Compounding Forces

Wednesday’s Worry

“It’s better to keep grief inside,” says the author of one of my favorite novels. “Grief inside works like bees or aunts, building curious and perfect structures, complicating you. Grief outside means you want something from someone, and chances are good you won’t get it” (Hamann, 2003, pg444). Grief … deep sorrow, distress, agony, all weighted kinds of words that ultimately mean the same thing – one is tormented by something that causes pain or suffering. I’ve long maintained that Hamman is totally right. When I first found her words in Anthropology of an American Girl, I must’ve stared at them for a good two minutes before moving on to the next passage.

Shortly after my mother’s death in 2012, I discovered Hamann’s novel. It put on the page all sorts of emotions I was experiencing and refusing to acknowledge. As my marriage was crumbling around me, and I was pining for home something serious, I found myself tucking away – deep into worlds written out by real writers with more strength and conviction than I could ever hope to find. At least, that’s what I thought at the time. Now I realize that Hamman’s words are wrong. Really wrong.

Keeping grief inside does nothing to advance one’s personal narrative. Sure, it offers complexities and scaffolding for other emotions, but it also keeps one closed, caged, and ultimately alone. I have long maintained that positive thinking leads to positive living. Manifest destiny, the power of persuasion, seeing that which I want to achieve – all of tenants have helped propel me forward, have helped keep me moving.  And because of this, I don’t let my grief come to the surface. I allow it to simmer like a pot of soup, low and slow, until it gets to be so hot that I just can’t stand to swallow it any longer. I worry that my approach to living full and round is ultimately going to fuck me in the end.

Hamman is wrong with this – it’s not better to keep grief inside. 

Returning to My Roots

Tuesday’s Truth

I was reminded recently that my journey should not be a solo one, that serving my community will do as much for me as for the world at large. This was a hard truth to swallow, since I live so frequently in my own mind, but it’s a truth that I needed to receive.

Honoring my roots and giving back to the same sorts of foundations which helped to shape me as a human, woman, and writer is something that has largely been lacking in my life. I don’t know when my focus because so narrow, or when I started running this solo race, but I realize that running life as relay instead of just on my own is probably much more beneficial. Not only will it provide a stepping point for further introspection (something I love to do) but it will also give me a chance to step out of what I think is important and begin examining life from another angle. Part of what makes me tick is discovering the nuances of human experience that might not be visible on the surface, and it seems volunteer work will be a great way to achieve this goal. So with that in mind, I reached out to a local organization in my old hood that offers tutoring to students who are trying to earn their GED.

It’s no secret that I am immensely proud of my educational pedigree. Granted, it is far from the norm and I don’t have diplomas from ivy covered schools, but that doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I think if I’d had a different sort of upbringing, I’m sure I could have earned admittance to Stanford or Harvard or some kind of school like that – but then I wouldn’t be so keen to see the beauty in non-traditional educational routes, and I doubt I would appreciate what I’ve earned as much as I do. Helping people study for the GED will likely be a difficult and trying process; I’m sure returning to Price Hill is bound to stir up a number of memories that I’ve likely repressed so far that I’ve forgotten the moments exist. But it’s something that I have to do, something I need to do … inasmuch because it’s the right thing to do as because I know by helping others, I will find a way to help myself. It's only be a few weeks but already I'm finding such comfort in taking some time from my day to help others. 

moored in want

Modi's Monday

moored in want

            after Le port de Cannes, Pierre Bonnard

make fast, shipping man

attach me seductive &

pull the mainsheet
pure white, rope me
delicate with four-flower
red knots tied securely
binding us fixed inside
life imagined when
we kink like sailboats,
rigged and anchored
swaying in the pier

Eclipsed

Sunday's Summary

... yea, yea, I know this is late! It's already Monday morning! But, I couldn't bring myself to write my post until after the amazing eclipse last night.

My wake up call comes super early - I'm up before dawn every day. In the back of my mind all day on Sunday I knew that the eclipse was going to happen, but I wasn't promising myself that I'd stay awake to see it ... this girl needs her sleep after all! With that in mind, I headed to sheets at my normal bedtime and decided that if by some chance I woke, then it was meant to be.

But let me back up a second. This past week was so interesting. Progress on the fitness front and the writing front, but more importantly, progress on the receiving-messages-from-the-Universe front. Take a look at this picture that Double U sent me from a quaint little town ...

Just earlier in the week, we were talking about my Shaman, and frequently Double U and I discuss many tenants of Buddhism and the path to leading a whole and happy life. That this image captured just about everything that is dear and precious to me in one single snap isn't coincidental. It can't be! The titles of the books displayed are so moving ... it is so easy to think poorly of myself, and to see the bad before I see the good. Nice reminder to see that "Life Loves You" titles just screaming out to me to be noticed.

I keep my phone (yes, it's back and fully functional!) on silent most of the time. It's just easier and frankly, hearing alerts is annoying. So last night, I received a message exactly NINE minutes before the peak of the eclipse was to occur. I have no idea how I woke, but I knew that once I did, it was time to head to my back stoop, Mala in hand. I stood in the grass in my night clothes, barefoot, clutching my Mala and praying to the moon. It was brilliant, needed, reviving and energizing ... the appropriate summation of a week that was challenging and trying on all front.

Jammin'

Saturday’s Song

As I mentioned yesterday, my phone has been on the wrong side of working this week, so I haven’t been able to jam out in Loretta to ANY tunes. I think I have a few cd’s somewhere, but finding them would involve thinking about when it was I last saw them, and then trying to dig them out of whatever memorabilia hovel they’ve been shoved in, and well … that’s a lot of work. Like Efed says, “Ain’t nobody got time for that.”

So instead, I’ve been listening to my local classical station, WGUC. When I tire of the introspection that classical music invariably provides me, I switch over to WAIF, another public radio station here in the Nati that plays an eclectic mix of just about everything. I never know if I’m going to get jazz, gospel, Mexican cantina, reggae … it’s a musical grab bag and it’s fantastic!

It’s so easy to get into these grooves with music, listening to the same styles over and over, every single day. It’s comfortable, right? I know the tunes, the artists, and the songs all evoke certain pulls on particular heart strings. Not having the fore-knowledge of knowing what’s going to be played next forces me to open up my ears (metaphorically, of course) and listen for whatever truth WAIF or WGUC might be trying to share. When one seeks to control every single particle in her life, it is easy for one to miss the signs and messages that often come unbidden from the Universe. 

Not having a working phone and access to my music has sucked this week, for sure. But it hasn’t been all that bad, since it’s put my mind into a new space, allowing me to explore and examine my world with new sounds in mind. 

ET Phone Home

Friday’s Feature

There’s a reason ET wanted a phone … he acknowledged what the rest of us (sometimes) pretend isn’t true. Phones keep us connected – they are the leashes and leads of modern life; it is through the bit of plastic and metal that we all carry around that we are all reminded we aren’t islands, but rather archipelagoes. (Is that the right way to make that word plural? It looks funky.)

The story goes that my first word was phone. Strange for a first word, maybe … but consider the source! In the basement of my childhood home, we had a green rotary phone that looked a bit like this. 

I used to play with the dial, starting with zero, swirling my finger over each digit. Sometimes I would just pick up the receiver and listen to the dial tone – it fascinated me that the phone could magically connect me with anyone! Anywhere! (I realize now I probably accidentally called China at some point. Oops.) 

Over the years, my reliance and dependence on telephones as a form of connection and communication has waxed and waned. There have been plenty of occasions when I’ve left my phone on Airplane Mode for days at a time because I didn’t want any distractions from anyone or anything. There have also been times when I’ve obsessively checked my phone over and over for messages, correspondence from someone near and dear, or for that rogue random special person who has a way of popping in and out of my life. No matter which way I approach it, I’m attached to my phone, even if I’m pointedly ignoring it.

Over the last two weeks, my phone has been on the fritz. I keep losing connectivity with whatever happens out in the ethos to keep me tethered to the rest of the world. As a result, my calls drop, my messages won’t send and I can’t ask the Oracle any of the random questions that pop into my mind. Even though I’m in one of those “tucking off from the world” modes right now, this phone business is driving me batty! I can’t listen to music, make notes about my workouts, log my food, read the news … in short, I’m finding it difficult to function at all. As such, I’ve had to make some changes to how I’m communicating with the world. Sitting in front of a screen isn’t ideal after I do it all day in Dental World, but that’s been what it takes this week. First world problems, all of these. I know. But damn if I don’t live a first world life. Huh. The revelation is startling and scary all at once. 

Metaphysical Musing

Thursday’s Thought

Exploring life by way of paradox and analogy is one of the tenants of Daoist thinking. It calls to mind the teachings of most Eastern philosophy, in that exploration of self through exploration of universal patterns. It is in Eastern thought that I find much comfort, inasmuch because I appreciate the notion that free will is fantastic as because the concept of wrathful and vengeful deities seem so strange. Double U likes to joke and tell me I’m really Asian at heart – maybe I am, since it seems more and more I’m finding peace with adapting to and adopting Eastern modes of thinking and living. Attempting to explore and understand the cosmogony of the world helps me find peace, and helps me to understand my place in the world.

Lately, I’ve been giving considerable thought to the wonderful teachings of Lau Tzu. His most famous work, Tao Te Ching, offers so much fodder for introspection and pause. As I gear up for graduation in November, and continue to prep for my show at the end of next month, I find myself returning to his words. “Those who gain a victory over others are strong; but those who gain a victory over themselves are all powerful.” Super deep words right there, and so incredibly true. It seems most of my days are spent learning how to gain victories over myself. I push and I push hard, so that I learn my limits, I find my personal boundaries, but also so that I can find new ways to exceed and succeed. In doing this, I stay humble and I keep hustling hard.

Carved and Solid

Wednesday’s Worry

I happened upon the word solus recently. An adjective, it’s generally used as a stage direction, and means that one is alone or unaccompanied. When I found this word, I thought immediately of the Bard and his famous words in As You Like It.

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players’ they have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms” (139-144)”.

Alone or unaccompanied, I move through my days. It’s been a little over eighteen months since I returned from my exile to the north. While I’ve made significant progress with all things writing and fitness, I’m still very much alone … of course I have fantastic siblings, girlfriends and my Anya. I’m grateful for these connections and I do all I can to continue to cultivate these relationships. But, I’m still as alone as I was driving down 71 that day in February 2014, Ghost driving the U-Haul and Buck following behind. 

I worry that I’ve become so accustomed to rising in a bed alone, returning to my Space alone, finding ways to fill my days and not think about my singleness that I will never be able to readily come back into the fold of a partnership. Truth is, I really want it – I want the connection that can be found when one’s heart sings for another, when every breath and every moment is lived under the grace and umbrella of someone’s love. This last year and a half has offered me great pause – I’ve learned, discovered, examined, and found new ways to approach my life and begin achieving my goals. Chmok and Anya have both maintained that I should focus on my work, that Love will find a way to my door when it’s time. I have to believe they are correct. But still, I worry I’m to live my days forever as a solus woman. 

Weighted Measures

Tuesday’s Truth

It’s been a while since I’ve written about anything food. I’ve largely been keeping quiet about this most pressing part of life because I think I covered it pretty extensively during my May posts. But, with my competition looming so soon on the horizon, I think it’s prudent to pause a moment and reflect.

In a few short weeks, I will be competing in a fitness competition that objectifies me to the most extreme. I’ll be standing on a stage with other women in my age range in a bikini while industry experts judge my body based on my musculature, symmetry and leanness. When I write it out like that it seems like the most ridiculous thing for a card-carrying feminist to want to do … but when I think about it in terms of my recovery and my progression from starving my body to learning, accepting and loving the fact that food is fuel, I find it offers me great strength. The truth is, if it weren’t for this competition, I don’t know that I would have been able to remain so steadfast in my recovery. Over the last few weeks, the pressures of graduation and figuring out next steps have been mounting like mad; my first inclination is to restrict, to illicit control over my food since I can’t control everything else in my world right now. I tried that a few weeks ago. And the results were disastrous. Not only was I so spent, I could barely put up the any weight, let alone what I already know my body is capable of pushing.

So. I have about six weeks to lean out in a controlled and measured way. I need to still work on posing and practice my stage walk; and in the meantime, I’ll keep eating to train instead of training to eat.

her desk, that eventual

her desk, that eventual

            after The Window, by Pierre Bonnard

keep her. carefully watch her

long fingers tap truths that

possess her like treasure,

gems shine with sunlight

open window view of

silhouette symphonic,

foot moves to melody,

mind whispers her Mala

unheard, she eyes far off

distant lives, (her

other life, that long-ago

left life, now forgotten)

Your wealth of truth dipped

perfect in sea-blue ink

she writes and waits for You.

Deliver

Saturday’s Song

Deliver – Lupe Fiasco

Earlier in the year, I wrote about Lupe’s album, Testuo and Youth. I listened to this record pretty much for an entire month once I discovered it because I kept finding new things to appreciate in each of the tracks. This week, I’ve been vacillating between moody blues and Lupe’s record all over again. Maybe it’s the change in weather, or it’s that I know winter is coming again, so I’m reaching for nostalgic triggers to get my mind ready for cold days and long nights. I’m not sure. Either way, this track has been in heavy rotation on my soundtrack.

The lyrics are so politically charged, it’s hard to find any fault with the track. One of the main reasons this track resonates with me so much is because I can understand the struggle. It reminds me of growing up in the hood. Maybe it’s the 2/4 time – I’ve long held the idea that there’s always a bit of music found somewhere in the hood … much more so than in ‘affluent’ neighborhoods that are generally so quiet. It’s like those folks don’t know how to make noise, or they’re scared to. Maybe the most poignant lyric is, “the ghetto was a physical manifestation/of hate in a place where ethnicity determines your placement/a place that defines your station” … this week I’ve been giving much thought to my ‘place’ and my ‘station’ and what I can keep doing to move forward. I guess this lyric reminds me that not only am I not the only one to want to supersede her boundaries, but with the right beat and rhythm, I can make it happen.

A Couple of Cuppa's

Friday’s Feature

I run and lift because I like the shot of endorphins that the actions give me. I’m also discovering that I’m something of an adrenaline junkie. There’s nothing like crushing a set of sumo deadlifts, my heart in my throat, feeling my pulse course through me. It’s addicting as all get out and generally calls to mind the same sort of feeling I get when I down my first cup of joe in the morning.

I know, this is a silly Friday Feature, but hear me out.

As a grad student, prepping for a show, and working full time, I rely on caffeine to get me going. I mean, I probably average five good hours of sleep a night, so I have to have something to get me going! And since I wake with the dawn, I can’t even rely on the outside light to trigger me awake. Enter in a good Italian Roast and my most treasured French Press. In the mornings, I stumble to my kitchen, typically half blind since I haven’t bothered to put on my glasses and see the exercise as one of training myself to be deft and graceful even when I can’t see. I slowly fill the super awesome electric kettle Efed gifted me, and count to ten. This way I don’t have to check the gauge to see if I have enough water. I set it to boil and pull out the coffee from the freezer. Because I have a serious dislike for all kinds of packaging, I store pretty much everything I buy in glass jars … and for whatever reason, I tend to store everything in my freezer or fridge. Not sure why, but hey … whatever. Anyway, the seal of the jar pops and I take a moment to inhale and savor the pure richness of the coffee. It is a decadent moment of my morning, and one in which I feel so thankful. I know there could be worse existences in this life than to wake at dawn, and I try to be aware of this fact. After the water has boiled and I’ve poured it into my press, I give it a quick stir and then leave it to set for five minutes or so. During that time, the grounds release their magic and when I return to the French press … voila! I have coffee. I tend to use the same rabbit mug every morning, and hearing the first drops of liquid echo inside the cup is like my “On” switch for the day.

Thank you, gods of caffeine!

Plan, Prepare, Expect

Thursday’s Thought

I demand a lot from myself. I expect perfection with the tasks that I set out to complete when I know that I have the proper tools available. Take high bar squats for example. I know the proper form, and have done enough of them that once the bar is resting across my back, my body goes into auto pilot and I’m able to move without thinking. It’s a comforting sort of feeling to know that I’ve trained myself well enough to know how to breathe properly, hinge at the hips and drive up once I’ve reached the proper depth. But squats are not like the rest of life. It’s a movement that relies largely on muscle memory, and that’s one of the main reasons it’s an automated process.

Other actions – like showing up for myself every day, and giving fully of myself – are harder to automate because they require consistent monitoring. There’s no way to set it and forget it if I’m trying to always improve! I’d be doing myself a great disservice if I simply set some goals, assigned myself a few tasks and then expected self-growth to just happen. Instead, I find a decided pleasure in setting these goals and then demanding that I make them happen. No one is going to push me to write, send submissions for publications or dig deep for that last set. All of these skills rely on inner fortitude, on the belief that what I am doing is what I’m doing because I’m pushing myself. 

At the gym and in my lab, I find my inner monologue consisting of these words, “One more. One more. One more.” Eventually, I finish whatever it is I’m doing, and even then, a quiet voice is telling me to do one more. Maybe this is what it means to show up every single day. Arnold said it best. “You were born to win. But to be a winner, you must plan to win, prepare to win and expect to win.”

Des Vu

Wednesday’s Word

Des Vu –

            The awareness that the moment one is experiencing will become a memory

            From the French, “seen as soon as” or “seen from this point forward”

This is another word from our pal Koenig. (See post 07 September).

Oh, isn’t this lovely? This word makes me smile and calls to mind so many moments that I knew, while experiencing them, would become treasured memories. This word calls to mind every poetic fiber in my being; it makes me want to languish in the idle events which have shaped and altered me as a human. It also makes me want to sit with a glass of grapes, overlooking some bit of water and write until all the words I need to say are on paper.

Being so aware of a moment, and knowing that it’s going to imprint into one’s consciousness reminds me of what happens with baby birds. Imprinting is a critical period of time early in an animal’s life when it is able to form attachments and develop a concept of identity. This is usually done through mimicry and internalization of the actions of another animal, most often one who is in a caregiving role. Imprints give rise to the possibility that memories will shape us, long after the moment has past.  

Reflections

Tuesday’s Truth

In my lab, my desk faces a window that Anya gifted me at the start of my MFA. It’s been hanging on the same wall since I moved into my space, (which is rare for me, as every season seems to find a new reconfiguration of my furniture!) and over the last almost two years, it has served as a reminder of various things.

Namely, I’ve used it as a source of positive reflection. Haha, I know – a window giving me a reflection. It doesn’t actually reflect me in the flesh as it does what I want from this life and this world. Because of the glass panes, I’m able to use it as a sort of dry erase board. Over the months, I’ve had quotes from my pal Ari, some fitness-themed words of inspiration and a litany of other uplifting phrases. When I felt it was time for a change, I called on the Oracle (known as Google to the rest of the world) to offer me some words that might give me pause. It was an effective way to keep my mind fresh and to continue thinking about what it is that will help me going. It’s been a fine system, and has helped encourage results.

For the entire summer, the lower right pane has held this question – “What do you want most?” No one famous said it (or maybe someone did, I don’t know) nor did I read it in a book. Maybe I heard it somewhere along the way; I’m not sure. The point is this: after a long meditation one afternoon, this question came to me unbidden. I was sitting in the lab, reflecting on all the things I want to do, considering ways that I might help advance the dreams of myself and others, and was feeling like I was pulled in a million different directions. I’d just preformed a powerful Kundalini kriya and was very much open and attuned to the Universe. And boom! Here comes this question.

On the surface, it’s something that most folks would likely be able to answer quickly. Sure, on a micro level, that’s pretty easy for people to do. Shelter, happiness, love, food all come to mind. But the real work, the true work, comes when one steps back from the micro needs of the self and begins to examine the macro needs of a whole. So what is that I want most? Summer is drawing to a close and I don’t think I’m any closer to discovering what I want. But I know that the question has offered me the kind of clarity that I so lovingly seek.

Wu Sah. 

there, listening

there, listening

            after Le Café du Petit Poucet, by Pierre Bonnard

“I haven’t lived with that long enough to paint it.” – PB

lean (against me arching) phantom man

listen (closely for) in-between secrets

eyes tell (when you Exist) scratching

Wednesday’s stubble (just so) i

scribble the seam of coffee sips and

aromatic thought across this, Our

page (if bounded by vow) we are

seaside, (the Bay or) in Turkey, ports harbor

(pleasing) dreams docking, resident to

customs (poised for) connection to

review (the coast) like distaste for

all things vanilla, collar my

colors to You (in blue and magenta)

kowtowing low in adoration

Firm Grips and Early Wake Ups

Sunday’s Summary

I rose early this morning, as much because I feel like there are a million things to accomplish in this finite Sunday, but also because I discovered this weekend that I prefer to work while the world is at rest. Yesterday afternoon, I came into the lab to work on some edits. The neighbors next door were outside with their dog making all sorts of normal sounds. My upstairs neighbors were outside as well. The cackle of conversation was too much for me! I couldn’t concentrate, so I resorted to glutinously reading. It was a great way to spend my time, sure. But I could have really benefited from … well, working. Ha! Writers don’t work, I should know this by now. We wait until we have a deadline and then we get to work. So with everything else, I figured a way to improvise. I woke super early this morning and brewed a strong pot of coffee. And here I am, not even seven and I have already managed to do quite a bit!

The past seven days were interesting, to be sure. I saw a major shift in my mental state and I found peace in returning to quiet contemplation. I’ve reached out to volunteer organizations, and I’ve made serious progress with my fitness. Edits are moving along at a wonderful pace and I’ve even discovered that writing in public is not only a thing, but it’s possible. I think I’ve mentioned that every month, I write out my goals and tasks for what I want to accomplish. Yesterday, while I wasn’t writing, I took a look at the list. September isn’t quite half finished, and I’ve already managed to do more than half of the things on my list! Huzzah for progress.

Most importantly, the last seven days showed me that there is certainly something to be said for being tenacious without the need for maintaining a narrow world view. I am learning to keep a firm grip on the goals I’ve set for myself, all the while learning that clinging to my principles doesn’t make me weak. 

Sharks and Dolphins

Saturday’s Song

                                                                                                               

I’m changing it up a bit this week, since my weeks don’t end on Saturdays! It makes more sense to give a summary tomorrow, when I can review what’s happened these last seven days, and then look forward to what I want to accomplish in the next seven.

Measured progress, right? It’s the only way! I realize that I’ve been lacking on my posts about music … even though music offers the pattern to my life. I’ve discovered recently at Beat that if I’m not listening to my tunes, my workouts suffer. That’s not to say that the music Beat plays is bad – it’s not, Rage and Tool and the like are all fantastic examples of music that helps to get a lot of people pumped, but it just doesn’t want to do it for me.

So. This week, I’ve been vacillating between these two songs – Raw by Futuristic and featuring Samson, and Hold On by Mark Battles, featuring Dizzy Wright. Both of these songs are in minor chords, a little sad, but mainly call to mind a period of nostalgic longing, and if these last nine months of writing have taught me anything, it’s that I love (and live) to pine.

Hold On starts, “I know … things aint the way that they used to be/ and I know the weight of the world makes it hard to breathe/ you gotta hold on …” Whoa, right. On the precipice of autumn, and all the introspection that the season of pumpkin brings, this song hits me right. It takes me to countless memories, most all decades old, dusty from not remembering them often enough. It brings me the sort of space that reminds me how far I’ve come and how far I’ve yet to go. “Too strong to weep, so I fall asleep and dream of success  … Dear Lord, I’m hope I’m ready for the things you got in store.” Not only does this track give encourage me to keep moving, but it helps me remember that my struggle is not just mine. We all go through these kinds of days. Might not be the kind of bars that everyone wants to listen to when lifting weights, but it puts me where I need to be. 

Silent Symphony

Friday’s Feature

Silence is golden. So goes that old adage. I have often wondered what this phrase really means. I remember as a young adult hearing an older colleague remark that sometimes on her drive home, she would turn off the radio and just drive in the quiet space of her mind. As a twenty-something, I thought the idea was ridiculous. Driving without music and living without sound seemed so foreign, an alien concept that was of little interest to me. Even now, it’s rare that I don’t put on Spotify for my commute, or don’t have something playing in the background when I’m in my space.

That said, I’m learning to appreciate silence for what it offers. I spend so much of my day being bombarded by different sounds – requests and wishes from those around me, shitty pop music in Dental World, the songs I listen to at the gym … all music that sets the tone for my life. And it all has purpose, to be sure.

So when I decide to seek out silence, it becomes decadent, a luxury that I don’t often afford myself. And it is divine. Today I’ve spent most of my day in silence – I’ve refrained from music except at the gym and while I was writing, and have been largely quiet on all things socially related. The result has offered me a sort of golden mind space that has allowed my thoughts to drift and move fluidly between waking dreams and hibernating wishes. I don’t know that I could give up music or sound all together for a long stretch at a time, but every now and again, it’s nice to just turn it all off and really listen. I’ve found that today I’ve heard so many things I might ordinarily take for granted. Cicadas, mainly, but also the sound of rain drops on leaves set to fall, a runner’s pounding footsteps, air conditioners humming to life, helicopters flying overhead, the jangle of the collar of the dog who lives upstairs. These are all sounds that generally blend into the background when I’m too busy to pay attention to them. This afternoon, because they’ve been the only symphony I’ve heard, I’ve derived a decided sort of peace in hearing them. I hope that this exercise helps me to start to listen more actively. Who knows what I songs I might learn along the way. 

Ruminate and Absorb

Thursday’s Thought

It’s easy to want to give up at times, to hit the snooze on the obligations and demands of the day-to-day and binge watch Netflix instead. Though it’s not a practice that I engage in frequently, sometimes I realize that I am in fact human and need a bit of a reset. That’s not to say my motivation or intent wane; rather, I realize that taking a decadent afternoon nap, or simply sitting and being still for a few moments will not only improve my overall outlook, but will help me pause and reflect.

Though my meditation practices have come into and out of my life with irregularity over the last year or so, I’ve made a decided effort to spend more time in reflection. Since the beginning of August, I’ve been trying to carve out a few moments each day where I can sit in silence and allow my mind to find that glorious middle ground, where personal goals and desires are displaced by altruistic intent. Not only does this allow me an often much needed reset, but it also calls to mind all of the beauty and grace that can be found in this world if one is willing to look. As I’ve returned to quiet thinking, I have been reminded that the most critical decisions in life are often made when one feels like giving up. It is in these moments that inner strength is truly discovered, that I can find my resolve nestled right next to my drive and my determination. 

I realize in these moments that it’s okay for me to live my life constantly hungry – to want to move ahead, go further, achieve, and conquer. I just need to go about it the right way. 

Nodus Tollens

Wednesday’s Word

Nodus Tollens –

            When one’s life doesn’t fit into one’s life story

So this is a completely made up word given life by a guy called John Koenig, who aims to fill a hole in the English language, and to give rise to emotions that we all have but that we don’t yet have words to describe. I love this phrase because ... it's so damn true! apt! viable in the real world! and it's about time there's word to describe this sort of feeling. Because I’m such the planner, I’m always considering my next steps, determining if my actions will help me achieve the over-arching goal of self-preservation, satisfaction and realization of my dreams.

Koenig’s definition goes on to define nodus tollens, “… there are times when you look up and realize that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore … either everything seems important or nothing does …” How apropos for a writer to find this word. There’s truth here, and power too. 
The novel that I've been writing this year has taken off on it's own more than once, and the plot lines I thought I'd been tapping have turned out to be completely contrary to what my characters want to do. Fellow writers, I know you know what I mean! Instead of fighting against my protagonist, I've let her run wild and free, knowing that whatever I'm writing can be edited and polished to make perfect, or trashed with the hopes to start again. It's easy to find solace in this because I'm writing characters. Sure, I'm giving them life, but they exist on the page, not in the waking realm of the Nati.
It's much harder when I discover that the plot lines I'm crafting for my life don't match up to my plans. At the turn of every month, I sit down and write out my goals for the month. I group them into categories so that I see where and how I should be directing attention to various parts of my life, and then I tack it to the wall in my bathroom right next to my mirror. That way every morning when the sun hasn't risen and I'm prepping for Dental World, I can look at it and try to find decisive ways to make ... something happen that will follow my plot lines. Then, at the end of the month, I review the list and see what I've managed to do. Often, I hit some marks but not all. When I first started this practice, I was somewhat discouraged that I couldn't do everything every month. It irked me. And then I realized that even if I'm not aware of it, it's all part of the plan. Boom. 

Deadlines and Decisions

Tuesday’s Truth

So I’m getting ready to submit my second to last assignment for graduate school. I’ll still have plenty to do once Residency arrives in November, but the major work – writing my critical thesis, creative thesis and my lecture – are all almost done. Holy shit, this scares me like no other! I’ve become so comfortable with the rhythm and routine of being a student, being in school, and knowing that come every six months, I’ll be returning to the lovely haven of writers. Descending to Louisville twice a year to see my friends and learn my craft has largely been the treat of these last two years, and without it, I’m not sure what to do.

The truth is, I love being a student as much as I love to learn. The process – writing out my planner, checking off assignments, knowing that I am beholden to someone for something else is how I excel, achieve, and shine. It’s what keeps me moving. That the Spalding community has fostered and developed such a brilliant and loving arena for writers is part of our program, and it’s one of the driving forces in my selection of it. What I didn’t expect was to develop amazing friendships with fantastic folks – I’m looking at you Premo and Lady A (not to mention all the other lovelies I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know – who have helped shape me as a human, a woman, and a writer.

Whatever the next step will be for me, I know I’m stronger and better for having gone through this program. 

white towel

white towel

            after Marthe Dressing, by Pierre Bonnard

in early morning after

ablutions and harmony

sun crests over peninsula, we

surround with water the

ceremony of sacred motions

cast with consideration, her body

throws light like love gives sound

musings and wanders have

led her to this tub with

porcelain feet and fogged mirror

he approaches from behind

silently watching Queen in ritual

kisses the top of her crowned head

refining the unyielding elements, his

process to shine the tarnish from her

necklace and make accurate her

most intimate moments.

Stories are like ...

Sunday's Snippet

... Stories are a lot like life. They take work - time, commitment and a keen eye on the end goal. It's tough to keep up a creative endeavor when there are a million other things going on in life.

Ry has been super busy with his duties helping the free world stay such. Our story of Kim et al is on a hiatus right now. I know, super sad. It's been a lot of fun to write it, and even more so to embark on this kind of creative process with someone! A first for me, to be sure.

I am going to return next week with a new short, something that will be engaging and dynamic, and will hopefully have some merit. It's no fun to make promises and not be able to keep up with them, but I think it's better to own that than to post up bullshit that has no real standing.

So with that, I will bid a temporary adieu to Kim and her cows. She'll be back, soon enough.

A Noun of Action

Saturday's Summary

This week I was reminded of Maya Angelou's famous words, "Expect nothing so you are never disappointed and sometimes, pleasantly surprised." Anya reminded me of this after I spent some time lamenting my woes. 
Expectations are a funny sort, aren't they? The word is a noun of action, which always reminds me that it is something to be done, not something to be accomplished. That said, it's so easy to look at life through the lens and approach of supposition, intending that one thing or another is set to occur. In reality, an expectation does nothing for the thinker except offer pause, a moment to consider that an eventual might or might not occur. It does not decide an action, offer a solution, or even give a reason for something. It simply is conjecture, supposition and assumption all rolled into one.
In light of Anya's words of wisdom, this week has been something of an interesting sort. I've taken a step back from expecting that things will or won't happen and I've turned instead to looking for ways to serve my community, my world, my peers, and myself. The changes have been dramatic, though they are still new. 
Already, I'm seeing these days for what they are and not for what they might be. This is a huge change for the woman who always wants to see more, do more, be more. Understanding that every day isn't always about living for tomorrow, and instead appreciating the moment is a novel and unique perspective for me to take. I'm finding that I rather like it, even if it is still so foreign to me. I doubt I'll ever step off from the edge and stop wanting, but at least I'm learning to want in a different sort of way. 
"There are two ways to be happy. Improve your reality or lower your expectations." J. Picoult 

Wahe Guru

Friday's Feature

Her spirit and light with assuage even the most melancholy, scattered or broken minds.

Long before I became a client at L Yoga Flow, I knew the studio was there. I was training for my first half marathon, and my ten mile runs took me right past it. I always wondered about the “L” in the name, wondered if it was just another pretentious yoga studio full of women who look like yogis, but don’t embody the spirit of kindness and gratitude.

One Tuesday morning, a Groupon popped into my inbox. Among other discounts around the Gahanna area was an offer from L Yoga Flow. Ten classes for the price of five, or something like that. Figuring it was a sign from the Universe, I decided to buy it and resolved to attend my first class that following Saturday morning.

No stranger to yoga, I decided to attend Natalie’s Refresh class, thinking I could surely keep up with the pace. I arrived early, as is my custom, and nestled in, expecting to feel edgy and uncomfortable, out of place in my Target yoga gear, ostracized for not wearing that other yoga brand that starts with an L ... Natalie ended her class and came out to greet me. Her smile struck me first. It was genuine, sincere, and not at all what I was expecting. She didn’t just look at me, she looked into me, and it was in that moment that I knew I’d found my forever yoga home. Turns out, I couldn't keep up with the class - hello chaturanga. But that didn't stop me from returning, day after day.

Over the course of the rest of the time I spent in Columbus, I was a regular at Natalie’s studio. I watched as she tirelessly worked to transform it into a beacon of light, a place of comfort and love, one that welcomes and embraces all yogis in all forms, no matter where one might be in his/her personal practice. During this time, I also began to rely on Natalie for support and emotional guidance. She brought to light things I could not see, offered me suggestions on what I might do, and how I might heal. It was through her that I learned what it truly means to serve. Her spiritual journey and my own are congruent in some ways and vastly different in others. What has made her one of the most brilliant teachers in my life is her unfailing support, her tenacious dedication to promoting the message of love and truth, and by living it. Every single day. While I know there were likely days that were less than sunny for her, I never once have seen the light go out of her eyes. She remains committed and dedicated to her path, her vision, and her voice.

Though I’m no longer in the region, I still consider Natalie and the great folks at L Yoga Flow to be my yoga home. It was in those walls I fell in love with Kundalini, learned the mantras and chants that have helped me visualize and actualize the life I am currently leading. Sat Nam, sweet dear Natalie. The teacher in me honors the teacher in You. 

Chewed Well

Thursday's Thought

I did something today that I rarely do – I took a rest day from the gym. It’s been a month or so since I’ve been on seven days a week, with some two-a-days peppered in for good measure. My show is at the end of October, and while this one missed sweat is likely to put me back a little bit, I know two things. One, I am a tenacious sort of woman and I can (and will) make it up (tomorrow, haha) and two – if I keep pushing myself at this rate, I’m not going to be able to perform. In Dental World today, I was dragging ass. Poor sleep, the start of sty under my left eye and my stomach feeling like a volcano prepping to erupt all told me that if I pushed, which is generally my style, I’d regret it later on. A few times during my work day, I fought down nausea. So, after I left the office early, I called Coach to let him know I was pukey and not feeling well, I came home and immediately hit the sheets. I slept for about ninety minutes, which was lovely, needed, refreshing and all together decadent. There are far too few days when I simply do nothing except … be.

After I woke, I made some tea and just sat on the sofa. No tunes, no Spanish lesson playing, no anything. Just a girl and her thoughts. Looking around my space, I realized how much every single piece I have in here reminds me of someone, something, or some moment in time. it comforted me immensely to know that even when those I hold near and dear aren’t present in my day-to-day, there’s still with me when I’m in my space. Maybe my feelings of being worn down have been as much physical as mental. I realize even for all of my aspirations, I need to take time to chill out for even a few hours, to settle in to myself and realize it’s okay to not be going a million miles a minute. Finally breaking my fast for the day with some carrots, it occurred to me that life is very much like eating a carrot. If it’s not chewed properly, it can’t be digested. Talk about culinary inspiration!

Pensive, not Peevish

Wednesday’s Worry

I worry I am becoming a bitter bitch.

No seriously.

It’s one of the major things that keeps me up nights. In my most secret thoughts, it unnerves me to consider that past experiences might have left me still angry, hurt, or harboring resentment. I try to live a life full of gratitude – really, I do. I make sure to give thanks and see the beauty in these days. I stop for reflection and consider how my actions will be received and perceived by others. But even my most valiant efforts give me pause. When I’m feeling super hard on myself, it’s easy to list the reasons why I suck. And when I start listing those reasons, then I start to worry. It’s a revolving sort of bullshit race that my mind plays and it’s taxing after a while.

There have been countless moments in this life that have offered me a chance to just say fuck it and throw in the towel, but for whatever reasons, I’ve always managed to stand back up before the bell rings for the round to be over. Tenacity and fortitude are qualities that have long been engrained in my  very being, and folks who know me know I don’t quit – or stop – until I get what I want. These are admirable traits to be sure, but they also can harden a soul. This might be one of my biggest worries, that which causes me anxiety, unease, and uncertainty. While this might be an imagined fear, it is still something that makes my stomach bubble with questions … replace the word bitter with anger, hurt, or resentment and then it really seems like I am bitter.

But I can’t be! At least not yet, right? I want to live in light. I want to shine, to offer the world a bit of joy, to give rise to my voice and find a place. I guess I could maintain a resting bitch face and fall to bitterness. It would probably be easier than constantly propping myself up … but then, what’s the fun in that? 

Too Much/Not Enough

Tuesday’s Truth

When I was a little girl, my mom used to tell us a story about an old Jewish man who lived in a small house. He knew his house was small, but he preferred it that way because it was less to maintain. Occasionally, he dreamed of expanding his cottage, but then would always come up with a reason not to move forward with his ideas. Instead, he was fine and well to live out his days alone, tending to his garden and animals. Sometimes he missed company, but he never let it bother him too much. One day, a few visitors unexpectedly stopped by to stay hello. Happy to see them, the man invited his guests to stay the night. One night turned into many, and his guests made themselves comfortable in the man’s home. The man was thankful for the change in his routine, so he didn’t say anything as the days turned to weeks.

Emboldened, his guests in turn invited more folks to stop by and stay a while. Before he knew what happened, the man’s small and humble home was filled to the brim with people. Grateful for the company, but feeling the tightness of the quarters, the man tried to find the joy in the visitors. It was a tough challenge. Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, his visitors decided it was time to leave. Once everyone had gone, the man walked around his home. Suddenly it felt vast, open, and spacious. Rooms that teemed with people were poetically silent; after weeks of furious activities, the man finally found space to breathe and to be. He brewed a cup of tea and sat in his kitchen, appreciating the silence but missing his guests.

I was reminded of this story this morning while chatting with Ghost. He was expanding on all of the things he’s juggling right now – wedding plans, his MBA, kiddos and their sports and schooling, not to mention trying to find time for his boys and maintaining those friendships. I countered with a similar synopsis of my own life, and then I paused. Mom’s story came into my mind immediately. “Do you remember that story mom used to tell,” I asked Ghost. I didn’t need to say anything else – he knew exactly the one.

Sometimes it feels like there’s too much to do. Too much to handle, and not enough hours in the day. Or if there are enough hours, there’s not enough energy. The story that my mom used to tell is a fitting reminder that there will always be these moments of too much/not enough. Life can be spacious and lonely all at once, and the important truth to recognize is the way to balance it.