If I stop and allow myself to think about why I surf blogs in general and allow myself to be sucked from one blog to another, then search back through posts and months and months and even years... Searching for something, really, if I think about it.
Seeing the comments about having a baby, wanting a baby, losing a baby, children growing up, all these things... sometimes it makes me smile at someone's joy. Sometimes it makes my heart ache down into the pit of my stomach because some part of me knows, in the "knows" in the core of yourself sense, that being someone's mother is something that has meaning to me. That I'd expected I'd do. That perhaps I'd just assumed I'd get to do and be. To be sitting at pushing 40 and trying to understand this, see how the so called child bearing years have slipped by me and now, still in the twilight hour of logically, healthily, being able to have a child - I can see that it is going to slipstream away from me. I can see that it won't happen. Sometimes, I have calm peace with that - maybe it will in some other form, some day. Sometimes, I have crushing heartbreak about that, something so scary that I cannot even look at it. Sometimes, I have, to quote, furious anger, such fury and resentment because it's "his" fault. It's not, not completely, but by hitching my wagon to his wagon in life, that's the path I've turned down.
Sometimes, it just makes me want to cry. But instead, I squish it away because what can you do? Looking at life - my life - its unpredictablility, its instability, its utter unsuitedness to bringing a child into it - what the hell would I be thinking? Practical, able to self-deny, she wins out on this one, unquestionably.
I read words about people's schmoopy doopy love, their lives and selves broken open by some new understanding of the self, of the world, of what it means to love. I get it but I don't, really. But this too becomes something I question about myself, over and over and over again. Where is the part of me that holds me back from living my flipping life? LETTING GO. Letting go of all the nonsense and living my life.
All these blogs, clicking open in a new tab, reading some other random person's wisdom, perhaps being touched by it until I realize the author is, say, freaking 25 and then thinking - wtf. What am I looking for? I know it, I am looking for some magical combination of words that SAYS IT. That makes me have a eureka moment, makes everything click into place, makes life make sense, makes me see whatever the hell it is about myself and how I walk through the world that I simply do not see.
I look back at this mashup of random crap I've put here and I see things over and over an over again. Sad. Lonely. Disconnected. Shitty candy. More shitty candy. Self loathing in small doses. Feeble attempts to latch onto any shred of feeling empowered, feeling better, feeling different. Different is good, right? In many ways, YES, different is good. Because I am here dreading saying, "no, I don't want to go camping Saturday night," dreading the fucking reaction to that, dreading the part of me that shuts down and just says, fine whatever and puts me last. always always last.
I have a friend who will break her own heart making changes in her life because she is finally at the place where she knows she must. I wish I had her courage, to risk looking into my own heart and figuring out what the rotten root really is in there.
I do not want to be sitting here at 40 typing the same old shit. With a bloated gut full of 3 musketeers mini bars that make me feel sick and frankly did not make life all that much better as I ate them mindlessly. Made me feel better for microseconds as my teeth bit through the milk chocolate, I can say that much.
That's not quite a joyous life though.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Friday, March 2, 2012
too many candybars, not enough mikes...
I love the old school Beastie Boys on my running playlist. Thank you, oh creator of free download for the couch to 5K program; I owe him a lot.
Alas, although I ran week 5 day 2 yesterday and felt really good toward the end especially, when one consumes roughly 2/3 of a bag (ie, the remainder of said bag) of snack sized Three Musketeer bars, one will in all likelihood develop a scorcher of a stomach ache.
Which is all my own fault, of course.
But then, I feel a bit sad and confused and stuck, so it all goes together. What will make me feel worse? Or, perhaps more importantly, the part of me that was feeling a bit optimistic and dreaming some dreams? Shut her down man, shut her down! Throw some cheap chocolate on that uprising and squelch her in a stew of whipped chocolate now even richer chocolately tasting.
Darn self.
Underlying realities:
I am so freaking scared and angry about what's happening with and to my mother. Yes, eternally grateful it is going smoothly and things are happening in the way the doctors like. But so want to tear things down at how upset it makes me to think about this happening to her, right now.
I want a horse in my life.
I am incredibly terrified to face that.
Try to turn the subconscious focus on self-care: eat better and enjoy every morsel; sleep enough (7 hours isn't enough. need to get more sleep); and keep running. Look forward to "too many djs, not enough mikes..." on week 5 day 3 which is the 20 minute run. Get on that.
And get on getting a horse into life. Just flipping do it. Figure out a budget and make.it.happen.
Because healthy, happy self is better for mom and everyone else, most importantly, self.
Alas, although I ran week 5 day 2 yesterday and felt really good toward the end especially, when one consumes roughly 2/3 of a bag (ie, the remainder of said bag) of snack sized Three Musketeer bars, one will in all likelihood develop a scorcher of a stomach ache.
Which is all my own fault, of course.
But then, I feel a bit sad and confused and stuck, so it all goes together. What will make me feel worse? Or, perhaps more importantly, the part of me that was feeling a bit optimistic and dreaming some dreams? Shut her down man, shut her down! Throw some cheap chocolate on that uprising and squelch her in a stew of whipped chocolate now even richer chocolately tasting.
Darn self.
Underlying realities:
I am so freaking scared and angry about what's happening with and to my mother. Yes, eternally grateful it is going smoothly and things are happening in the way the doctors like. But so want to tear things down at how upset it makes me to think about this happening to her, right now.
I want a horse in my life.
I am incredibly terrified to face that.
Try to turn the subconscious focus on self-care: eat better and enjoy every morsel; sleep enough (7 hours isn't enough. need to get more sleep); and keep running. Look forward to "too many djs, not enough mikes..." on week 5 day 3 which is the 20 minute run. Get on that.
And get on getting a horse into life. Just flipping do it. Figure out a budget and make.it.happen.
Because healthy, happy self is better for mom and everyone else, most importantly, self.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
39 is creeping up fast.
How on earth is it possible that I will turn 39 years of age in two weeks?
When did I stop being 12 years old?
But here's the thing: I'll take 39 over 12. I will take this time in my life and be grateful for how I got here. I wouldn't trade it or time machine zap myself back to the 80's.
But I would also like to stop getting my own way. That would be a good step for 39.
To be brave and sit up straight and carry myself tall when I walk down the street.
To be brave and set up the computer and sit down and write a little, or a lot, now and then or all the time.
To be brave and up my pace and RUN.
To be brave and give myself time with horses. To make that happen.
To be brave and treat my body, mind, and spirit with love and goodness. That means not eating a lot of chocolate to semi numb out. That means putting on lotion after I shower. That means doing more than just superficially taking care of myself.
A little step is big, but it necessitates more little steps. It doesn't give permission to step aside and simply say, look, now I've taking a little step.
Not. Good. Enough.
RUN. Leap, dance, skip, SMILE. Stand up tall and sit up tall and BE here. Breathe deeply and be here. Shift the fear and hesitation and reserve and fully step up to this slickrock plate in front of you.
You say, "I love it here." Well, then - love it here. Show up and be here.
Live 100%. Not 63%.
If you think that anyone is going to be anything other than enriched because you show up? Think again, sister. Show up fully and see what happens.
39 is only once. and next is 40. Time to kaboom.
When did I stop being 12 years old?
But here's the thing: I'll take 39 over 12. I will take this time in my life and be grateful for how I got here. I wouldn't trade it or time machine zap myself back to the 80's.
But I would also like to stop getting my own way. That would be a good step for 39.
To be brave and sit up straight and carry myself tall when I walk down the street.
To be brave and set up the computer and sit down and write a little, or a lot, now and then or all the time.
To be brave and up my pace and RUN.
To be brave and give myself time with horses. To make that happen.
To be brave and treat my body, mind, and spirit with love and goodness. That means not eating a lot of chocolate to semi numb out. That means putting on lotion after I shower. That means doing more than just superficially taking care of myself.
A little step is big, but it necessitates more little steps. It doesn't give permission to step aside and simply say, look, now I've taking a little step.
Not. Good. Enough.
RUN. Leap, dance, skip, SMILE. Stand up tall and sit up tall and BE here. Breathe deeply and be here. Shift the fear and hesitation and reserve and fully step up to this slickrock plate in front of you.
You say, "I love it here." Well, then - love it here. Show up and be here.
Live 100%. Not 63%.
If you think that anyone is going to be anything other than enriched because you show up? Think again, sister. Show up fully and see what happens.
39 is only once. and next is 40. Time to kaboom.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
November
November of last year, on one snowy chilly night, I drove 90 minutes to a borders and met one of my idols.
Embrace the feeling of that. Spent almost 2 hours sitting, talking, laughing, just being there with these people, real people now, a family, not just words on a screen or page and images. So, write, she said.
November of this year, on a relatively warm night, I walked 5 minutes across my new town, from my new home, and met my capital I Idol.
I met her. I shook her hand, I spoke to her, I scooted down and crouched at her table to be closer to her space, to try to spin out that moment and be right there with someone who amazes me. She touched my arm, she told me I had gravity about me.
November of eleven years ago, a beautiful amazing woman who would have been someone's idol, without a doubt, danced away in the night.
Feel the ache of her loss, but also grasp tightly to the gift of her energy and love and zest for life. How she would use the word, "yummy." How she wound glitter ribbon around the buns in her hair. How she moved with such grace and presence.
These three women, quiet and gentle on some levels, fierce and passionate on others, not afriad to show the universe the inside of their heart.
As I sat there last night in the large audience, I wondered, how long will it be before I know people here? Before I say hello and offer hugs and chit chat and catch up and share support and just see familiar faces? Before I am a familiar face?
Find the thing you are passionate about and do it, one is told. One is invited, encouraged, nudged along to embrace.
Be brave and throw arms wide, reach out, scoop up life and hold it tight.
Carry on with sparkles of the one who left.
Carry on with laughter, insight, willingness to put yourself out there, and just write like she said.
Carry on with an embrace of your gravity, root down deep into your new place, bedrock yourself with this community, look into your passions, speak your mind, be brave.
Embrace the feeling of that. Spent almost 2 hours sitting, talking, laughing, just being there with these people, real people now, a family, not just words on a screen or page and images. So, write, she said.
November of this year, on a relatively warm night, I walked 5 minutes across my new town, from my new home, and met my capital I Idol.
I met her. I shook her hand, I spoke to her, I scooted down and crouched at her table to be closer to her space, to try to spin out that moment and be right there with someone who amazes me. She touched my arm, she told me I had gravity about me.
November of eleven years ago, a beautiful amazing woman who would have been someone's idol, without a doubt, danced away in the night.
Feel the ache of her loss, but also grasp tightly to the gift of her energy and love and zest for life. How she would use the word, "yummy." How she wound glitter ribbon around the buns in her hair. How she moved with such grace and presence.
These three women, quiet and gentle on some levels, fierce and passionate on others, not afriad to show the universe the inside of their heart.
As I sat there last night in the large audience, I wondered, how long will it be before I know people here? Before I say hello and offer hugs and chit chat and catch up and share support and just see familiar faces? Before I am a familiar face?
Find the thing you are passionate about and do it, one is told. One is invited, encouraged, nudged along to embrace.
Be brave and throw arms wide, reach out, scoop up life and hold it tight.
Carry on with sparkles of the one who left.
Carry on with laughter, insight, willingness to put yourself out there, and just write like she said.
Carry on with an embrace of your gravity, root down deep into your new place, bedrock yourself with this community, look into your passions, speak your mind, be brave.
Monday, August 15, 2011
and so it is august now
August already. Mid-August, at that. The summer is nearly over and yet it seems to have barely begun.
I've lost track of forward motion, on many levels. It didn't take much to effect that. Specifically, an energy- and soul-sucking week of absurdly hard work to wear me down, followed by a dose of gluten wrapped in the guise of a special, made just for me treat.
Well, one can continue on the path of meh and blah to the land of crap. Easily, in fact.
Or, one can keep saying, nope. I don't want to do that.
Saying this doesn't equate to changing things, not really. I am still floundering in the land of crap, with mostly open arms if I am honest with myself. But the nope lingers, it nudges just a bit at the back of my mind and says ever so softly, I'm still here, saying nope.
Because I don't want it to be a big deal if I dry my hair and style it a bit. What the heck is the big deal about that? Well, if I do it, it says that I am trying to look better... but then if I don't look better I just feel stupid, and feel ugly, and feel like I've wasted time and people will look at me and think I am rediculous for trying to look good.
Amazing how the sentiments of a childhood self still linger with roots like miles when you're an adult.
Because I want to feel good.
Because I want to wake up and smile, not have the expression and sentiment each day that's essentially, "crap."
April to August, one would hope for change, progress, renovation. Not so much, really. Same story. It's getting old.
I've lost track of forward motion, on many levels. It didn't take much to effect that. Specifically, an energy- and soul-sucking week of absurdly hard work to wear me down, followed by a dose of gluten wrapped in the guise of a special, made just for me treat.
Well, one can continue on the path of meh and blah to the land of crap. Easily, in fact.
Or, one can keep saying, nope. I don't want to do that.
Saying this doesn't equate to changing things, not really. I am still floundering in the land of crap, with mostly open arms if I am honest with myself. But the nope lingers, it nudges just a bit at the back of my mind and says ever so softly, I'm still here, saying nope.
Because I don't want it to be a big deal if I dry my hair and style it a bit. What the heck is the big deal about that? Well, if I do it, it says that I am trying to look better... but then if I don't look better I just feel stupid, and feel ugly, and feel like I've wasted time and people will look at me and think I am rediculous for trying to look good.
Amazing how the sentiments of a childhood self still linger with roots like miles when you're an adult.
Because I want to feel good.
Because I want to wake up and smile, not have the expression and sentiment each day that's essentially, "crap."
April to August, one would hope for change, progress, renovation. Not so much, really. Same story. It's getting old.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Why, then?
Why is it that when one reads about someone dying, too young, too special, too unique, too marvelous, too influential, the kind of person who makes you laugh louder and breath deeper and hug more fiercely - why is it that this story crushes me? Makes me so profoundly aware of how un-alive I am, even now?
The sensation of wading through high thigh deep water - that's my life. That's all I am doing. I am going through the motions, most of the time, of living a life but I'm not really, truly living a life. I'm just alive, kinda sorta. Thousands upon thousands of dollars of therapy - even really good therapy - makes me more aware of the lack. Makes me go, "oh, gee" when I have some moments of connection and joy, thinking how much I like this, want more, want life to be like this always.
But what the hell blocks me, then? What? Why does the pervading wisdom cling so tightly to ugh, blah, boring, stasis all the time?
I am so angry, really, about "my life," and I will chalk it up in part to that. Angry about where I live. Angry about giving up things I love. Angry about surroundings that I don't nestle in to. Angry about feeling alone, disconnected, lost, not at home. Angry. Profoundly sad, too, but mostly, seething with a quiet anger that I just do. not. let. out. Ever. Well, maybe once in a great while, when alone in my car, it seethes slowly to the surface and then explodes out with such ferocity I scare myself. I can shout like that? Who knew.
But I wasn't always this way, was I? Tendency toward depression, awkwardness, disconnect? Well sure, yeah. But sad, dozed out, neutral, not alive? Not really, no. I had some zest in Vermont, I know I did. I know it's not all rosey memory. Some of that emotion, that remembrance, is real. I had some spunk, some spark. I shook my butt down State Street with the girls. And I loved it. Shyly, but loved it. And I spoke up, spoke out, spoke my mind. Had people, had places to go, routines, things I liked, things I loved. Community, of sorts.
It is so, so past time to get the hell out of here. Here where I don't belong. Here where I don't fit in. Here where I'm barely alive. Here where I have no friends. Here where my passion is squelched. Here where the greatest truths of myself are slapped aside time and again and the core of me is ignored and unacknowledged.
Go forward, they say. I sure want to. I want to live. More importantly, I want to LIVE. To live my life, to be alive and flourishing, to be smiling, to enjoy the day to day dance with the universe. Not this wading through ocean waste of time waste of life nonsense. I want to have a spark again.
I don't want to fade away never having lived well. Never having mattered. I want to live a life that makes people say, she lived well. Not in a superficial way, but in a way that matters - that helps the community, that shares love with others, that cares, that nurtures, that gives, that sparkles.
I need, so desperately, to wake up and come alive and just be. Be here. A here of my own design, a here where I belong, a here where I have a community, where I can count and share and make a difference and joyously LIVE.
The sensation of wading through high thigh deep water - that's my life. That's all I am doing. I am going through the motions, most of the time, of living a life but I'm not really, truly living a life. I'm just alive, kinda sorta. Thousands upon thousands of dollars of therapy - even really good therapy - makes me more aware of the lack. Makes me go, "oh, gee" when I have some moments of connection and joy, thinking how much I like this, want more, want life to be like this always.
But what the hell blocks me, then? What? Why does the pervading wisdom cling so tightly to ugh, blah, boring, stasis all the time?
I am so angry, really, about "my life," and I will chalk it up in part to that. Angry about where I live. Angry about giving up things I love. Angry about surroundings that I don't nestle in to. Angry about feeling alone, disconnected, lost, not at home. Angry. Profoundly sad, too, but mostly, seething with a quiet anger that I just do. not. let. out. Ever. Well, maybe once in a great while, when alone in my car, it seethes slowly to the surface and then explodes out with such ferocity I scare myself. I can shout like that? Who knew.
But I wasn't always this way, was I? Tendency toward depression, awkwardness, disconnect? Well sure, yeah. But sad, dozed out, neutral, not alive? Not really, no. I had some zest in Vermont, I know I did. I know it's not all rosey memory. Some of that emotion, that remembrance, is real. I had some spunk, some spark. I shook my butt down State Street with the girls. And I loved it. Shyly, but loved it. And I spoke up, spoke out, spoke my mind. Had people, had places to go, routines, things I liked, things I loved. Community, of sorts.
It is so, so past time to get the hell out of here. Here where I don't belong. Here where I don't fit in. Here where I'm barely alive. Here where I have no friends. Here where my passion is squelched. Here where the greatest truths of myself are slapped aside time and again and the core of me is ignored and unacknowledged.
Go forward, they say. I sure want to. I want to live. More importantly, I want to LIVE. To live my life, to be alive and flourishing, to be smiling, to enjoy the day to day dance with the universe. Not this wading through ocean waste of time waste of life nonsense. I want to have a spark again.
I don't want to fade away never having lived well. Never having mattered. I want to live a life that makes people say, she lived well. Not in a superficial way, but in a way that matters - that helps the community, that shares love with others, that cares, that nurtures, that gives, that sparkles.
I need, so desperately, to wake up and come alive and just be. Be here. A here of my own design, a here where I belong, a here where I have a community, where I can count and share and make a difference and joyously LIVE.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
unstuck
Just because you are feeling stuck in the mud? Write a blog post. Do not wallow in self sustaining sad feelings of loserdom. Nope. Log in, type some words, strive to get the hell over yourself.
Boredom. Disconnect.
At least there is a good meal and a good movie later, right?
Gray and hazy doesn't help. Hershey's kisses doesn't help. Neglect and poor self care doesn't help.
Okay, I threw out the rest of the bag of hershey's kisses, so at least I won't eat any more of those.
Figure out the budget so you can get the darn sports bra for running.
Positive forward motion beats negative stagnation.
Boredom. Disconnect.
At least there is a good meal and a good movie later, right?
Gray and hazy doesn't help. Hershey's kisses doesn't help. Neglect and poor self care doesn't help.
Okay, I threw out the rest of the bag of hershey's kisses, so at least I won't eat any more of those.
Figure out the budget so you can get the darn sports bra for running.
Positive forward motion beats negative stagnation.
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