Goodbye January!

Today is the last day of January, which means that it is the last day of the theme I’ve been carrying this month – time.

Over the course of this month, I’ve found a decided truth in understanding the ways in which time, and my perception of it, shape my daily life.  It’s no secret that I love time.  But what I’ve learned over this month is not so much that I need the structure of time and lists to complete the tasks I set for myself, but that I really enjoy doing so.  Other folks are able to fly by the seat of their pants, live each day as the moment arrives, and to them, I raise my cup of tea.  It just doesn’t work for me.

Being goal driven and future looking is something that is a source of pride for me.  I like knowing what I plan to be doing this time next year, next month, next week.  It gives structure and measure to days, much like as if I’m writing my own symphony.  Music notes give measure to the melody, and ultimately are governed by time.  There’s a reason the time signature for any given tune is in numbers like four-eight, three-six … it’s because musicians, much like writers know what kind of experience they want to craft for their audience, and know that the way to go about that is through a careful appreciation of and adherence to time.

The first month of this blog has been a wonderful exercise in learning what works for me.  And more than that, learning what doesn’t.  I was really upset to miss a day of writing this month.  However, I know that the time I spent in bed with the flu is where I was supposed to be.  So, water under that Buddhist bridge I wrote about earlier this month.  Onward to February and the new theme – gratitude.

I hope you’re enjoying reading these daily words of mine, and I hope you’ll continue.  One month down, eleven to go!

Macro Life

The bitchy thing about weighing all of my food is that it takes so much damn time.  I made a soup yesterday because it was the only thing that sounded good.  I cheated a bit and used Bob’s Soup Mix for a base – lentils and beans, mainly, and then added some homemade red sauce, some fresh veggies and some broth.  Ordinarily, I’d cook the beans and lentils myself, but desperate times and all that.  Simmered it for hours, letting the scent waft through my flat.  It made me feel cozy and at home.  But before I ate it, I logged it into the app I use to track my food.

Now I know lots of folks think that tracking food is a waste of time, but for me in my life, it works.  It’s a measure of control, and it helps me keep my macros in check.  So, after that life changing bath yesterday, I was ready to eat and lie down with another movie.  But I had to first enter in all of the ingredients, weigh the contents of the soup and then divide the weight by eight so that I knew exactly what I was getting. I haven’t had much to eat the last three days, and everything I’ve had has already been entered at some point into my app, so I hadn’t run across this particular issue during my sickness. 

Talk about a mind fuck.  Math?  And division at that?  Frack.  For the birds.  Either way, flu or not, I’m still committed to what I am trying to do with regard to my body, so I patiently slopped the soup from the cooking pot to a bowl to weigh it, and then proceeded to divide by eight.  It’s a painstaking process, but it’s one to which I’ve become so accustomed that just … eating out the pot seemed so alien, I couldn’t do it.

What struck me, as I was portioning the weighed soup into my new Mason jars gifted by Rubin for my birthday was no so much that I was doing it, as that even in sickness, it has become so second nature to me that I couldn’t not do it. 

For what it’s worth, the soup was killer.  On point.  Lentils, beans and broth?  How can a veg chick say no to that?  The only thing that would have made it better would have been some of Thig’s fresh bread and someone to recommend a good flick.  I settled on reading more from the book of Rilke's poetry Voyin gifted me.  Fell asleep to the sounds of German poetry floating in my brain.

Archimedes’ Principle

The principle of buoyance states that the upward force that is exerted on a body immersed in a fluid is equal to the weight of the fluid that the body displaces.  When I was a little girl, my mother would tell me about Archimedes’ Principle every time I took a bath.  I began to associate force with time; that is, the longer one is submerged in fluid the more force and time it will take to remove one from it.  As soon as I was deemed old enough to forgo bath-time for showers, I did so excitedly, as much because I didn’t want to waste the time in the bath as because there was no force in shower water forcing my body up or down.

Force is a strange thing.  In physics, it is something that causes the change in direction of an object.  As much as the weight of my body was displacing the water in the bathtub, so too was the force I was exerting to be there.  I used to chew over these notions while I danced in the shower water, thinking that I’d never have to return to a bath.

I’ve carried this idea with me through adolescence and adulthood.  Baths have widely seemed like a waste of time – way too much force unnecessarily exerted for no definable end.  A few winters ago, I made bath bombs and scented salts for my girlfriends for holiday gifts.  Everyone raved about them, and I took their word because baths were just something I didn’t have time to experience.  And besides, who wants to spend twenty minutes fighting Archimedes’ Principle?  Simi raved about them, and said the bombs were a highlight to her day.

Now in my third day of this bullshit flu that has rendered me just about useless, I am starting to go a little mad.  It’s said when Archimedes put into thought his principle for the first time, he ran through the streets naked, and most folks on the street thought he was stark raving mad.  I felt a little like Archimedes this afternoon – not that I’d just discovered an amazing pinnacle of physics, just a touch stir crazy.  Fevers and illness do something to the brain, I think.  They call to times when there was a person wants for things she can no longer experience – a mother’s touch, that exact feeling of being warm and cozy, camped on the sofa.  So, I decided to return to my roots.

I drew a bath.

Water as hot as the tap could make it, and a few dollops of coconut oil for good measure, Mozart’s Concerto for Flute and Harp in C Major, and a cup of peppermint tea. The water enveloped me, warmed my core like I haven’t been warm in days, and calmed me.  I thought back to Archimedes.  Force and buoyancy.  Time and the ways in which one spends it.  I spent the better part of an hour in that bath, draining and refilling water as needed until my fingers became raisins, my heart rate elevated like I was running and my soul finally calm.

Holy shit, that crazy Greek dude might’ve been on to something.

#getit

I didn’t even make it a full thirty days before I missed a blog!  I feel terrible about that, but I have come down with the flu.  Usually, I’m quite impervious to illnesses – I just muscle through them, go for a sweat and end up feeling better.  Not this time.  Nope.

I spent all of yesterday lying in bed.  It was a struggle just to get up to vomit and if ever I’ve wished for someone to be around to coddle and care for me, it was yesterday.  Everything was a struggle, and that made for a rough day.

Over the last thirty six hours, I’ve managed to sleep for many of them.  Clearly, my body needs the rest, but I can’t help but thinking about all of the other things I should be doing with my time.  There’s PhD research to do, writing to tap, and revisions to start.  But I just can’t seem to kick start my brain. 

Maybe this is my body reset for my thirty second year much as my trip to NYC was my mental reset.  Either way, I’m not happy about watching the hours click by on the clock without doing something with my day.  So, I’m going to camp out in bed again today with some peppermint tea, my machine and Rilke.  Maybe some good old fashioned German-English poetry will help nip this in the bud. 

Cake Day!

Today is my birthday!  I am officially into my thirties, and it feels so great.

I arrived home today to find not ONE but TWO bouquets of flowers waiting for me.  Anya sent me something gorgeous and blue (you know, for something new) and my sweet sweet neighbors upstairs gifted me some lilies and sunflowers.  I opened the door to go for my mail and almost tripped on the packages.  The thoughtfulness of these people almost brought me to tears.  What a wonderful reminder that even if I’m sitting in my lab much of the time, there are folks out in this wide world who love and appreciate me. 

After spending the weekend in New York, I am feeling decidedly reset.  There were some wonderful surprises to be had in the city, and I’ll write more about them next month during my theme of gratitude.  Until then, some overall thoughts on my trip.

Before I left, I had a conversation with one of my office mates about some trepidation I was feeling about my trip.  I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, but there was a feeling of something being a little off.  She suggested I find a mantra, and that’s why I was singing to Ganesh last week.  Thankfully, travel to and from the city went smoothly.  My flights were short and restful, and getting into and out of Manhattan wasn’t a problem. 
I arrived on Friday in the afternoon and had some hours to kill before Sig was free.  So, I wandered a while, mused over life and found myself in a small burger joint with a glass of grapes.  Silly place for a part time vegan chick to end up, I know.  But it was cold and I was tired of walking.  I’d spent hours rambling through the city and just wanted a rest, a quiet space to consider the truths I’d discovered along my walk.

Sipping my grapes, I listened to Erykah sing about being a Bag Lady and considered my life.  How New York, right?  In a moment of pure and honest self-awareness, I realized what my trepidation was about the trip … and you know what I did?  I made a grown folk decision!  I won’t go into detail about what it was, but the point is that I considered life and the folks who I hold dear, and realized that it was up to me to keep the fire lit.

Why am I telling this story?  Because a younger me would have said Fuck it, and done what I wanted, with no thought for others or my future self.  But grown up Jess realized that if I want to continue spending time in the ways I see fit, I need to honor myself, my heart, and my truth.  So guess what happened?  I made the right choice, and I feel so light because of it.

Time Flies ...

when you're having fun :)

This New Year is flying by.  Time to take stock of what I’ve learned over the last twenty five days and begin to consider what my goals for next month will be.

When I challenged myself to write a blog a day, I thought that it would become one of those automated tasks, something that I just did without any real planning.  Silly I know, coming from the girl who writes lists for everyone, and whose list often says to check the list. In this month, I’ve learned so much about what it really takes to write something that is fit for consumption day in and out.  It takes … wait for it … time.  Like, a lot of time.

Not that I’m complaining.  I love lab sitting and I love tapping my fingers on these keys, exploring new ways in which I can allow my voice to be heard.  But, it really does take more forethought than I initially suspected.  And, while I love time like I love planning a macro-fitting meal, I realize that in order for this to sustain over the course of the year, I’m going to need to plan a little bit better.

So, this month, I’ve focused on time and the ways in which time affects and effects my life.  Watching clocks change has long been a great pleasure of mine because it’s as if I am able to actually capture the moment that I see passing before me.  Much the same is the blog.  I’m capturing the moments that mean something, that are worthwhile, that are in accordance with the way I see fit to spend my time.

I’ve just returned from a birthday trip to NYC and it was epic!  I have so much to write about it, but for now, I’ll leave it at this.  The time it took Efed to plan her surprise was and is amazing.  In the truest, most literal sense of the word.  I am amazed that she did what she did for my birthday, and even more overjoyed that she saw it fitting to spend her time in such a way.  I am feeling quite blessed and very loved.  I’ll write about my trip later.  Now, I need to sleep.  A weekend in the city is enough to make anyone’s brain a little fuzzy.

Smile and Dance

I’ve discussed in earlier posts my love for postcards and all things mail related (minus bills, of course) and look what I received in the mail!  

Voyin sent me a collection of postcards and a sticket boot.  Of the six that he sent me, this one is my favorite.  It combines my love of mail, cats and Jappa speak all in one.  Isn't it gorgeous?  I like the  way the kitty looks so stoic, so calm and collected even though the world around her is blending into chaos.  Much like the cat on this handcrafted postcard, I often feel like I'm standing in a sea of confusion.  This image reminds me of Ganesh, strangely enough.  

Voyin’s gift, thoughtfulness, and introspection into that which I hold dear reminds me that for all the time I spend in front of a machine, fine-tuning my words, there are folks who recognize that what I’m doing is what I need to be doing, and that my time in my lab is well worth all of it. 

Over the last few days, I’ve been repeating a mantra to Ganesh.  Ganesh is a super cool Hindu deity, easily recognized as “The Elephant God” in western culture.  As the remover of obstacles and the purveyor of truth and wisdom, Ganesh has long held an important place in my spiritual practice.  I see him as a timeless deity, much like the cat on the postcard that Voyin sent – stoic, but lovable and full of magic.  So during times of transition, change, and general unrest, I turn to Ganesh with his grandfatherly presence and seek a little clarity.  Even though the answers he offers aren’t always immediately present, I know that in time, that which I seek will become clear. 

The mantra I’ve been repeating is, “Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha.”  The word Gum is Ganesh’s biji mantra, or his secret power sound and I just love that.  It’s like he’s a modern-day super hero! Ganapatavei is another name for Ganesh, and Namaha can loosely be translated as, “Yo, Ganesh!  You da God!”  Doesn’t that just make you smile and want to dance?  

Birthday Bound

I can’t believe twenty three days of this challenge have already passed by.  Crazy to think the New Year started such a short time ago.  Though for the record, it seems like my spirit has gone from tomorrow to yesterday and back in these three short weeks.

Speaking of going from tomorrow to yesterday, today I leave for a birthday trip to NYC!  I am so excited to spend some time with my people in New York.  After I land, I’ll meet up with Sig and hang.  We’re lifting together on Saturday morning, which should be amazing, and I hope to learn some new tricks.  If you’re ever in New York and need a good trainer, check him out.  The kid is a beast. 

I’m trading in this man-sized sweat bracelet branded with his company for girly one.  

This one is cool and all, and I rock it when I’m lifting at the gym, but it’s way too big.  I just hope the new one isn’t pink!  After our lift sesh, I’m going to meet Efed at Times Square and kick it Nati style in the Big Apple.  She’s taking the train from Philly and I can’t wait to see her.

For my twenty-ninth, my friends surprised me with a party.  I’m usually good at sniffing out subterfuge, but for this bash, I had no idea!  Ghost took me to Cincy Workshop on the pretext that we were going to look at some new art.  I was bored with the idea, but went along with it anyway.  Good thing I did!  Little did I know that all of my friends had assembled at CW for a surprise party.  They even thought to get vegan food and of course (my fave) Grippos.  I walked in to my group of friends, all gathered in one space.  That was enough to make my heart melt.  But then.  The surprises of all surprises.  Efed walked out, and I was completely.  I’d spoken with her earlier in the day and she told me she was in Paris for a lame meeting.  This was during the time that she was living in the UK, so a meeting in Paris seemed totally legit.  But no!  She make the trip, travelled the expanse of miles just for me.  Well fuck.  If that’s not love, I don’t know what it is. 

Three years later, she and I have the opportunity to have a weekend together in NYC.  I’m stoked to share this time with her, even more so because I know that whatever we get into is going to be “Nananannananananana” cray.  Want the explanation for that?  You’ll have to ask her.

Listing Lists

Like most creatives, I think I’m somewhat attached to certain parts of life.  Like, I want my coffee in the same cup every work morning, I want to do the same things while I prepare for the office, the same steps for each moment.  I leave the house within seconds of the same time every day, and that gives me a bit of satisfaction.  It validates that I’m keeping on the path I’ve set and created for myself, as well as the idea that the structure I’m extending to this life is, well, worthwhile.  It would be very easy to throw up my hands and decide that I’m not doing anything besides drinking tea and writing all day.  But that would get me nowhere; so instead, I craft lists for myself, steps that must be taken (and therefore measured) to ensure that I keep moving on. 

This week, I’ve started something new.  After I sit for Thig’s listed journal entry, I write a note to myself.  Nothing major or epic, or even world changing … just a short little note that I tape to one of my cupboards before I head out for my professional day. I list the tasks I need to complete for the evening, dinner selections and options on other things to do if I’m bored.  And you know what?  It’s working! 

Every evening this week, I’ve come home to a note that starts out, “Hello Gorgeous!  Here’s what you need to do…”  It’s as if when writing to my future self, my present self engages all of the awesomeness that comes from living in the moment.  So when I arrive at my lopsided flat after twelve hours in a world that means little to my future, I am able to center, refocus, and begin anew.

This exercise is teaching me what time really means for the moment.  Sure, it’s easy to watch the clock tick seconds and minutes, but if I’m not living – full on honest and wholly living – each individual moment, then there is little left for me.  So I’ll keep on with my list to myself, as much as reminder of what I need to be doing as a reason to keep on doing it.  

Learning to Breathe

It’s only the middle of the week, but it feels like this one has stretched on an on. Maybe it’s because I’m excited for my NYC birthday trip on Friday.  Or maybe it’s because this week has just been … long.  Either way, I’m reminding myself to find moments of grace in the progression of days.

On Monday, it was damn near impossible to find anything that resembled grace.  Work was for shit, traffic sucked major ass, my words wouldn’t flow. What kept me sane was an hour of devotion-based yoga.  In Sanskrit, the word for devotion is Bhakti.  

Every time I sit on my mat for a devotion based practice, I come back to what Natalie said when I first joined her studio.  “Do you have the time?  Are you sure you’re ready for this?”  I had come to her, a wayward runner cum yogini, hell bent on finding my center after many years of being lost.  That question has ponged in my head since she asked it.  I don’t know if I’m ever sure I’m ready for anything, but like everything else I do in this life, I plunged full on into the yogini life.  Now, looking back, I know that Spirit not only guided me to her and her studio, but also to the path that embracing devotion will create.

So.  On Monday, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to step onto my mat and try to offer the world a piece of myself.  Sometimes, after fracturing between the office, grad school work, my own writing, and trying to find time to give myself to those I hold dear, I’m left feeling vacant and hollow.  Time is such a bitch that way. 

But I moved through the poses, practiced devotion as well as I know how, and finished the lesson.  It provided me enough clarity to transition through the evening into the next day.  I guess it all comes down to the amount of time that one is willing to actively offer toward devotion.  It’s easy to say that I give of myself, my time, my heart.  But to put that into practice, to fully engage in mindful living is harder.  Sure there will be more days when traffic sucks ass, when I can’t write a sentence worth reading, when I’m just … off.  Coming back to my Bhakti practices will help those times seem less intense. 

Old and New

So I have this old pair of slippers that I’ve been rocking for almost two years.  See how worn they look?  

I have no idea where that stain came from, but it's pretty gnarly.  The soles of my feet have left indents in these slippers!  They’ve been with me through the final steps of my time in Cbus and helped me walk the new path in the Nati.  Bedraggled, haggard, tired, these shoes of mine.  I know it’s time for them to go, but I just can’t seem to break away from them.

They’re comfy, worn in in just the right places.  And my toes know just where to go when I slip them on.  We’ve logged hours and miles, me and these shoes.  I’ve walked up and down the steps at Ghost’s house with Beef in my arms in this footwear, travelled the expanse of my suburban existence wearing these cozy shoes, padded around my lopsided flat in them.  Hell, I’ve even worn them out to a late night market run with Voyin in summer.

Obviously, it’s time for them to go.

I bought these two weeks ago. 

Notice that they’re the same shoe?  Sure, on the surface – the same style, the same cut and fabric.  Even the same color.  But what’s different about these new slippers is that there is no time attached to them.  They’re brand new.  Ready for new footfalls, for new time to be logged, for my toes to find new cozy homes in the faux fur.

After I brought them home, I sat them next to my old slippers, and decided it was time for the worn out ones to be retired.  Even still, I left them out, hoping they would serve as a reminder of where I’ve been and where I’m heading.  A funny thing has happened though – my feet subconsciously sought the slippers I know so well.    

The problem I see with this is that while I know inherently it’s time for a change, my feet want to find what’s familiar.  So the old slippers go on, even though they aren’t cozy or inviting any longer, while the new ones sit forlornly in the corner.  It’s easy to return to something to which I’ve become accustomed instead of seeking something that is new.  Change is scary and hard and sometimes, takes a while to become comfortable.  But I don’t want to be wearing the same slippers any longer.  I’m ready to walk a new path, to keep my feet toasty and warm in the new.   So I’ve decided – I’m officially putting the old ones away.  We’ve spent enough time together.  It’s time to let the new path unfold.  

Monday's Mantra - Sleep!

Over the weekend, I spent some time at Ghost’s house while he took Evie, the mastiff-pit puppy to puppy school.  Beef and No-No were both home.  For the entire time I was there, they both slept!  Talk about missing out on quality time with Auntie Jess. 

Clearly, they needed their rest, and while I sat with my pages and tried to figure out what I’m doing for the upcoming week, I started to consider rest.  It’s no secret I’m a big fan of sleep.  I can fall asleep most anywhere, and often take quick naps at my office.  But staying asleep, having restful and restorative time is a rarity.  I fall asleep easily, sure, but that’s about it.  Usually, I get about two hours into a sleep and wake up, thinking about all the other things I should be doing with my time. 

Of course, this is a huge issue in my world.  I need rest to recuperate from my long training sessions and to separate myself from the incessant task lists that I create for myself.  But, it seems sleep is in vain.  I regularly am awake from 1 until 3 in the morning, only to drift off and find myself startled by my four am alarm.  So, while at Ghost’s house, I was envious of Beef and NoNo, and their ability to turn off their minds.  

Sure, they’re only 18 months and (almost) seven, respectively, but still.  Maybe they know something I don’t, or something I’ve forgotten in this thirty some-odd journey of life.

So this week, I’m going to try to channel my nephews.  Try to be zen.  Embrace sleep and know that it isn’t a waste of time, but rather – a restorative journey that my body needs.

Back In Time

Well, the second Sunday of the New Year is almost done.  I’ve been very cognizant of the ways in which I spent my time in these eighteen days of 2015.  I think I’ve been spending them the right way – in my lab and in my kitchen.  Lately, the two may as well be synonymous. 

Anya told me to keep cooking because it serves me.  Truly, it is a form of meditation that I find to be incredibly relaxing and joyful.  Making the granola, my newest cookie creation, that strange hybrid spaghetti squash curry stew – all of these actions continue to encourage the idea that time is most graciously spent when one is doing what she loves.

So.  Speaking of time.  Look at this loaf of bread that arrived in the mail!  Isn’t it a beaut?  

My friend baked it for me AND then mailed it.  Bread and mail?  Yes please, all day.  The point of sharing this loaf is that it struck me, as I was unravelling the layers of foil, that the time it took to make the bread is the same sort of thing as the time it takes to create art, write a short story, run a half marathon.  When we are engaged in the activities that serve us, that better us as humans and advance our personal paths, well then, we’re spending time the right way. 

Sometimes, as a writer, a runner, weight lifter and human, I start to feel guilty about not being out more, engaging with folks, doing social sorts of things.  I know I spend a fuck-ton of time in my lab, but that’s what serves me right now.  It’s where I do me.  It’s a lot of time, and it’s surely an investment, but it’s the 401k of my future.  With that, I’m off to stuff my face.  Vegan grilled cheese, anyone?

Soshaku and Bridges

In Jappa-speak, soshaku means “I am chewing over.”  I love the sound of this word, it’s onomatopoeia at its finest, I think.  So-sha-ku, like the whoosh of thoughts rushing, like the sound of chewing, the motion of movement, the way water sounds on a bridge. 

Today, I am chewing over these two Buddhist koans. 

Happiness never decreases when shared.

The water is flowing, but the bridge is staying still.

The first of these koans is new to me.  I was just gifted it yesterday and wow, talk about timing. It’s a true story – happiness does not decrease when split and shared.  It’s even more wonderful to share it with like minded folks.  I shared my morning with Voyin via skype.  I had my coffee while he had his beer.  We crafted plans, looked at options, discussed the future, and three hours passed by without me realizing it.  Last Saturday, I lounged in bed, enjoying the progression of time without fretting if I was spending it correctly.  This Saturday, I’ve done the same, just in a different way.

The second koan is one of my favorites.  It’s a nice reminder that perspective is relative to the state of one’s mind, and that in order to fully understand time and motion, one needs to only know that everything continues to move.  Going back to yesterday’s expansive and releasing Lion’s Breath moment, I realize that letting go of the bullshit from the week, and the darkness that was itching to surround me has allowed me the opportunity to seek the light.  Life is too precious to keep on in the darkness.  Sappy as all get out, I know.  But it’s true.  The water is going to keep moving no matter what, so why not relish in the stability of the bridge?

So movement and time are on my mind today.

Sunny January day with an expected high temperature of 50 means that this chick is going for a nice outside run.  It will feel good to move in time with my footfalls, and not the speed set on a mill.  And it will be even better to spend some time with myself, my breath, my thoughts.  I need the space that an outside run will allow.  Cabin fever is real!

Ok, I'm Done

I might be in the minority here, but I really love winter.  The darkness.  Introspection.  The interiority that comes from the early nights and long days.  I find it to be a great release from summer and sunshine, where everything is hap-hap-happening all the time. It’s been drab here for most of the week.  It is winter, after all, in Ohio.  But today, the sun peaked his head out from the clouds and started to warm the air.  Driving back from the gym, I rolled down all of the windows in Loretta (that’s my Honda ride) and let out a bellowing, banshee style roar.  In Kundalini practices, we call this Lion’s Breath – not the car driving part, but the release of negativity, nonsense, fear and anger.  I was surprised at how loud I roared, how emotional it sounded.  I’m sure the other drivers on 71 wondered what the hell was wrong with me, but I didn’t (and don’t) care.  One day, after a particularly riveting Kundalini session with my teacher in Columbus, Natalie told me that Lion’s Breath does more than just expel whatever we’re holding onto.  It allows space to be cleared for newness to come in.  So, much like the sun shining right now, which is giving us pause from the darkness of winter, I think I’ve cleared my space for something else to arrive.

The point is that I’ve spent some time this week holding on to fear and anger.  I’ve been in a dark space since Monday, pretty much.  And you know what that got me?  Not a damn thing.  I didn’t find from these dark emotions any kind of grace or truth.  If anything, it’s almost as if the time I spent being forlorn and pissed off at the world set me back from my path.  Maybe I needed this moment of interiority and introspection.  I’m sure there’s some silver to be gleaned from these last few days, and I’ll continue to explore what that might be.  But I’m done.  Tired of being tired and sad.  So fuck it, Lion’s Breath abounds! 

Shameless Plugs – if you’re ever in Columbus and want to check out a great yoga studio, go visit Natalie Kristine at L Yoga Flow (www.lyogaflow.com)

and

this picture is part of my ongoing #urbanrunner collection – follow me on instagram at jess_write as I photograph my way over miles and miles of cityscapes 

Recovery is a Bitch

… and much needed.

In February of last year, I moved back to Cincinnati after a lengthy stay in central Ohio.  I’d been living in Columbus for eight years, and was married with a suburban house, a salaried job, and a mortgage that wouldn’t be paid until I was dead.  Well, not really.

Leading up to my decision to begin graduate school, my marriage began to fall apart.  Various reasons that are emo-filled and this isn’t the space for them.  The point is that the combination of ending my marriage, beginning a rigorous grad program, launching my writing career and moving home, all the while training for half marathons and lifting heavy weights has been taxing – emotionally, physically, mentally.  These last eleven months have been a constant swing of ups and downs, and while I’ve managed to find some bit of structure, it’s been really fucking hard.

I’m never one to reach out and say, “Hey how about some help over here?” because I don’t want to show weaknesses.  I am a stoic sort of lady, and rarely show emotion.  But damn, when I sit back and think about the ways in which this life has changed for me during this time, I realize a few things.

First, recovery (or healing, however you want to word it) is a long process.  It takes a lot of time to begin to reconstruct a life, let alone a heart broken, or an idea shattered.  I remember last spring thinking that I was all healed up and it was time to move on to the next phase of life.  Now I realize that was just glitter on my glasses.

Secondly, and maybe most importantly, I realize that it’s OKAY to need recovery time.  To take a break, a rest, to hole up in my own world for a while and process through this nonsense.  I need to take some time off if I’m ever going to get a handle on the ways life will continue to move.  Much like failing my deadlift earlier in the week, a little bit of a breather is most certainly needed.  It’s bullshit though because I like to live at warp speed all the time, and time wasted is … time wasted.  There are something like eighty six thousand seconds in a day, and I want to make the most use out of each one of them.  But that’s not going to get me anywhere if I can’t lift my own weight.  

Planned Patience

Wednesday at the gym is usually leg day for me.  So I squat, do weighted lunges, dead lift and a few other things that target my quads, calves, hamstrings.  It’s a grueling workout, and I’m left feeling like jelly when I walk out of the gym.  I love it.

So I was finishing my first set of dead lifts.  A dead lift, for those of you who aren’t into weight training, is just like it sounds – a weighted bar is picked up and put down.  Repeatedly.  The difficulty with deads is twofold.  One must keep her back straight, lifting with her legs, and be able to hold onto the bar well enough to bring it all the way up.  On Wednesday, I was deadlifting 135 pounds.  It’s not that much weight, but for me, it works (I weigh less than that!) and I was pleased that I’d completed my first set.  Deads can be really taxing on the central nervous system, so I made sure to rest a few solid minutes before attempting my next set.  I was anxious to get on with the rest of my session so I could get home and sit to my pages.  Breathing in deep, I got the first three up just fine. 

And then the fourth.  The fourth one just wouldn’t budge.  I picked up the bar maybe two inches from the ground and couldn’t get any further.  Setting it back down, I tried to regain my focus.  BOB’s We Run This was loud in my ears, and I tried to visualize myself lifting the weight.  Tried again.  And failed.

What the fuck.  I’ve lifted way more weight than a measly one hundred and thirty five pounds.  Embarrassed and frustrated with myself, I decided to deload the bar and head off for the rest of my workout.  I chewed over why I failed that set through the remaining thirty minutes of my exercise. 

Maybe I’m just weak, I thought.  Or maybe I need to improve my grip strength.  Or maybe.  Maybe I didn’t recover long enough, wasn’t patient with my body, giving it the time it needed to regain strength.   

So maybe I’m not being patient in life right now, even though I think I am.  Maybe I need more recovery time before I can really jump back into it and try again.  Lately, I’ve been saying over and over about myriad things that I don’t have time for it.  Time to put the brakes on that sentiment, and learn a bit about slowing down, recovery, and patience.  

Timing

Monday night found me perfecting my recipe for lentil granola.  Knowing that my Jappa trip is officially on hold for the moment was weighing heavily on me.  I’ve spent so much time carefully mapping out the way in which the trip and the move was to unfold – fuck, I even started selling off the contents of my space.  The knowledge and acceptance that this trip is going to be delayed for a while found me feeling empty and hollow.  Maybe it's my upcoming birthday, or this solo life I'm living, I'm not sure.  But I was blue.  Blue as blue gets for me.  So, I did what any reasonable Granola chick would do – I made granola.    

I’ve been wrestling with this lentil granola idea for a few weeks.  I love granola.  Like I seriously love it and can eat cups and cups of it.  Most often, the calorie content is insane, and the nutrition macros never warrant an all-out binge.  It’s so damn good though, and I have trouble putting it down.  And, when I’m feeling sad, I want to stuff my face.  Of course.  Who doesn’t?

The parallels between seeking a granola recipe that fit what I need and the path that I seek isn’t lost on me.  I see the connection, but when I started my search for a lentil recipe that fit my required 2:1 carb to protein ration, this interrelatedness was completely lost.  The time I’ve logged looking for this recipe is akin to the time I spend in the gym.  Ok, I jest.  But not really.
A few weeks ago, I found a recipe that was halfway reasonable, but I didn’t like the added agave or the addition of coconut.  Last week, I found a recipe that looked okay but had some weird ingredients that weren’t in my kitchen.  It seemed like my quest to find the perfect lentil granola recipe was going to be for naught. 

Until.

Until I realized that I didn’t need a recipe that someone else created to make my granola.  I have a good enough basis in nutrition knowledge to know how to craft the recipe, and I know what I like, and I know what I don’t.  Fuck someone else's recipe.  I decided to make my own.  

(just like life, yeah?)

My lentil granola has PB2, whey protein, chia seeds, flax meal, cayenne pepper and a few other bits of awesomeness.  Crafting it, I listened to Dar Williams sing about the moon and wallowed in feeling sorry for myself, pissed at the world and generally maligned. Adding all of the dry ingredients to the bowl while my lentils bubbled was a bit of an exercise in faith.  Sure, PB2 is delish, and flax is probably the greatest thing ever, but would these ingredients all taste good together?  It's just like assembling a life plan.  I'm not sure sometimes if the pieces I'm fitting together are going to make sense in the long run, but just like with my granola - I know what I like and what I don't.  Recipes in cookbooks are great for folks who need every last step spelled out for them.  And that's great if it works.  My recipe for granola, like my life, didn't come off of a page.  I needed to take stock of my pantry, figure my macros, shed the worry that it wouldn't work and trust myself.  

The granola turned out to be absolutely amazing - sweet and spicy and full of good nutrition.  I hope my next life steps are just the same.  

Rush Rush

Instead of rushing out of bed Saturday morning, I languished in my covers.  Watched Amelie and marveled at the strength and tenacity of the human spirit.  Allowed myself the time to simply be instead of crafting my to-do list, trying to get a jump start on the day.

What is a jump start, really?  Who am I beating if I hop out of bed in the morning instead of taking a few small moments to simply say hello – both to the world and to myself?  It’s possible that I’m not winning anything by doing that, and maybe instead, I’m sabotaging something.  Strong word, I know.  But hear me out.

Rushing out of bed, furiously flying through a morning to get to the next step does what?  Proves I’m efficient at my routine, and that I can manage time well.  But it doesn’t mean that I’m making myself any better by doing it.  If anything, I am wont to work myself into a tizzy these days if my schedule, the way I block out my time, doesn’t go exactly as planned.

I know I need to be less rigid about time, unless I’m on the pavement pounding miles.  In those hours, time is really important.  But a weekend morning, when I have the wonderful opportunity to simple be should be okay.  I say should because even while watching the film, I was thinking in the back of my mind of everything else I could be doing.  But you know what?  I was infinitely more productive and at peace the rest of Saturday simply because I allowed myself those two hours. 

The lesson from Saturday morning was and is that I should learn to appreciate these kinds of moments.  Not just for the inactivity of them, but for the activity that they encourage.  (and, Amelie is a wonderful film that is so underrated!)

Collecting Images

Look at these wonderful postcards that Efed sent!  Aren’t they amazing?  I mentioned last week that one of the first things I see when I wake is a piece of art I made from postcards that she’s sent me from all corners of the globe.  So thoughtful, that sister of mine.

On the back of one of these postcards, Efed noted that I can add them to my collection.  Funny, I’ve never thought about my postcards as a collection, but I guess that’s what it is, since everyone I know seems to send them to me. 

I started to think about it a little more, and realize that the time I’ve spent creating art from these postcards has been not only a way to make something to hang on my walls, but also a form of meditation.  Even a writer needs to step away from her pages sometimes.  That led me to thinking about the images themselves.  Sure, some of the postcards I have received are touristy, but they still capture a moment in time.  And while I haven’t been to many of the places shown on the postcards sent by Efed, Ghost, Voyin, and others, every time I look at the images, I feel like I’ve spent some time there.  Might be a little silly, but I see these postcards (and my collection) as a way to share time with my loved ones. 

Over summer, I went to a farmhouse style estate sale and found the trove of all troves of vintage postcards.  Not wanting to do something with them that would be permanent (like gluing them to something, or cutting them up) they’ve just been sitting in various places around my flat.  Maybe it’s time I take a closer look at them and make something new from my collection.  I’m sure the time I spend making new art from old images will be well used.

Minty J

Warming my hands around this wonderful “J” mug with some peppermint tea seeping finds me sitting in the lab.  It’s Thesis Edit Day.  What a project this has become. 

I’ve always been comfortable writing critical essays, using writer craft words, but this paper has been a bit of a beast to wrestle.  It’s taken countless hours in front of my machine, researching specific theories, reading the words I am discussing, forming and crafting my argument.  After I submitted the first draft to my wonderful professor, and she kindly reminded me that the thesis is not a discourse in theory, but in practical application, I was at a loss for what to do next.

So, I did what any sane writer would do.  I asked another writer!  Graciously, my friend Premo suggested a new approach to my work.  And while that meant more time sitting and researching, it was also a wonderful example of a time in which someone else offered his time for no benefit to himself.  Premo has kids and a job, and his own work to do.  But he took the time to think about what I was/am trying to write about in my thesis and offered concrete suggestions.

An act of kindness.  A use of time. 

Thanks, Premo!  I wouldn’t be spending these hours in front of my machine today if you hadn’t taken the time.  (I’d likely be pulling out my hair and wondering how the hell I was going to make my Wednesday deadline.)

Friday Night Lights

Wow, Friday is almost all done!

I marvel at the way time seems to seep on by.  I started this morning at 4 like I always do - woke up, clapped my hands and said hello to the world.  It's cold here; cold enough that I'm sleeping with socks, even though my feet need to see the dream world.  No matter, I turned the heat up, boiled my water for coffee and tea, and started my pull ups.  I do five rounds of three pull ups, or three rounds of five if I'm feeling extra-beasty every morning.  It gets my blood pumping and it's a nice reset for the day.  Quickly, four turned to five, and six … and sitting at my office at seven greeting patients, I realized I’d been up already three hours.  One cuppa down, and another steeping in my mug, I embraced the idea that time is so mobile.

Today, I spent a considerable amount of time prepping food for this coming week.  After work, I took a quick nap and then went to the gym.  Ninety minutes later, I was dashing through the city, looking for red lentils, almond butter and other ingredients to craft my stew.  At six, I started cooking, and now, three hours later, I’m finally sitting to pages.

The time I spent making my lentil tofu stew was so worth it!  I know that every day, for the next ten days (since I made SO much of this dish) I eat this, I’ll be thankful that I don’t have to craft a new meal.  I think that’s why I like meal prep days.  Usually, I wait until Sunday to make the food for the upcoming week.  But, with my cake day and trip to NYC fast approaching, this seemed the most reasonable way to spend my time.

I find it marvelous (in the truest sense of the word) that I spent Friday evening making food.  Sure, I could have drummed up some social activity with which to occupy my time.  Instead, I chose to use my time wisely and efficiently.  Five years ago, if someone told me I’d spend the eve chopping and cutting vegetables, I would have laughed.  Now, it is such a welcomed relief after a long week.  Amazing how things change as time progresses and I age.  I've made this a priority - sitting in my lab, after making meals for the week with a fresh candle and Buddy Guy playing in the background.  I couldn't imagine a better way to spend my time.  

Committed

The first week of this new year is almost complete.  Wild. 

Wednesdays are, by and large, my favorite day of the week – I’m off work and can attend to all sorts of things that I need to do.  But lately, I’ve started to fall in love with Thursday.  (Wednesday knows, don’t worry!)  Where yesterday is a nice break in the work week, and a reminder of everything I need to do, Thursday starts me thinking about the week’s end, the ways in which I’ll spend those great cousins to Friday, you know … Saturday and Sunday.

Tonight, I had planned for a five mile run at the gym and had hoped to arrive early enough to avoid all of the New Year Resolutioners – those folks who think that they have to wait until the turn of a calendar page to begin a quest for health and fitness.  My gym is stupidly packed with them right now, almost to the point of my daily session not being enjoyable.  I say almost because it would take something fantastically ridiculous to make me not enjoy my time in my church.  A headache the size of China got the best of me and for the first time in six months, I've gone a day without a gym or cardio session.  It's a bizarre feeling, but I'm listing to my body and know that in the long run, the time I didn't use at the gym will show in the time I shave off my runs.  

Earlier in the week, I had to use a racket ball court for my kettle bell and jump rope workout.  That was okay, but frustrating as well.  I appreciate that folks are trying to get healthy, but I know come February, most of them will be gone.  Being healthy, walking this fitness route and committing to this lifestyle takes time.  It takes effort, and a willingness to keep on once the initial motivation is gone.  In so many ways, it’s exactly like writing. 

The first time I saw my name in print, I kept staring at the page.  A dream, realized.  But a dream that took hours and hours of time, a dream I worked for tirelessly, long after the initial motivator was long gone.  Writing these days, like lifting weights and running, has less to do with motivation and more to do with discipline.  I work tirelessly for my goals.  I wish the newbies at the gym could do the same.  It’s like Rachel told me on Tuesday, “This is a marathon, not a sprint.”  

Elm Trees

I don’t know where these days run off to, but I’d love to know where they end up.

Last night, I had the most amazing dream that one of the faculty members at Spalding was dressed in a tuxedo and tossed me the keys to a hotel suite.  Earlier this week, I dreamed that I was running through a labyrinth with Ghost and Edub, looking for a particular room.  When we found it, I knew it was time to leave.  I asked Edub how to get out and she replied, “That’s easy, just follow the red and purple signs.”  How coincidental that the new ink I received in Dryer’s chair last week is … purple and red.  So.  I take both dreams as a very clear message from the Universe that the ways in which I’m spending my time are on track for my future.  In time, the life seeds I’m planting will grow intro sacred elm trees.  Good thing I know a great arborist. 

With that bit of inspiration, I tackled today with a fiery passion for all things writerly.  After a good ninety minutes at the gym, I sat in my lab for hours, writing query letters, polishing my author cover letter and sending off submissions for a full length collection of poetry, and a short story collection.  It’s an arduous process, but much like editing, it is a labor of love.  I have sent out my words into the world and hope that they will be received well.  And even if the collections are rejected, that’s okay.  This hasn’t been a poor use of time, but rather, a great exercise in patience. After all, if Pete Duval is tossing me keys, that has to mean something.

Now bleary eyed and waiting for my homemade minestrone soup to thaw, I’m wondering what to do with the rest of the time left with my day.  I’m expecting a package and an Amazon order but the mail hasn’t arrived.  The letter carrier must be on her own time today.  

Allegro 40 in G Minor

I spent Monday evening creating art.  I love hand crafted pieces that show dedication, love, and adoration for both the subject of the art and the intended.  In my flat, I have pieces I’ve created over the years, pieces I’ve collected from local artists and nothing mass produced.  I don’t want to look at something that someone else made!  I want to find strength in the things I’ve had the courage to make, or the things someone else has taken the time to craft.

One of my favorite pieces is a collection of postcards from Efed, sent from all corners of the globe.  It showcases not only her travels in the world, but also her thoughtfulness and commitment to spending a few moments penning a postcard to me.  This piece sits above my shrine to Buddha, and it is generally the first thing I really ‘see’ in the morning when I wake.  Every morning, at four am, it makes me smile.  She’s a gem, that sister of mine.

Monday night, I made magnets for Voyin who is settling in to his new town in Jappa.  He’s just moved from Tokyo, where’s he’s been living with some friends for the last month, to his new flat in Marugame. I’m certain that the transition has been a touch difficult – even though he’s a master at the language and culture, change is change, right?  So, in efforts to help ease the transition, I scoured magazines for images and words that I thought might serve as a reminder to him of his capacity as a human, his drive and determination, and mostly, as a reminder that there are folks across the pond who consider him often.  I’ll be mailing out these magnets, along with some other goodies I’ve picked up for him later this week.  Mail to Jappa takes about ten days, so hopefully they’ll all arrive in one piece soon.  I’m sure his flat will be a bit more cheery with some Jess-original art.

Though I should have sat with pages tonight, revising my thesis, or finalizing the edits on my manuscript, this is what called to me.  While crafting this art for Voyin, my two favorite Mozart pieces came on – Allegro 40 in G Minor and Eine kleine Nacktmusik.  I take both as a sign that the way I’ve chosen to spend my time has been in line with what the Universe wants me to be doing right now.  I'd love to show you the magnets, but I don't want to ruin the surprise!  I'll post a pic once they arrive in Jappa :) 

Rise Up!

A wise woman once said, “I remind myself to count blessings, not list grievances.”

Here is a blessing.  The Cincinnati sunrise.  I ached for this city for so many years, and now that I"m back, I'm finding the landscape has totally changed.

I guess I’m at a bit of weird spot right now with regard to social activities.  I’ve alluded to the fact that I’ve been spending considerable amounts of time in my lab, working on my thesis and other creative works.  That’s left little to no time to see friends.

While I know that this is the part of this transition phase where I knuckle down and get into getting into it, it’s also a bit lonely.  Anya reminds me that focusing on my craft will advance me more than anything else, and went so far to tell me that if I’m not talking about writing when I’m out, I’m wasting my time.

She’s right, and I know it, but damn, sometimes it’s hard.

I remember the days when I was so lost, forgotten on the path I’d started that weeks would go by without me touching a pen to a page.  I don’t want to return to days like that, but I need to seek the balance that can only come from trial and error.  I know there’s a way to find the time to make this work, but I fear that means I have to cut back on other things. And I’m not exactly sure I want to do that.

Spending two hours in the gym a day, working ten or twelve hours at the office, and then sitting to pages seems like a perfect day.  I have friendships that I keep up via electronic means, and that’s helpful because it’s efficient.  I can tap out a conversation and then return to my work.  It’s not that I don’t want the investment of spending physical time with other people, it’s just that I don’t know what the ROI will actually end up being.  That sounds selfish, but I think I'm okay with that.  Extra mile is never crowded, right?  Time to rise up like the sun, stand strong in the sky and move on with my path.

Sunday Funday

Sunday.  This is the traditional day of rest.  I find myself wound tightly, consistently glancing at the clock, wondering what the week will hold.  I’ve made excellent use of my time today, but still.  It’s a battle of wills, the dance between the weekend ending and the work week starting. 

What a weekend.  I spent time with Rubin on Friday, and helped him create this intention board.  I also birthed a flax pizza, which turned out better than expected.  I made the crust from flax meal, some spices and water, made the sauce earlier in the week and topped it with pan seared zucchini and asparagus.  Rubin brought some gouda, so I added that along with some gorgonzola.  It was delish!  And it was a great exercise in the correct use of time.  Sure, there were other things I might’ve been doing with my Friday night, like writing and working, but spending time with a friend who needed a bit of help trumped all of those other potential commitments.

Spending the better half of yesterday with my youngest nephew was a deviation from my typical Saturday, but also a great way to spend my time.

Fast forward to today, and I’m feeling pleased and happy with the ways I chose to advance myself as a human, a woman, and a writer.

Today, I achieved a personal best on my squats, 145 pounds for five sets of five!  I improved my foot game with my jump rope, since I’ve declared 2015 to be the year of the rope, and now I have the rest of the afternoon to write.   

Last night, I bowed out of meeting up with girlfriends for drinks and a comedy show because I needed the time to sit with myself, write out Thig’s list, listen to Mozart, make soup and work on my manuscript.  As of late, I have started to accept the fact that this is a solitary voyage I’m on.  And that’s okay, but it’s also lonely at times.

While I’m naturally an introvert (aren’t all creatives?) I still love time out.  But, lately, the time out has been a mess because I find myself pulled back to the lab, my words, projects and ideas.  I am seeking something greater than what this is right now.  I know that means that I’ll be alone for much of the time, but if it helps me achieve my goals, then it’s worth it, right?