Just Give Me a Minute

A while back, I wrote a post about balance and how I wanted it, and how I needed to work at finding it in my life. Well, in the five months since that post, not much has changed. I still have a frenetic work pace, am still making it through what seem to be never-ending training cycles, and there's still a sometimes-surly teenager doing her best to test my patience and drain my pocketbook.

Lest you think I'm turning into a bitter shrew of a divorcee, I'll point you to this post about what's great about my life these days. Although that post was written over a year ago, I'm standing by that list- it's all good.

But my personal evolution is not all sunshine and rainbows; I have my moments where dark, nasty, charcoal-colored clouds invade my space and linger beyond what's comfortable or productive. It's at times like that when I come up with items on the following list. Indulge, if you will, my momentary Pity Party:

Things I Miss About My Old Life (Even If I Only Tried to Wish Some of Them Into Existence, or If They Were There They Were Only Mostly Meh)

1. My turntable and veranda. And someone to playfully complain about my music selections, and the cackles of laughter carrying across the neighborhood. I miss summer nights watching people walk by and catching snippets of their conversations while I sat silently on the veranda, pretending to read or sleep.

2. The weight of another person- the weight of their presence, even- next to my body. I miss the physicality of someone else while leaning into each other, or standing at the coffee counter, or while reading the jacket of a book, or paging through a Crate & Barrel catalog- those small gestures that say "I like you near me."

3. Someone to argue and make up with; a good conversationalist, even if the conversation is full of total bullshit, makes life that much better.

4. A shoulder or a lap to fall asleep on while watching television, plus couch cuddle time.

5. My good dishes and cookware from Williams-Sonoma.

6. And while we're at it, I miss the kitchen I helped design; from the stainless steel appliances, to the concrete counter tops, to the reclaimed wood floors, to the lighting fixtures from Pottery Barn, to the crocks holding utensils, to the sunny spot where I'd drink my coffee each morning.

7. And furthermore...I miss someone else making the coffee each morning.

8. Hearing someone say "I'm happy you're here with me." (That one falls into the "wishful thinking" category.)

9. Someone to dress up and show off. Listen, as a former art student/current fashion slave, I absolutely lovelovelove using humans as my very own dolls. Just trust me, I know what you should be wearing and why.

10. S. E. X.  (You didn't think that was going to be omitted from the list just because my mother reads my blog, did you?!)

I've always been pretty positive (okay, but with a sarcastic side, too), and have used other's words to help me remain focused on the Good in Life. Just like that picture up top tells me, things will just keep getting better as long as I don't get bitter.

Pass the sugar  :)

Risk vs. Reward

Its been just over a month since I posted anything here, and only a few months since I've taken an active role in looking for a guy to date, going so far as to sign up for an online dating service. I've even sent a few "winks" and emails to guys on the dating site, but let's cut to the chase, here: I finally went on a blind date. What hit me after I finally clicked "send" on that email agreeing to a bike ride and a beer was the idea of risk in life, especially when it comes to relationships.

I guess taking risks should be par for the course after a breakup or divorce; the guy I was meeting was nothing like I ever gave a second glance to in my younger days: short, bald, glasses. But he's witty, I told myself as I read his email, and he likes being active. Secretly, I hoped he'd be like Harry Goldblatt, Charlotte's husband from Sex in the City. Regardless, I was breaking from my usual definition of "date-able."

The plan was to meet this guy- let's call him "Not Harry"- in Marquette (about an hour's drive for me) and go for a bike ride, chat, have a beer, maybe two. I take my bike out of the basement, pump up the tires, and go for a short spin. So easy! Of course I can do this. Its only a bike ride and maybe a beer.

I make the drive feeling fine, no nerves or butterflies or anything, and when I pull up to our meeting place, I spot him immediately: he is just as he described himself, and I know that Chuck Woolery was nowhere close, what with his witty and flirty questions, winks, and smiles. We have a brief, sanitary hug hello, and we're off. The day was brisk but sunny, and the conversation was...kind of a chore. Not Harry had a bit of a frat boy way about him, trying in that nonchalant way to name-drop and impress. Also, he was an interrupter when it was my turn to talk. Sigh.

We park our bikes and take his car to go grab that beer and a snack. Driving down a main road, he points out a new local microbrewery & pub that's pretty popular...and drives right on by, instead taking me to a nice but generic place further down the road. We chat more, drink our beer, then head back to our bikes where Not Harry and I say our thank yous and goodbyes, and with another sanitary hug, my first post-divorce blind date is over. Risk: going on a date with someone whom you've only had a handful of email correspondences. Reward: knowing that your instincts regarding the opposite sex are still intact after being dormant for so many years.

I immediately drive back to that new microbrewery, try a few samples,  and pick up a growler of beer to take home. Before I start the drive back home, I stop at another new business in Marquette that I've been meaning to visit- Everyday Wines- and begin thinking again about risk. Two new businesses, successful even though the economy is less than ideal. What would those people be doing now if they hadn't taken such a risk?, I thought as I wandered around the shop, listening to the saleswoman give her friend a coffee order. She chatted me up a bit, found out about my reason for being in Marquette that day, and helped me out with some great wine selections.

And then something else happened.

As I'm paying for my wines, signing the credit slip, the sales woman's friend returned with her coffee and she said to him: "I'm going to introduce her to Also Not Harry," pointing to me. Her friend looks at me and says, "Oh, yeah. Good idea."

Not only do I not know either of these people, but I obviously don't know Also Not Harry. As I look up and say "Um, what?" (clearly my conversational skills need practice), she is already texting Also Not Harry. Just when I thought my risk-taking was finished for the day, this woman throws another at me, telling me I need to befriend Also Not Harry. 

What's a girl to do? Well, *this girl* has learned to embrace risk these past few years, and whereas I probably would have smiled and shouted "Hook a girl UP, yo!"  in my younger, bolder, pre-married days, that day I just smiled, shrugged with that "Why not?" look, and said "Uh...okay." (Again with the words!) Everybody needs new friends. I have yet to meet Also Not Harry, and should say that making new friends doesn't necessarily mean more dates, even if that's how my day started. Risk: letting fate and a stranger in a wine shop take control of the day. Reward: new friends.

Taking a risk can be as big as opening a new business or as small as going for a bike ride. Risk nothing, and you're settling for Good Enough; the low level risks associated with Good Enough can certainly be an enjoyable way to pass the time, but deep down, you know you'll always mentally compare Good Enough to What If, even if the latter is only in your head.

Its fitting then, that you never know how you'll truly respond to risk, even if you're aware of what could happen, what the possible outcomes could be. Your business could fail, or you could fall off that bike and skin your knee something awful. Or you could make new friends thanks to strangers in a wine shop.

You'll never know until you pump up those tires and push off.

Light at the End of the Tunnel

So, I haven't posted anything in awhile, and while I'd like to say its because of all the dates I've been busy with, or because I gave up blogging for Lent, it is really because of sugar.

I grew up in a Catholic home, and every Lent we were supposed to "give something up" as a testament of our faith in the story of Jesus' crucifixtion and subsequent resurrection. My childhood was marked with Lenten seasons promising to forego my allowance or fighting with my eight siblings. It is a practice that I never really understood, and didn't participate in for many years. I decided that this year, however, I would participate; not because I still consider myself Catholic (I don't), but because I had a better understanding as to what, exactly, it was really about. Keep reading.

Fat Tuesday rolled around this year and I brought a couple dozen paczski for the staff at work. My personal consumption for the day included: coffee, three Vanilla Angels, and a packet of Skittles. And that's it. My Lenten plan? No sugar.

Yep. I decided to give up sugar. No added sugar, not even honey or Splenda. The only sweetness allowed would be that found naturally in fruits and veggies; I would even give up those food high on the glycemic index- pineapple, bananas, carrots. Might I refer you to this post for how I feel about sugar? I have followed an Elfin diet (candy, candy canes, candy corn, and syrup) for as long as I can remember. My personal food pyramid had only sugar, save for the tiny triangle at the top, split equally among all of the other food groups. I went to bed still hopped up on sweet, sweet sugar, hoping and praying for the strength to follow through with the very public declaration of being a one-woman sugar-free zone for the next forty days and nights.

I know you've all heard stories about the horrible-ness that is sugar detox. I'm here to tell you that they are all true. I easily could have lost it and truly, physically harmed someone if I were less in control of my bearings. The first three days were a blur of cravings, crabbiness, and crying.

And then, it got easier.

I thought every day about what I was doing; staying focused and  making it through all forty days was a goal I knew I could reach. But why? I mean, besides the very shallow hope that I'd drop a few pounds (I haven't). It was, I decided, a test of will more than a religious practice, and yet there's a spiritual aspect that cannot be denied. Once the wall is broken through, there is a clarity to your days. There have been times these past few weeks when I have been tested, like at my friend Nicki's baby shower- pistachio cake with cream cheese frosting!- or even my standing date Friday nights with my steadies, Ben & Jerry.

And then, it got clearer.

The reasoning behind the practice, my own personal reasonings, the reasons I wish I knew about before a few weeks ago. It has to do with the word I've purposely avoided using until now: sacrifice.

My understanding of the purpose of Lent is for people to reflect on and try to come to terms with the sacrifices Jesus made for us stupid humans- the taunting, the temptations, the persecution, death. And really, if you choose to observe Lent, what you choose to give up or sacrifice as a means to empathize (???) with Jesus is your business; I do, however have a problem with putting qualifiers on that choice (i.e., "I'll give up candy, except for dark chocolate because of the antioxidants," or "I'll give up beer, except during March Madness."); to me, its worse than not observing at all. Not observing is, in a way, acknowledgement of your need for spiritual strength and guidance, whereas observing with exceptions is dismissing the need for those things, almost bragging that you are above needing help, that you don't need the example Jesus set. Think about this, the definition of sacrifice:

sacrifice (verb)- 1) offering of something to a deity; (noun) 2) something so offered; (verb) 3) the giving up of something valued for the sake of something else.

Its that third one that takes my sugar-free journey from rain-spattered windshield to crystal clear. The key to voluntary sacrifice, understanding the what and why of it, is to relinquish something that makes your day-to-day comfortable, not necessarily something you just happen to like a bunch.

And now, its clearer still.

Me being sugar-free forced me to focus on other areas of my life that perhaps I've been neglecting, and at the same time it offered me the opportunity to meditate on just why the thing I was giving up was so important in the first place. Well, for me, I like sugar. A lot. It tastes awesome. It makes me happy. I love the energy that courses through my body on a sugar high, that invincibility. Giving that up forced me to find new ways to cope with my sweet tooth, to find new things or rediscover old ones that made me feel the same way, both physiologically and emotionally.

And I thought about all of the other things I've done and still do, the other sacrifices I've made in order to make others  happy: my daughters, my friends, my students, my family. I've found that much of my life is spent making others' days comfortable. I'm sure many of you are nodding your heads in agreement. Its taken me a lot of time, but I'm okay with that, with my vocation being that of a person who brings learning experiences to others, mostly by unconventional means (this blog, even?). I love sharing knowledge and helping others grow. And most days, I'm even okay with knowing I'll never make a ton of money doing it.

So where does this leave me? Six days out from a self-induced sugar coma? Most likely, yes. But it also has brought me closer to who I think I used to be, the person I think I've forgotten about these past few difficult, liberating years where I've learned to live with less, both emotionally and materialistically. And now I'm closer still, even without the sugar rush to help move me along. Read that definition again, friends, and have a blessed Easter.

Still Hopeful

Last fall, I wrote about my new life, and how big life decisions influenced my state of mind, how I was taking up residence in Hopeful, Unincorporated.

Divorced life- divorced without the drama of infidelity or the tragedy of abuse, divorced only perhaps because of the realization that each was not whom we thought the other to be- is a state that I have found to be both profoundly satisfying (as I am now incredibly sure of who I am and what I want) and a good boost for my self-esteem.  Take, for instance the following text exchange with my friend Mrs. Hansen:

Mrs. Hansen: Question posed to Hansen children: Can you think of anyone to date Miss Rachel? Response from N: No and even if I could, she'd be way out of his league. J: She's too awesome to date anyone I know.

Me: And THAT is why they are my favorite kids. Those answers deserve pierogi.

Mrs. Hansen: N also added, "She can't date just anyone. We have to know he's a good guy that will treat her right." Smartest 11-year-old I know.

Big smile, warm fuzziness, and a contented feeling that I must be doing something right to get that sort of response from the children of my friends.

And yet.

I have spent almost every night the past year sleeping with a flannel pillow filled with feed corn; once zapped in the microwave for about four minutes, this pillow acts as a source of radiant heat for hours; the immediate hot heat fades through the night, replaced by the heat from my body. The weight of the thing- maybe five pounds- coupled with the slow, steady warmth lulls me to sleep, and acts as a sort of security mechanism for me.  The weight is also about the same as that of a partner's arm resting on your hip, or thigh, or between your shoulder blades while you both half-sleep, twisted in among blankets and bed clothes.

I write about this because divorced life- the other part, the part where your free time is filled with everything your ex never wanted to do, never could understand, never could grasp the importance of the things they rejected- is also incredibly lonely.

I have tried to ignore this part, hoping that it would go away, fade like the intense heat from my corn-filled pillow and somehow be magically replaced with a more mellow version of itself.

And yet.

I look at my family, my friends, people at the grocery store, the gas station, the mall. I contemplate the possibilities for a partner in this small community, in the realm of online dating services, or in a bar, or the grocery store, the gas station, the mall. I am at a bit of a loss as to how the juxtaposition of the happiness for my new freedom and the loneliness of my new freedom can coexist in my daily life without causing external conflicts beyond a knot of hardened steel between my shoulder blades.

"Loneliness adds beauty to life. It puts a special burn on sunsets and makes night air smell better," said Henry Rollins. He's got a point: loneliness certainly makes one aware of everything else around you, intensifies every part of your days. I understand the need for contemplation, meditation, solitude, quietness.  It's just that I think having someone to share those moments with- even if only in conversation after the fact- is what magnifies and intensifies those experiences.

My friends are trying to come up with possible dates, going so far as to help me compose "personal statements" for online sites. They toss names into our conversations, hoping that something will spark my interest, raise my eyebrows, make me say tell me more.

And yet. And yet. And yet, I remain unconvinced that My Best New Boyfriend will be the result of any of this requested meddling. I still want to believe that he'll just show up, I'll blink and look again, and say "Oh! It's you." That he'll have been here all along, waiting for me to turn around. That I'll wake up one morning and the flannel pillow will really be his arm. That the burning sunset will be something we can share.

Taking a cue from the quote above, I will try to remain in a place where possibilities are more prominent in my thoughts than not, and I will try to remain open to new experiences; I will remain ready for unexpected suggestions, and I will remain content with being alone (if only for a while longer) here in Hopeful, Unincorporated.

The Physics of Water Displacement, or Why I Now Love Swimming

In my last post, I wrote about 2012 being my Year of Trying New Things ; one New Thing I have a love/hate relationship with is swimming. Yep. Since before Christmas, I've been dragging myself out of bed and off to the pool at our local YMCA for what my friend Fast Jessica has dubbed "Master's Swim." Mondays and Wednesdays, I'm in the pool for 5:30 am.


A couple of things here: 1) I hate getting up early, especially during the Winter when my bed is warm, and the pool is...not; 2) Ugly one piece swim suit + pasty Winter skin + jiggly body parts; 3) As a Sagittarius (fire sign), I'm instinctively cautious around water. I like water, but I don't like water, you know? 4) New commitments are scary.


So I'm getting ready to head to the pool the other morning, and I'm really just not feeling it. I'm in the middle of testing students at work (read: 12 hour days), and I've been battling a persistent cold for over a week; both of these factors make ignoring the 5 am alarm pretty tempting. Not. Even. Motivated. One. Bit. UGH.


But I've made a commitment to myself and the other Master Swimmers (bt dubs, "master" just means "adult"- I am quite clearly a novice) to be there. Accountability, right? I follow as much of the posted workout as time allows, swapping things like 4 X 100 breast stroke for kicking, breathing, and pulling drills. Mojo still under the blankets, I go anyway.


I make my way from the locker area to the showers to the pool, grabbing a kick board and pull buoy on my way to my lane, when I notice something new by my fellow swimmers' lanes: swim fins. See #4 on that list above. I try to ignore them, but Captain Andy explains the sizing system and the benefits of incorporating them, and points to the sets he thinks will be my size. Um, thanks? 


I grab the fins, and set them at the pool's edge with my other equipment. I get in the pool and get through the warm up and the first drill of the workout. The second drill involves the fins. Up until this point, I was hardly what you could call "engaged" with this workout. I was putting in the time, padding my workout log, helping heat the pool with my body warmth. Also, I was nervous.


Swim fins? I still have to talk myself through breathing while swimming, and these guys want me to try fins? In my head, I likened "me + fins" to "new driver + Porsche 911": we aren't ready for each other yet. If my palms were sweaty from the anxiety, I'm thankful no one else was the wiser. I put on the fins, and make a remark about how goofy they look. Deep breath in, and...I. Am. Flying.


Really and truly, all of a sudden I was Dara Torres . I stopped at the end of my lane and said, "WOW!" Out loud, even, because there was that much of a difference. Swim fins = Porsche 911. Giant smile. Before I have to leave, I finished what I could of the workout in a totally different state of mind than when I started. All of the anxiety about trying something new was gone. Thank you, Swim Fins! I love swimming!


And isn't that how life is sometimes? Even though we may say we're committed to trying new things- even verbalizing our intentions- we sometimes struggle with follow through. Even when we are presented with an unexpected tool to help us move forward, we still resist. That day at the pool, the swim fins were my helping hands (or feet?) in sticking it out ; my resistance was literally erased by embracing something new rather than pushing it aside and saying, "I'm not ready."


New Year + Trying New Things = New Outlook. New blog post to follow soon.  In the meantime, I'll see you at the pool.

2012: The Year of Trying New Things

...my resolutions will be manageable and relevant...my resolutions will be manageable and relevant...my resolutions will be manageable and relevant. That was the thought going through my head last night as I drove home from Fast Jessica's house, sober and happy to have spent the evening with friends who seem like family.  Not that my goals last year were not either of those things, but clearly they weren't relevant enough to stay in the forefront of my mind, and thus be checked off the list (learn to play golf, I'm lookin' at you!).

For 2012, I have decided that this shall be the Year of Trying New Things. Notice that I didn't "resolve" to do anything in particular, but instead have only made the goal to try something new. Doing so everyday is pushing it, but I'm pretty sure that I can manage to give new experiences a chance, however they present themselves.

Some of the "new things" I'd like to try do include past (failed) resolutions- like learning to play golf- because I see these things as relevant to opening more doors, presenting more opportunities for personal growth, creating more happiness in my life. And who doesn't want to be happier?

I'm excited and anxious to see what 2012 will bring my way. I'm hoping to be more fit, more spiritually centered, and more open to things than I have been in the past.  Not gonna lie, 2011 was a very trying year for me. I like to think that I came out of it a stronger person, and that whatever struggles I faced weren't obvious to those around me; that I was able to walk down my path with grace and unselfishness; that I was somehow helpful to others- in some way, in some little way, in any way- who may have had their own struggles in 2011. I hope I was able to give guidance without being asked to, and only to have led by example, not succumbing to pettiness, sadness, fear, or ignorance.

I hope that when people think of our shared encounters from 2011, they smile and hope for more of the same in 2012. I know I do.

So to my loyal baker's dozen readership (and anyone else reading this), I wish you all a happy and healthy New Year filled with the love of your family, visits with old friends, new experiences, and growth beyond your expectations.

Balance

As I was walking through the airport the other day, I spotted an older couple- maybe mid-to-late-70's- holding hands and talking about the different sights the airport had to offer; I was immediately struck with one thought:

I want that.

I want someone who will hold my hand in the airport when I'm wrinkly. Because they want to hold my hand. Because maybe I need them to hold my hand. As I watched this couple interact, it occurred to me that one of two things could be at play: 1) this couple wanted to hold each other's hands as a sign of affection, or 2) this couple was holding on to each other for balance.

And then this thought struck me: "balance" in more ways than one. Physical balance, yes, like "I'll help you balance so you don't fall and break a hip." But also (and maybe more importantly) balance as in yin to yang, salt to pepper, butter to bread. Balance, Jerry Maguire-style: "You complete me."

So often our struggles are about how we will get from Point A (here and now) to Point B (where we'd like to be, like to have, like to accomplish), and we don't stop to factor in balance. Ignoring the need for balance in our lives can have awful consequences, though. We can lose touch with our friends, children, partners, ourselves. We can forge ahead with our A-to-B plans, and even meet those goals, but at what price? Are we able to maintain balance? Who is holding our hand?

It was my birthday when I wrote this post in my hotel room, and although I'd like to pretend otherwise, I had just realized/recognized the importance of having balance. It's more than finding time to help kids with homework, or having dinner with girlfriends, or going out on a date with someone you like, or squeezing in a workout before bed. It's about all of these, and none of these. It takes a village, right?

It has taken me all forty (!!!) of my years to get this far, and I'd like to extend a sincere thank you to everyone who has helped me find some semblance of balance.

Who is holding your hand? Go say "Thank you. I love you." Hold on, friends.