob and I met for dinner. I had every intention of skipping class. Bizarrely, I found myself in my car, found myself driving my car, and found myself parking in front of the studio without every making the conscious decision to attend class. It ended up being a wonderful practice. My body felt surprisingly strong and it all felt very, very right.
Wednesday, April 30
A rather routine day. I had lunch with a co-worker. After work, I attended a kickboxing class. (This is normally a Thursday night activity but was shifted for social reasons.) Class was REALLY, REALLY hard. After class, made a quick stop at Marshalls and ran into Laura! [Side note: Laura is the ONLY one of my friends that I appear to randomly connect with in various shopping locations, on a semi-regular basis. Weird.]
Lesson: Life has a way of balancing things out. Sure, kickboxing sucked. Quite a lot. It was really hard, and I got really sweaty. However, I am now physically and mentally stronger (Yes, from one class. You should TRY one of those classes.) Also, life aligned in such a manner that I was able to spend time with a friend just when I needed a bit of rejuvenation.
Thursday, May 1
After work, Jennifer and I drove to Monroe Street where Tiffany met us for “Active Women’s Night.” If you’re asking what “Active Women’s Night” is, join the club. We were there, and we’re still confused. My best guess? A ruse to lure innocent women into a store with the hopes of persuading them that they’ll be unable to live a healthy fulfilled life without purchasing vast quantities of the store’s merchandise. Luckily, the company was good and we had a nice dinner.
Lesson: There are times when you’re doing something that could not possibly described as “fun,” but it mysteriously becomes “fun” because you’re with good friends. Had I been with “fake friends,” this would have been a miserable time. Thank heavens I’ve rid my life of those. I think…
Friday, May 2
Well. This was interesting. Met T downtown, went for coffee, walked through a number of gallery-type establishments for “gallery night,” had dinner at Peppino’s.
Lesson: Be open to new experiences and see what comes of it. (I’m still in the “seeing” part of this lesson.)
Saturday, May 3
Farmer’s market with Stacy and Rob, miserable weather. We were PELTED with cold rain and gusty winds. Saturday-type errands – grocery shopping, catching up on emails, napping. Took a quick bike ride to the pet food store, battling fierce winds the entire time, and took the canine out for a bit of a jaunt. Saturday night had dinner plans, but my date did not show. One could describe this as irritating, especially when one considers the fact that one might have stayed home in pajamas and been VERY comfortable.
Lesson: What the fruit, or: Que sera, sera. (Mentally insert accent marks, which I am currently unable to find.)
Sunday, May 4
A beautiful day, to be certain. I went to yoga in the morning, which was a satisfyingly difficult and challenging class. After yoga, came home as I had designated the entire afternoon as “cleaning day.” Was in the process of rearranging my bookshelf when T called to see if I’d like to take a walk. Met T at the nature preserve, walked and talked, went to the Hubbard Avenue Diner. Came home, did turbo-pseudo clean in preparation for Tiffany and Laura’s arrival for dinner. Lovely ladies, lovely meal, after which we walked to the Hubbard Avenue Diner for dessert. [Okay. I KNOW what you’re thinking, but – BELIEVE me – this diner business is an anomaly. I’ve barely even been eating out lately!!!]
Lesson: Life’s little currents are full of pleasure, if you allow yourself to be carried by them. I could have stuck to my plans of devoted housework, but to what end? Tiffany and Laura were not there to admire the spotlessness of my residence, but to enjoy each other’s company, which we did QUITE successfully.
Monday, May 5
Monday was the 21st Anniversary of my new employer, which apparently translates to “big party.” After work I met co-workers at Pedro’s for free food and alcohol. Interestingly, all day long I had been receiving emails promoting “free cab rides” to and from the event. Yikes. Was wondering what kind of place I work for, which I continued to wonder as I saw the “prizes” raffled off. I didn’t even know that tequila was sold by the gallon. As I planned to go to yoga, I did not imbibe. I ducked out early, took care of the kids, and went to yoga. Class was nice.
Lesson: I work with some pretty crazy people. This morning has driven this point home even further. One of the games that we “played” last night involved guessing how many beans were in a jar. First thing this morning, this was posted to our internal WIKI (and yes, the fact that we have an internal WIKI is also an indicator of our collective insanity):
Last night, I used the bean counting contest to test a theory I read about in The Wisdom of Crowds. In the book, the author says that when groups of people guess things like the weight of a cow or the number of jellybeans in a jar, the average of the group guesses will be very close to whatever is being estimated.
The number of beans in the jar last night was 2,310. The group average guess was 1,618.
I think that says it all, don’t you?
I have decided that I am focusing on all the wrong things these days. In an attempt to alter this, I shall undertake the following exercise: Identify a positive learning experience that has come out of each and every day.
Because I have found myself to possess poor powers of recollection of late (at least in the areas that I WANT to recollect things) I shall only be able to capture one week’s worth of days. Even that will prove to be quite a challenge.
Tuesday, April 29
Well. I’m relatively certain that this is the day that I had an early dinner with Rob at the Hubbard Avenue Diner. I’m almost positive. Following dinner, I’m pretty sure that I went home and did….something….. And then went to candlelight yoga, which turned out to be a lovely, lovely practice. So, a couple of lessons from that night:
1 – There is nothing quite like the ease that is felt when in the company of one who knows you incredibly well, and accepts you completely. There are very, very few people like this in one’s life. Generally you’re either raised together (family) or you marry them. When you are fortunate enough to have such people in your life, you should never forget to put yourself in their presence on a regular basis. It’s therapeutic, all-around.
2 –Allow for the possibility that you are better/stronger/more capable than you believe yourself to me. I distinctly recall feeling as if I did not have the strength for yoga that night. That is, in fact, why Rob and I met for dinner. I had every intention of skipping class. Bizarrely, I found myself in my car, found myself driving my car, and found myself parking in front of the studio without every making the conscious decision to attend class. It ended up being a wonderful practice. My body felt surprisingly strong and it all felt very, very right.
Wednesday, April 30
A rather routine day. I had lunch with a co-worker. After work, I attended a kickboxing class. (This is normally a Thursday night activity but was shifted for social reasons.) Class was REALLY, REALLY hard. After class, made a quick stop at Marshalls and ran into Laura! [Side note: Laura is the ONLY one of my friends that I appear to randomly connect with in various shopping locations, on a semi-regular basis. Weird.]
Lesson: Life has a way of balancing things out. Sure, kickboxing sucked. Quite a lot. It was really hard, and I got really sweaty. However, I am now physically and mentally stronger (Yes, from one class. You should TRY one of those classes.) Also, life aligned in such a manner that I was able to spend time with a friend just when I needed a bit of rejuvenation.
Thursday, May 1
After work, Jennifer and I drove to Monroe Street where Tiffany met us for “Active Women’s Night.” If you’re asking what “Active Women’s Night” is, join the club. We were there, and we’re still confused. My best guess? A ruse to lure innocent women into a store with the hopes of persuading them that they’ll be unable to live a healthy fulfilled life without purchasing vast quantities of the store’s merchandise. Luckily, the company was good and we had a nice dinner.
Lesson: There are times when you’re doing something that could not possibly described as “fun,” but it mysteriously becomes “fun” because you’re with good friends. Had I been with “fake friends,” this would have been a miserable time. Thank heavens I’ve rid my life of those. I think…
Friday, May 2
Well. This was interesting. Met T downtown, went for coffee, walked through a number of gallery-type establishments for “gallery night,” had dinner at Peppino’s.
Lesson: Be open to new experiences and see what comes of it. (I’m still in the “seeing” part of this lesson.)
Saturday, May 3
Farmer’s market with Stacy and Rob, miserable weather. We were PELTED with cold rain and gusty winds. Saturday-type errands – grocery shopping, catching up on emails, napping. Took a quick bike ride to the pet food store, battling fierce winds the entire time, and took the canine out for a bit of a jaunt. Saturday night had dinner plans, but my date did not show. One could describe this as irritating, especially when one considers the fact that one might have stayed home in pajamas and been VERY comfortable.
Lesson: What the fruit, or: Que sera, sera. (Mentally insert accent marks, which I am currently unable to find.)
Sunday, May 4
A beautiful day, to be certain. I went to yoga in the morning, which was a satisfyingly difficult and challenging class. After yoga, came home as I had designated the entire afternoon as “cleaning day.” Was in the process of rearranging my bookshelf when T called to see if I’d like to take a walk. Met T at the nature preserve, walked and talked, went to the Hubbard Avenue Diner. Came home, did turbo-pseudo clean in preparation for Tiffany and Laura’s arrival for dinner. Lovely ladies, lovely meal, after which we walked to the Hubbard Avenue Diner for dessert. [Okay. I KNOW what you’re thinking, but – BELIEVE me – this diner business is an anomaly. I’ve barely even been eating out lately!!!]
Lesson: Life’s little currents are full of pleasure, if you allow yourself to be carried by them. I could have stuck to my plans of devoted housework, but to what end? Tiffany and Laura were not there to admire the spotlessness of my residence, but to enjoy each other’s company, which we did QUITE successfully.
Monday, May 5
Monday was the 21st Anniversary of my new employer, which apparently translates to “big party.” After work I met co-workers at Pedro’s for free food and alcohol. Interestingly, all day long I had been receiving emails promoting “free cab rides” to and from the event. Yikes. Was wondering what kind of place I work for, which I continued to wonder as I saw the “prizes” raffled off. I didn’t even know that tequila was sold by the gallon. As I planned to go to yoga, I did not imbibe. I ducked out early, took care of the kids, and went to yoga. Class was nice.
Lesson: I work with some pretty crazy people. This morning has driven this point home even further. One of the games that we “played” last night involved guessing how many beans were in a jar. First thing this morning, this was posted to our internal WIKI (and yes, the fact that we have an internal WIKI is also an indicator of our collective insanity):
Last night, I used the bean counting contest to test a theory I read about in The Wisdom of Crowds. In the book, the author says that when groups of people guess things like the weight of a cow or the number of jellybeans in a jar, the average of the group guesses will be very close to whatever is being estimated.
The number of beans in the jar last night was 2,310. The group average guess was 1,618.
I think that says it all, don’t you?
Monday, May 05, 2008
Just Breathe...
I decided that it was time to write when I found myself – in boredom – experimenting with the speed with which I could whirl the arrow (the mouse pointer) on my computer monitor by using the little red controller in the center of my keypad. After a few moments of this, I had achieved quite a high level of speed, but had also made myself a bit dizzy. Take a break, I advised myself. You can work on this some more later this afternoon.
I’ve learned that this position that I’m in vacillates between periods of “dead time” and periods of “urgency” – when all deadlines seem to fall within the same hour or so. Currently, I’m waiting for nearly the entire world to get back to me on one thing or another before I can progress in my own work. This “waiting” has improved my mousing abilities greatly, but done little to stimulate my mind.
When left to its own devices, my mind tends to busy itself in dangerous manners. Thus far today, it has spent a significant period of time compiling a list of all the potential health reasons for my current stiff and painful neck. Last time I checked, it was leaning heavily toward a diagnosis of meningitis. This is annoying, as it will continue to pester me with the dire prognosis until it has been assigned something else to occupy its time.
Also this morning, it spent a (very) long and (very) boring meeting pondering a recent email communication regarding the theory of evolution. This email has taken my mind off in wild directions in its attempt to identify the reasons for – and support of – beliefs that it definitely has, but has never justified to the degree that is now being asked. Unfortunately, a department meeting is NOT the time to be considering such things, which we were harshly reminded of when called upon to answer something work-related.
Focus! I scolded my mind. I TOLD you that would happen.
My mind, chastised, paid attention to the meeting for approximately 2 minutes before fixating on the nail polish of the girl next to me.
Ooh! It enthused, excited. Look at that color! That’s nice… coral-like. Perfect for spring. Do we have a color like that at home? Shouldn’t we? That reminds me… you should paint your toenails for yoga. It grew quiet for a moment, then started up again. Don’t you think, it asked, that brown hair looks best with that color? You know what would REALLY bring it out? A nice bronzer….
By now I was disgusted. This line of thought was NOT what I expected – nor desired - of my mind. As a team, we should be well above such frivolities. We should be solving social and global issues, or contemplating existential questions. At the very least, we could be pondering cultural symbols and how they interrelate.
I sighed heavily, causing a couple of people to look curiously in my direction. There was no denying that the contemplations of evolutionary theory were a much more worthwhile investment of my mind’s time and energy, but the real issue was that THIS WAS NOT THE TIME.
How many different thoughts/trains of thoughts should I reasonably have in my head at any given time? I think I’m averaging 5 – 10 at any randomly selected point in time these days. It doesn’t seem quite right. In an effort to change this, I’ve begun breathing exercises. Feeling a bit silly, I sit at my desk, channeling my mind.
I am breathing in….. I force it to think. I am breathing out…..
Feel my stomach rise….. Feel my stomach fall…..
In a far corner of my head, I hear what sounds like a heavy sigh. As if in a whisper, I can just pick up a quiet, but clearly irritated, thought. This is NOT what I EXPECT of us…. It begins.
I inhale loudly, ignoring the inhabitants of the cubicles around me, and exhale with force.
Ahhhhh….. I am breathing in……
I’ve learned that this position that I’m in vacillates between periods of “dead time” and periods of “urgency” – when all deadlines seem to fall within the same hour or so. Currently, I’m waiting for nearly the entire world to get back to me on one thing or another before I can progress in my own work. This “waiting” has improved my mousing abilities greatly, but done little to stimulate my mind.
When left to its own devices, my mind tends to busy itself in dangerous manners. Thus far today, it has spent a significant period of time compiling a list of all the potential health reasons for my current stiff and painful neck. Last time I checked, it was leaning heavily toward a diagnosis of meningitis. This is annoying, as it will continue to pester me with the dire prognosis until it has been assigned something else to occupy its time.
Also this morning, it spent a (very) long and (very) boring meeting pondering a recent email communication regarding the theory of evolution. This email has taken my mind off in wild directions in its attempt to identify the reasons for – and support of – beliefs that it definitely has, but has never justified to the degree that is now being asked. Unfortunately, a department meeting is NOT the time to be considering such things, which we were harshly reminded of when called upon to answer something work-related.
Focus! I scolded my mind. I TOLD you that would happen.
My mind, chastised, paid attention to the meeting for approximately 2 minutes before fixating on the nail polish of the girl next to me.
Ooh! It enthused, excited. Look at that color! That’s nice… coral-like. Perfect for spring. Do we have a color like that at home? Shouldn’t we? That reminds me… you should paint your toenails for yoga. It grew quiet for a moment, then started up again. Don’t you think, it asked, that brown hair looks best with that color? You know what would REALLY bring it out? A nice bronzer….
By now I was disgusted. This line of thought was NOT what I expected – nor desired - of my mind. As a team, we should be well above such frivolities. We should be solving social and global issues, or contemplating existential questions. At the very least, we could be pondering cultural symbols and how they interrelate.
I sighed heavily, causing a couple of people to look curiously in my direction. There was no denying that the contemplations of evolutionary theory were a much more worthwhile investment of my mind’s time and energy, but the real issue was that THIS WAS NOT THE TIME.
How many different thoughts/trains of thoughts should I reasonably have in my head at any given time? I think I’m averaging 5 – 10 at any randomly selected point in time these days. It doesn’t seem quite right. In an effort to change this, I’ve begun breathing exercises. Feeling a bit silly, I sit at my desk, channeling my mind.
I am breathing in….. I force it to think. I am breathing out…..
Feel my stomach rise….. Feel my stomach fall…..
In a far corner of my head, I hear what sounds like a heavy sigh. As if in a whisper, I can just pick up a quiet, but clearly irritated, thought. This is NOT what I EXPECT of us…. It begins.
I inhale loudly, ignoring the inhabitants of the cubicles around me, and exhale with force.
Ahhhhh….. I am breathing in……
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Dreaming In Metaphors
In the dream, I was in a dark bedroom. It felt like I was kneeling, on the floor. The carpet was plush under my knees, and the air was cool. A draft blew across my back, and I realized that the closet door behind me was opening. Someone began slipping through, and I knew that the person intended to kill me. I felt the solid presence of the intruder’s body against my back, and felt an arm wrap around me.
I became aware of a large knife – a chef’s knife – sliding around the side of my hip and stopping at my right inner thigh. Silently, I moved my hand toward it. My other hand moved toward it as well, and with a sudden motion I reached for both the knife’s handle and the assailant’s fingers. With all of my strength, I wrenched at the knife and bent the fingers away from the hand. The knife became mine.
With absolute certainty, I knew that this person would not stop until I was dead. I turned toward the figure and – without hesitation – began stabbing the knife repeatedly into the inner thigh, and then the chest. It was a woman. She had long, dark hair, stark white skin and brown eyes. She collapsed back unto the bed, eyes closed. I moved toward the door to the room and stepped through.
I was on a landing in front of a set of stairs. It was still dark. Very dark. As I approached the steps, the door opened behind me. I watched the woman lift herself from the bed; saw the look of evil intent in her eyes as she came toward the open portal. Heart pounding, fear rushing through me, I turned toward the stairs, a feeling of doom hanging over me.
So strong was the pounding of my heart that I awoke with a start. I could feel the organ thumping against the front wall of my chest. My breathing was fast and shallow. I looked at the clock. 5:30 am.
And so began today….
My mind is in a bit of a fog this morning. I know that I was having other dreams last night, and that I was waking up regularly, my mind bothered. The contents of those dream is still a mystery, which – if they’re anything like the one I do remember – might be a bit of a blessing.
It’s obvious that I’m working through something. If only I knew what it was, I could assign my conscious mind to it as well. For now, I’ll sip my coffee and wait.
I became aware of a large knife – a chef’s knife – sliding around the side of my hip and stopping at my right inner thigh. Silently, I moved my hand toward it. My other hand moved toward it as well, and with a sudden motion I reached for both the knife’s handle and the assailant’s fingers. With all of my strength, I wrenched at the knife and bent the fingers away from the hand. The knife became mine.
With absolute certainty, I knew that this person would not stop until I was dead. I turned toward the figure and – without hesitation – began stabbing the knife repeatedly into the inner thigh, and then the chest. It was a woman. She had long, dark hair, stark white skin and brown eyes. She collapsed back unto the bed, eyes closed. I moved toward the door to the room and stepped through.
I was on a landing in front of a set of stairs. It was still dark. Very dark. As I approached the steps, the door opened behind me. I watched the woman lift herself from the bed; saw the look of evil intent in her eyes as she came toward the open portal. Heart pounding, fear rushing through me, I turned toward the stairs, a feeling of doom hanging over me.
So strong was the pounding of my heart that I awoke with a start. I could feel the organ thumping against the front wall of my chest. My breathing was fast and shallow. I looked at the clock. 5:30 am.
And so began today….
My mind is in a bit of a fog this morning. I know that I was having other dreams last night, and that I was waking up regularly, my mind bothered. The contents of those dream is still a mystery, which – if they’re anything like the one I do remember – might be a bit of a blessing.
It’s obvious that I’m working through something. If only I knew what it was, I could assign my conscious mind to it as well. For now, I’ll sip my coffee and wait.
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