reaching

Modi's Monday

reaching

            after The Big Trees, Paul Cezanne

free to master lassoing her

his orbited power an influence

even when the winter wind spreads

farther than she can run, alone

her forest of emotion felling like

logs set to be made into

tables for lovers and replanted with

saplings of prospects, together their

limbs affixed with connection,

rivets of remembering

sitting by that Ohio River in summer

when they were new and the world was fresh. 

Airport Musings

Sunday’s Summary 

Writing Sunday’s Summary from a plane is a strange sort of occurrence … not something that happens often, but something I’d like to encourage to happen for more frequently.

Whew! What a week. Still hungover on words from Residency, I don’t know that I was really functioning properly on Monday and Tuesday. When I woke up Wednesday morning and realized I was leaving for Germany, my mind sort of went into overdrive. For the first time in a long time, I hadn’t planned out exactly what I was going to pack, to take, or what my expectations for the trip were going to be … I knew I had a certain number of tasks to complete before I left for the airport, and that a few of those included preparations for my trip.

So I had to run to Meijer for some last minute purchases for Efed … and I had a slight moment of o snap, I’m so not ready to leave the country. I was sitting in my driveway letting Loretta warm up, reviewing all of the things I needed to accomplish in the next two hours. After I’d had a mini-meltdown, I realized that stressing about the items on my to-do list wasn’t going to do shit except make me more anxious. So I did what any reasonable person in my situation would do – I cranked the tunes, and opened all the windows, and drove to the market aiming to find a renewed sense of purpose.

Okay, maybe I didn’t discover my life path at Meijer in Hyde Park, but I did realize that situations are based on expectations. Instead of walking into the store frazzled, I made a point to smile (like real smile with teeth and all) to everyone I saw. I stopped and chatted with the Starbucks girl about holiday stuff and her kids (I’ve never met her in my life, but it seemed like she wanted to tell me a story, so I obliged). I said Good Morning to the store clerks.

All of that effort probably took an extra five seconds on my part, did nothing to delay the master schedule of the day, and everything to set the tone for my trip to Deutchland. I could have been salty and stressed about not being prepared, because I could have done that Meijer trip earlier in the week, but I didn’t, so there was no sense in sweating it.

Maybe this lesson is all part of the ever changing fabric of my approach on life … instead of trying intensely to control every single thing in my life, I am shown repeatedly that it makes more sense to be flexible, smiling, and inviting.

#spaldinglove

Sweet Saturday

So right before I left for my #transatlanticthanksgiving, I started a group on Facebook comprised of my Spalding family. Wait, let me back up.

Residency is always such an amazing experience in part because I’m surrounded by like-minded folk who are so kind, so genuine and so incredibly present. The beauty of a low residency graduate program is that for two weeks twice a year, all of us are able to leave behind the pressures and responsibilities of our non-writing lives and come together to discuss craft, theory, practical application of writerly skills, and to vibe with one another. But our schedules are always intense, and it always feels like there are a million conversations started that are left unfinished. Snippets between lectures, in elevators and hallways never seem to find a way to circle back into the zeitgeist of conversation. And while I’m always excited to have these sorts of talks, they always leave me feeling like they’re incomplete. As I attended my last residency, I was rolling this idea around in my head, trying to find a way to ensure that didn’t happen. Sure, we’re all connected on Facebook, and some of us on Instagram, but the realness of the conversations we have at res never seem to translate to the digital realm. Or at least, they don’t for me. Of course, I try to keep up with everyone but it always feels like there’s something missing.

So last week when I returned home from res, I had a pile of bills waiting for me (expected) and I also had a wonderfully sweet postcard from Premo. I’ve written often about my love of mail, particularly of postcards, and so it was incredibly thoughtful of Premo to send a postcard to me while we were both in Louisville. That small act got me thinking. Reading the card and knowing that Premo took a few minutes out of his already busy day to scratch out some words to me brought me back to thinking about how to continue the kinds of conversations I, and my fellow Spalding students, have grown to expect and to love.

I turned the postcard over in my hand a few times and then did what I always do with new fun mail – I proudly affixed it to my fridge. Then I went about unpacking my life from the last two weeks and sort of forgot about the idea I had in wanting to continue the Spalding conversations.

I know I can’t be alone in loving mail. I also know that along with my writing friends, I really enjoy the way it feels to scratch out something onto a piece of paper. I spend so much time in front of screens, and if I’m being really honest, I rarely handwrite anything at all. So. I woke for Dental World one day last week at the ungodly hour of before dawn, and thought about that postcard Premo sent. It occurred to me that it would be so easy to find a group of like minded writer folk who love mail. So I started a group on Facebook with my Spalding family with the intent of sending postcards to one another. It’s simple really – a group of almost one hundred of us (current students and alums) have exchanged real life mailing addresses, and have all committed to sending a line or two here or there, just something to keep the inspiration going, to serve as a reminder of why we do what we do, or just to say hello. My thought is that these sorts of occasional moments of sweetness that we’ll find in our mailboxes will do much more than keep the Muse speaking to us. Maybe this sort of non-digital communication will help us all remember that we’re humans first, and not just personas that are always behind screens. I’m hoping that the zeal and interest in this project won’t wane after the initial excitement, and that it’ll end up being another part of the fabric of what it means to be a part of the Spalding family. Truthfully, I was quite surprised by how many people were so interested in the idea, and the stack of twenty vintage postcards I’d brought with me to write out were so quickly out of my hands and into the mailbox that now I’ve realized I need to re-up my supply. I’m not complaining though. If it helps create community, if it helps to foster the creative spirit that lives so readily and easily while we’re all in Louisville, then it’s totally worth the ten bucks or whatever I end up spending monthly on sending out little notes. There’s something to be said for the beauty of Spalding’s program. It really is one of a kind.

#plyofitness

Friday’s Fitness

Between Residency in Louisville and my #transatlanticthanksgiving keeping with my gym schedule the last two weeks has been a challenge. At res, I fought a cold pretty much the whole time so my Coach clipped my sweats … pretty much the whole time. It was frustrating to not get in the usual two hours to which I’ve become accustomed as much because exercise and fitness are a part of my core being as being there’s little as relaxing for me as a serious sweat! But the tapering off has been a good practice in remembering that I don’t always need weights to exercise, and that sweating while traveling is not only totally possible, but also really effective!

On Monday, Coach designed this crazy ass every minute on the minute sweat for me. It ended up being fifty minutes of work, and by the time I was finished, I’d done 200 squats, 200 Russian kettlebell swings, 150 burpees, 150 pushups and 300 rows. For the record, at minute 30, I was sure of a few things – 1, I was going to die and 2, my Coach gives me too much credit for thinking I could do it and 3, there might be something wrong with his brain. Ha, I’m kidding (only about the third part). I made it through and all five rounds and holy whoa, it was pretty hard. But it brought to mind the kinds of sweats Voyin and I used to do, and so I’ve kept that in mind while considering how to keep up with my fitness while I’m overseas. Today, I’ll be replicating Coach’s workout to some extent. I don’t have a gira with me, but I am going to do an every minute on the minute sweat with squats, pushups, and the like.

Fitness doesn’t always have to be about deadlifts and bench press. Sometimes getting back to the basics, reverting to good old body-weight sweats is a great reminder that there’s more to life than just lifting. I’ve spent the better part of this year being so focused on my lift numbers that I’ve forgotten, in part, not only how much I love working out, but that it can be fun! Of course I say that now in the comfort of this cushy airplane seat. Ask me again tomorrow how the sweat went and I might have something different to say. That’s unlikely though – somehow my Coach always seems to know when and how to rekindle the kind of fire I need to get me back to where I should be.

Chmok and Pebbles, Back at it Again

Thursday’s Thought

Well I’m on a plane. And there are no snakes. Ha. Terrible joke, I know. My time is all wonky … my body feels like it’s midnight, but the flight attendant just served me coffee and wished me a good morning in German, so I really don’t know what’s going on.

I’m about an hour outside of landing in Germany to spend the holiday with Efed. I’m beyond pumped to spend time with her, and even more excited that we to see each other on Thanksgiving. I don’t remember the last time this happened.

I know that I might be missing a serious opportunity, what with it being Thursday and all to write about the folks and things for which I’m grateful … but I feel like that’s so overplayed, trite, and there are likely going to be a million blog posts throughout the country about that very thing. Besides, early this year, I devoted an entire month to gratitude and I think I do a reasonable job of writing about being thankful and aware of my blessings pretty frequently.

Instead, I’d like to write about this trip.

For the next few days, I’ll be logging posts from the Fatherland while Efed and I explore Christmas markets, a questionable hip-hop club, various museums and little shops, and the area surrounding her flat. Even more than the geographical exploration, we’re going to explore what it means to be adult friends and adult siblings.

My older sister and I have spent our fair share of time fighting. There have been epic battles in a few different cities in the world, and while they’ve been gruesome and sometimes bloody, they’ve always helped us grow closer. On the way to Stonehenge one year, Efed and I made a vow to stop coming at one another sideways … and now, three years later, I am happy to report that we’re doing a pretty good job. There are still moments that I want little more than to wring her neck – either because she’s saying something too real and I can’t process, or because she’s being an older sister and I can’t process. Point is, each time we come together, we find a way to see one another in a new light, to appreciate our quirks in a different way, and ultimately to learn to love each other a bit more. She might still roll her suitcase down the street one day, and I might eat Grippos while I’m tired, but we’ll do those things from a different place.

Socha

Wednesday’s Word

Socha –

            The hidden vulnerability of others

            From the Czech, statue

Another fantastic word from our pal Koenig.

It’s so easy to judge oneself, to look critically at all of the reasons why we’re awesome and why we’re not. It’s much harder to recognize that these traits exist in other people as well. Often, I can readily and easily find fault with myself for a litany of reasons. When I realize that these same issues exist in those I hold near and dear, my mind sets to a tizzy. Fronting on fronting is something I do frequently. If I apply enough lipstick over and over, listen to CRE Cru's new track loud enough and look like I don't give a fuck, maybe I really wont. Too bad that never works. I am a woman of emotion, even if I keep it buried deep, and don't show it often. I'm just like everyone else - scared to show I'm vulnerable, that there are squishy places inside of me that keep me scared, up at nights wondering if the choices I'm making are the right ones - or the wrong ones. 
I look to my flock of friends and see success. Happiness. Respectable folk with capital careers who appear that they're happy. That there's nothing that keeps them up at night. That they're stronger than me. It's easy to presume they have it all figured out ... I'm judging them from a distance. Just like when I’m out driving and the middle of the road seems like one small point far off on the horizon, sometimes it’s easy to see others as being just perfect. I realize that’s not the case but it’s hard to remind myself of this on occasion. Maybe this is one of the reasons why it’s easy for me to keep my distance from people – if I don’t get close enough to anyone, then perhaps they will view me as I view them. Shit logic, to be sure, but my logic all the same. 
Residency always reminds me that it's okay to be vulnerable, open, and welcoming. That the world really isn't full of shit humans (well, not all of them) and that there are just as many fantastic ones out there. Closing myself off, keeping resting bitch face on all the time, and not being receptive to the joys that life has to offer doesn't do shit for me. It just makes me a girl with a bitchy face. I think I'd rather be open. It's scarier, sure. But it's honest. 

Growing a Friendship

Tuesday Truth

I missed my Sunday Summary a few days, hungover as I was on words from Residency. It's going to take a few days to process all of the awesomeness that ensued, but suffice it to say that I came out of it more complete and fulfilled than I have been in ages.

Adult friendships are hard to facilitate and even harder to maintain. My time at Residency reminded me just how important and vital these connections can be. I'm eternally grateful that Premo made the trip from Florida to be a post-grad assistant and that we finally got a run in together! (Even though it was on the treadmill, haha!) He and I shared good conversations ranging from rhetoric and theory to laughing at silly shenanigans. Though we keep up over email and text, seeing him in the flesh did me good.

Of equal merit was the time I got to spend with my Annie. It's rare that a person comes along in a life that so inherently gets me. Annie does just that. When we were introduced last May by the illustrious Roy Hoffman, I saw in Annie everything I see in myself, and I knew we were kin. As with Premo, Annie and I have managed to keep up with one another in between residencies.

I knew I was excited to see these two folks, but I didn't realize just what their presence in my life means until I got back to Regent and started thinking about residency. Both of these individuals are beasts in their own rights, and both are stand-up humans. That I can call them friends is pretty fantastic. I hope that I offer them even a small fraction of the light they bring to me.

#spaldinglove #spaldingmfa #annierocks #primopremo

mahogany table

Modi's Monday

mahogany table

        after Flowers, Paul Cezanne

heirloom bureau, fake and paneled

tucked between AC window uint and

pretend bay window gives a show, every Sunday

console of concern, his affection

stands seminole between blank and

mahogany, rich chocolate color aching for

spilled dressings and droplets of

good French wine, in summer

they will die but he brings flowers

anyway blossoms of white and blue

florist paper crinkles in hand as

Gettin' Hooded

Sweet Saturday

Want to know a secret? I’ve never walked at a graduation. Ever.

I have a GED, so that high school event was out. I skipped my undergrad conferral because it didn’t feel like I’d accomplished much. And here I am on the precipice of completing my Master’s degree and guess what? I have to walk. I made a promise to Premo last year that I would walk, even though I don’t see the point. Sure, it’s cool that I’ve made it through this part of life, but I still don’t feel like I’ve done much. Is that weird?

I’m an over-achiever. I like setting my sights so high that I get scared at the thought of completing my goal. In 2013, when I decided a Master’s in Fiction was the next step for me, I remember sitting in my northern lab thinking, “Holy fuck, what am I getting myself into?” and “How am I ever going to do this?” because the mere thought of an advanced degree bristled me.

I guess in some ways, it still bristles me. Maybe that’s why I don’t want to walk. I almost feel like I’m not worthy of the Master’s hood. Truth is, this entire degree has been a lot of fun. Shhh! Am I supposed to think that? It really has been a great exploration into learning about my process and craft as a writer, and it’s given me great insight into how I manage multiple pressing expectations. Admittedly, I know I haven’t given my family and friends enough of my time, but it’s because I’ve been so focused, so narrow minded on producing my best work. Two years has birthed a chapbook, a novel, two short story collections, this blog, and a number of publications. Seems like a lot when I tap it out, but is it really? Mozart was writing full-on symphonies when he was six. I’m fixin’ to turn 33 and well, I guess I won’t complete that thought since comparisons do nothing to advance one’s purpose.

Anyway, the point is that I am going to walk. Saturday at ten to six will find me with the rest of my Spalding class in our very official robes, walking in a very official processional to the front of the room where we’ll sit and listen to snippets of readings from our classmates. We’ll listen to our class representative give a speech which I expect to be hilarious and touching. Look out at the audience while we bend to receive the Master’s hood. Turn our tassels from one side to the other (someone please tell me which side to start on, I have no idea) and generally feel accomplished. Ghost and Efed can’t make it since they’ll both be overseas, but that’s okay. I’m walking to honor a promise, to mark to the Universe that I’ve completed this, and that it’s on to the next one.

I’m going to roll after I get hooded (damn I love saying it like that!) instead of staying to celebrate. This entire event is bittersweet to a point. But it’s also really freaking awesome to know I’ll be able to put some new letters behind my name.

Chalk and Spit

Fitness Friday

This about sums up my expectations for life.

There’s something that I get from lifting that I don’t get from anything else. I’ve been considering the reasons for why I’m doing what I do and I find that the deeper I delve into this world of chalk, Oly shoes and spitting on the floor to get good grip, the more my reasons change.

As I’ve written, the beginning of my lifting journey started with the need to eat. Eat to train, not train to eat. It was helpful to keep the momentum going, and I could see discernible progress pretty much immediately. When we were younger, Ghost dabbled a bit in boxing. The kid was (and is) fit as shit. I watched as he went from trim to beasty in a short span of time, and always wondered two things. Firstly, I wondered what drove him, and secondly, if it was something I could do too. Back then, I was running and not much else … I hadn’t even discovered my love of yoga and the passion that ignited in me. Ghost bricked up so fast, and it was amazing to see how his self-confidence changed just as quickly.

I think men and women likely lift for different reasons. The root, of course, is to be healthy. But the nibbles of real truth – the actual reasons that we push weights are probably on opposite ends of the spectrum. My theory is (with Ghost, at least) that he started lifting and boxing to ensure that he was capable of defending himself. Living in ghettos and frequently being the only white dude undoubtedly put a bit of pressure on him to develop and maintain a level of strength and fitness. Most meat head stories are just the same.

Women are different, or at least I think we are. I see cardio bunnies on stair steppers and the mills running and running, trying to achieve some level of leanness that is showcased so often in the media. They run or step, dripping sweat and expending calories, all trying to achieve a level of thinness that they think men want to see. I don’t know that these women are even happy doing what they do, but they keep at it because social pressures suggest they should.

I lift because I want to know I can. I don’t even know if that makes sense … but every time I step into the gym, I put myself in the mindset that I’m there to fuck shit up. To push myself as far as I can, to dig as deeply into personal resolve and extend beyond what I think I can do. I wrote last week about knowing that I’ve gained mass over the last six months and the struggles that I have with seeing something different in the mirror. It’s a mind fuck for sure, but I’m to the point that I’d rather lift heavy and be a few pounds thicker because that means I’m stronger, more capable and further on my way to being a beast than being thin and rejoining the ranks of the cardio bunnies. No offense, bunnies, but I like having a booty. And I’m on my way to liking food. Food is good. 

Keeping Her Alive

Thursday’s Thought

Well! I’ve received word that my chapbook is ready for publication. Writing Knights Press is going to start printing it in the next few weeks. Woo!

This chapbook, learn to find, was difficult to write. It took almost a decade for the poems to come out of me, mainly because writing about my mother, the loss of her first as a teen and then finally as an adult and her struggles with addiction have been events in my life that I have largely tried to ignore. I thought for many years that if I stopped thinking about those things, they wouldn’t have an emotional impact on my life. Turns out, that’s a bunch of bullshit. Avoiding (markedly or otherwise) emotional trauma does absolutely nothing to develop one’s self or advance one’s truth. It just buries it deeper and deeper and ends up manifesting in other ways.

I wrote the majority of the work over winter last year while I was holed up in the lab. I drank too much wine and ate too little food. I’d waft through Dental World as unattached as possible, eager to return to my pages. I felt manic most of the time, and the cold and snow of winter in Ohio was exactly what I needed to stay committed to finishing the work. My driving force every single day was to perfect my commas, choose the right words, find a way to wade through the pain and write her story.

I’m still not sure if I’ve done that, or if I’ve honored her spirit. I’m sure Efed and Ghost have different versions of their truths on how things went down, and that’s okay. They’ve both read the chapbook and have given their blessing for me to send it out into the poetry world. I can only hope that wherever she is, my mother might be proud that I’ve found a way to translate the pain into something palpable, something discernable, words on pages. I hope that I’ve turned the blood she shed into something worthwhile, a product for which she might be proud.

Once the chapbook emerges from the depths of the publishing house, the real fun will start – book signings, readings, making my way around the venues in the region to promote my work. I’m eager for that part of this process. My mother is dead. She’s been dead for almost three years. But that doesn’t mean that her story has to die. I intent to make sure it doesn’t. 

It's Almost Time

Ephemeral – lasting for a very short time

If I say that graduate school was ephemeral, I wouldn’t be wrong. It seemed like an infinite stretch of time when I started my program two years ago, and yet here it is, the last few days of my final residency. What in the what what? Where did time flutter off to, and how can I get off this crazy train? Ehh, okay, I don’t think I really want to stop time; I’ve earned this after all. 

But sheesh. 

Two years – gone just like that. I’ve been considering what I’ve managed to accomplish as a graduate student – two manuscripts of full length novel work, a few chapbooks, this blog, and a handful of readings isn’t that bad, considering everything else I’ve had going on over these 24 months. Of course, I want it to be more, and I will always work for more. As I prep for graduation on Saturday, I am allowing myself a few rare moments of self-appreciation. Sure, this journey has been ephemeral, but it’s been impacting, and has developed me as an author, a novelist, a poet … and most notably, as a human. 

Choosing Sides

Tuesday Truth

Lifts are progressing these days. I was working shoulders on Saturday and found that the 15kg bar with 2.5lb plates on either side wasn’t as much of a struggle as it used to be. Solid work, given the fact that I’ve been dedicating most of my free time to this quest.

That said, I’m beginning to wonder my intent with this process. I started lifting as a requisite to force myself to eat. I couldn’t train if I didn’t eat, and so it all worked. Somewhere along the way, I got it in my head that I needed to compete in an NPC show. I’m not even sure when that idea came into my mind – probably sometime last autumn after Voyin left for Jappa and I remained here, trying to make sense of what it was I was doing with my life. It seemed to fit.

So I fucked around a while on my own at a box cutter gym, thinking I was making progress. It was only after finding Beat that I realized most of the work I’d been doing was building a base of strength, but had nothing to do with aesthetics … Realizing and being aware that all NPC shows are based solely on looks, I’ve had to readjust my vision and my hustle.

I like lifting because I like being strong. I like knowing I can press whatever what over my head, or from a bench, balance a bar across my back and squat down deep. Pull up a weight from the ground and keep good form.

Training my body for a show means that I still train these muscle groups – but I train them for looks and not function. It’s like having a baller ass Benz that looks amazing but can’t drive well on the highway. What’s the point? Now, I’m not exactly sure.

I guess I need to figure out if I want form or function, if my goals are to be strong and beastly or to look pretty and muscled. There’s such a difference, and while I know that most folks don’t see the difference between the two, it’s a really big deal for me. The truth is, I sort of want both. I always want both of whatever it is I’m doing. But realistically, I’m not going to achieve both without compromising one for the other.

It’s just like everything else in life. Selecting one path will undoubtedly close off another. Like most things, and like Ghost was so quick to point out on Saturday, my issue is more with choosing and less with staying committed once I’ve made the choice. Sheesh, who knew lifting weights would be this complex? 

but this, green

Modi's Monday

but this, green

        after The Bridge at Maincy, Paul Cezanne

bridge like an echo on a

mount when kids were true
life was young, stones
kept secrets for time and
movement came in ranges

mountains made complete
picture stops, rushing to
beat the creek or pound the
beat into green spring

ushering in new year, though
now November, soaked Chucks
still bright with future of
possible, still far off
brook bubbles underneath
ice, acid training in winter
teems suggestions of Promise.

Turnin' Pages

Sunday Summary

Another week in the books. There are so few weeks left in this year! I don’t know what I’m going to do without the pressing promise to myself to write a daily blog once the calendar flips from 2015 to 2016. I’ve found this exercise to be incredibly therapeutic and entirely worthwhile. It’s forced me to keep my writing at the forefront of my mind, every single day. Now I’m beginning to consider what I should be doing with this project for 2016. Just like with all other creative projects, I’m almost considering all of these three hundred and some-odd entries as one big draft. I’m rolling around some ideas for content for ’16, and I’ll likely keep at this, if only because it keeps me in line.

This week marks the start of my last week at residency; I’ll be graduating my Master’s on Saturday. Holy shit, right?! I’m planning to take an auxiliary term in May, so it won’t be the last time I’m walking around Fourth Street, but it’s the last time I’m an official student. I don’t want to let this go! It’s been such a journey, not just as an exploration of my craft and commitment to such, but it’s also been the first time in my adult life that I’ve had the chance to be surrounded by so many like-minded writerly folk.

Welcome the present moment as if you had invited it. It is all we ever have so we might as well work with it rather than struggling against it. We might as well make it our friend and teacher rather than our enemy. – Pema Chodron

Love is True

Sweet Saturday

Ghost and Michee got their wedding photos back earlier this week! Wow oh wow. Their photographer, Tonya Cook, did such an amazing job. She managed to capture their special day in such perfect simplicity, truth, and love. I think I’ve looked through this wedding album four times already from start to finish. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen my brother happier. He’s fortunate to have such a caring and loving as his life partner.

I popped over to their house earlier this week to say hello. The boys are growing so quickly. Every time I see Beef, he has learned new words. On Tuesday, he pointed to his shirt and said, “Batman” and then proceeded to point to the pantry and request a snack. The kid can mow some chips and guac! I love all of my nephews equally. They all manage to surprise and fascinate me – each has his own personality, likes and traits, and I’ve gone from seeing them as blobs of bones to being real humans. I know that sounds rough, but it’s the truth! That said, there’s something about Beef that just pulls at me. Maybe it’s because I know he’s the last kid, or maybe his quiet stoicism reminds me of Ghost. I can’t put my finger on it. But every time I see him, I can easily see why parents rave about having children. Don’t worry – that’s not going to happen any time soon (or ever!) for me, but I get it.

I think because we expect children to be malleable, because we expect them to constantly change, we give them more reign to express themselves. If one day they love purple and the next can’t stand the color, we accept it. A child’s prerogative, or some such. Maybe the sweet lesson is that we should extend the same sort of flexibility to grown folk too. We become so rigid, too set in our ways. Sure, our limitations help to frame our personalities, but they can also get in the way too. It’s so easy to become inflexible. I do it all the time. Hell, I think I spent the latter part of my twenties examining myself in terms of what I won’t do. And that really didn’t get me anywhere … except holding a long list of shit I don’t like, shit I won’t do and shit that doesn’t make me happy.

Maybe it’s all the Oprah themed conversations Efed and I have been having lately, or maybe it’s that I’m finally turning a corner, but I see this modality of living as completely ridiculous! There’s no sense in it at all. I’d much prefer to be flexible. One day I might like purple and the next I might now. I think I’m okay with that.

Weighing In

Fitness Friday

I’ve been trying to post more videos to my social media feeds that showcase some of the feats of my physical prowess. It’s as much because I’m proud of what I’m able to do as because it serves as benchmark for me, a way to measure where I am and where I once was.

I’ve been taking weekly progress photos since March, and it’s startling to see the transformation that I’ve managed to make over these nine months.

When I pull images for these blog posts, without fail, I come across some of my progress photos. Since residency starts this week, I’ve been looking back at images from May and my last residency. Ooof. It’s ridiculous to see the transformation that I’ve managed over the last six months. This first image is me in May at residency, and the second is me last Friday. The difference is palpable, for sure. I even look happier in the November picture. Truth is, I am. I love crushing weights, pulling and pushing more than I ever thought I could. I don't love that clothes fit for shit, and that I feel heavier.But look at these quads!

I’m definitely a few pounds heavier, but my booty is round like a bubble and my lats are starting to pop something serious. Because of my eating disorder, it can be incredibly challenging to see photos of a leaner version of me and not start feeling shitty about myself. It might be subtle to others, but I can see the way I’m carrying the weight I’ve gained over the last six months. Ten pounds on my frame is a lot! I know that the majority of it is muscle, and because of the added weight, I can lift heavier. But damn if it doesn’t fuck with my mind. Thing is, I can’t have it both ways. I can’t strive for PR’s (like my deads last week at 215) or crush sprint work (like I did on Monday) and be as lean as I used to be. I see the way my quads are popping now, the way they were non existant in May and I want to keep this momentum going. But it’s a tough perspective to maintain when everything in my brain screams for me to restrict and cut my calories … I suppose this sort of perspective is one that most folks who lift and eat clean deal with, so I know I’m not alone. But it’s a bit tough! I’m reminding myself today that my lift numbers won’t go up until my calories go up and this is called bulking season for a reason.

I’m such a goal oriented person – I like seeing the end result, or at least knowing my aim. Since I’ve decided to take an auxiliary term at Spalding, I’ll be back next May for one more round of fantastic residency love. It is my aim to have my lifts all up to elite numbers by next May, and have found a balance . in my weight … or at least, what I perceive to be my ‘weight.’  

Life's Macro Splits

Thursday Thought

Readjusting perspective is just like readjusting a macro split. It takes a bit of tweaking to get the right combination of protein, fats, carbs (or fulfillment, joy, energy) to find what works best. Or at least, that’s what it’s been for me. Over the last few months, I’ve been playing around with my split – alternating high and low carb (energy) days based on my lifting schedule. It’s been effective for the most part because it ensures that I have enough gas in the tank to push for PR’s, to lift heavier and heavier and to keep pushing forward. The low carb days are a struggle because I’m left feeling spent, without energy and constantly hungry. While this approach is effective to a degree, it’s not sustainable for long term successes.

I realize that the way to ensure progressive and continual positivity, to find a pleasant perspective in each of my days, I need to have balance. Sure, carb cycling can get me a new number on a lift, but it doesn’t help if the day following, I’m starved for sustenance! Much the same, constantly flopping between feeling fulfilled and enraged doesn’t do anything to readjust my perspective either. It’s far too difficult to find formidable strength when I vacillate between happiness and not. The ticket here is finding sustainable sources of fulfillment, joy, and energy – activities and actions to which I can return daily that consistently offer the same sorts of results.

For most of my life, writing has been one such activity that helps me find my way back to center. It’s been my rerack/reset … and for a long time, it’s worked. Sitting to pages has offered the elusive fulfillment that I’ve so ardently sought. Or at least, it did for a good long while.

Lots of my writing these last few months has appeared contended and joyful. I’ve looked for and sought out ways to express gratitude and joy because I thought if I kept on writing it, it would become a reality. There’s some truth to intention based living, but the real deal is that most of this has been a front. I convinced myself that the more I wrote about happiness and being fulfilled, then the more likely I would be to feel it. To find it, and to live it.

Turns out that’s a whole bunch of bullshit. Writing pretty happy things doesn’t make me feel any more fulfilled with what I’m doing than buying some Oly shoes makes a chick a lifter. If I want change (and I’m here now, I really do) then I actually have to do something about that … which starts with adjusting perspectives, seeking out situations in which I can give of myself to those who are in my world, experiences that allow me to share love and happiness. Just like a macro split, this formula is going to take some adjusting, for sure. But if I don’t adjust, then I don’t change. And fuck that. This shit is too whack not to change. 

Heading on Home

Hiraeth – homesickness tinged with grief or sadness over the lost or departed

Residency starts in just a few short days, and with it is bound to come some feelings of hiraeth. Sure, Spalding isn’t my physical home but it has been my creative home for the last two years. I’ve made excellent friends and forged connections with fellow creatives while rambling the streets of Louisville that I can’t help but already feel a bit nostalgic for those I’ve met and who have graduted and gone on for other quests. It’s too easy to be sad when I should be so happy – I’m graduating in a few weeks! I guess since I know that this is the last time I’ll be making the drive to Fourth Street as a student of the program, I can’t help but feeling some premature longing. 

Like I already know how much I’m going to miss the vertigo that comes from the elevators at The Brown, or listening to Sena’s Welcome Home speech, Lady A’s infectious laugh, or any of the other small touches of humanity I’ve managed to discover during my tenure with the program. So sure, I’ve never actually LIVED in Louisville, but it is home to me … just as much as I’ve made Regent a home, or the Pond a resting place. I’m sure I’l lbe back at some point – as a Post-Grad helper, or a speaker, or something, but it won’t ever be the same. I guess that’s part of what hiraeth is all about … and I guess it’s okay to feel this way.

jammed

Tuesday Truth

I got an email the other day from Anya. In it, she wrote about not taking anything for granted these days. Holy shit, I thought, that’s exactly where I am! Tuesday traffic is always annoying because I go into Dental World later, so there are more folks doing exactly what I’m doing – we’re fighting the tide of cars and vans, all trying to jostle into lanes and get to our offices. My commute can be so taxing that I often wish I had to go in at my usual time instead of being able to sleep in. After I received Anya’s email, I was sitting in Tuesday traffic, getting frustrated and wanting to be anywhere but stuck in a traffic jam that had no beginning, end, or discernible cause. But then I thought about Anya’s words and …

It’s amazing. Like every single minute of every day is a gift – it sounds cliché as fuck, but it’s true. Even though there were countless other things I wanted to be doing, I tried to wu-sah myself into a place that was appreciative and grateful. So, I thought about all the things that sitting in traffic could bring me. The negatives were easy to call to mind since I was already grumpy. But it wasn’t until I started thinking about the positives – I have a job, a car, and the ability to work, among others – that a decided sort of peace came over me. it’s as if the traffic jam parted and I could see my way. Ok, that didn’t really happen, but the sentiment remains the same.

It’s too damn easy to forget, to overlook, and to ignore the blessings in life. To concentrate and focus on all the shitty parts, and to call to mind my frustrations instead of my gifts. Gratitude is something I’ve written about frequently this year, but I’m human and I forget to practice what I preach from time to time. It’s as if the Universe knew I needed to hear this lesson … and presented it at exactly the right time. 

flipping up

Modi's Monday

flipping up

            After Study for the Card Players, Paul Cezanne

blue, her light illuminates
draw of screen in night
she's waiting his words to
cross miles, find a nestled
spot between her breasts the
way he hands her a life-life poker
spread of four aces and a
shiny bauble to complete
wild hopeful exchange, he follows
protocol to keep his truth
close, she cuffs secrets and dreams
his face down, turned and somber
she prays her mala 
thighs aching and pale, waiting for him.

Time Ticks

 Sunday Summary

The time change thing completely messes with my head. Every autumn and spring, I get confused about what time it 'really' is and find myself counting back or forward to figure it out. Don't get me wrong, I love the fall back that happens - it gets darker earlier, and lighter sooner, and this time of year routinely offers me a chance to sort of catch my breath. But it messes with my already highly irregular sleep schedule, and confuses the shit out of me. One week in, I think I'm doing pretty well. I've managed some decent four hour stretches of sleep, and have been pretty productive on all other fronts. 

This week has offered me some delicious and much needed lessons. Closing chapters and beginning anew has seemed to be the theme that has ribboned through every single day. It’s amazing and fantastic that in my third decade, I’m still finding ways to be surprised, amazed and aware at the beauty that this life offers. I suppose the most important lesson I’ve learned this week is that none of this is forever.

It’s all so fucking temporary.

Allowing past transgressions or perceived wrongs to continually shape my experience on the daily is not the right way. It does nothing to advance me as a human, and even less to help me learn, grow, and excel. I think I’ve harbored so many pains for so many years, that the idea of release not only scares the shit out of me. Forcing myself out of my comfortable space is something I’m keen to do at the gym, or with my creative work. But allowing myself growth from an emotional perspective means that I have to release this armor, let down the walls and let myself breathe. I don’t know how easy it’s going to be, but I know that it’s something I need to do. Something I must do. 

Lessons, Learned

Sweet Saturday

I was talking with Gerena this morning about a collaborative project this morning after I trained for almost three hours. My brain was pretty spent, and my body was totally done. Friday #quadday killed me something serious, and following up with a hard shoulder session was probably not the wisest choice. So we’re chatting, I’m listening to his input on what he’d like to see from this project, all the while rifling through my bags, trying to situate my Saturday. I discovered that my wallet wasn’t in my gym bag, back pack or purse. I told Gerena and he said I could probably lose myself in a room.

Ha.

Okay, so maybe I couldn’t lose myself in a physical sense, but it’s really easy for me to lose myself – metaphorically. Lost in thought, lost in transition, lost in the moment. I dial in so intently when I’m focused on something that it’s easy for me to forget there’s a world outside of my immediate moments. Thankfully, I found my wallet – it was in my car, because that’s where wallets should be, right? If I had slowed down a bit and thought clearly, I would have remembered stashing it in the middle console yesterday before training. But in my effort to always be prepared for the next moment, I completely forgot I’d done that.

Later today, I met up with Ghost for a much needed solo-catch up. He gave me back the water bottle I left at his wedding venue and gifted me this bomb ass t-shirt. I mean, how cool is this?! 

We chatted a while, circling around real talk for a bit. And then, he spit knowledge to me so real that I know I would have balked if it had come from someone else.

He straight up said to me that I’m a runner. Not in the pounding pavement sort of sense, but in the run-from-everything kind of meaning. He’s right, but damn if that wasn’t some real talk. I took that nugget and filed it away as we continued to discuss other matters.

Now, hours later, I’m chewing over what he said. He’s right, of course. I dodge. Deflect. Shy away from anything that I think is going to be too impacting/emotional/difficult/scary/involved. I keep myself solo because it’s safer, easier, and more comfortable. Clearly that’s not working out too well for me. So it seems the Universe has delivered me two sweet messages today. Namely, I need to stop fucking running because it’s not getting me anywhere I want or need to be. And secondly, sometimes trying to be two steps ahead ends up putting me a step further behind.

Aligning

Fabulous Friday

It’s amazing how a shift in my perspective shifts my perspective.

Moving out of the lab into my main room at Regent was probably the best thing I’ve done in the last three weeks. Okay, well that’s not entirely true because I hit a killer set of sumos on Tuesday, but that endorphin rush has long passed while my renewed commitment to my craft is something that I live daily. Every time I return to my space and see my desk and screens patiently waiting for me to work, it’s as if I’m zapped into action. “Hello J,” says desk, “Sit down and get to tapping. Those dreams of yours aren’t going to just happen.”

Natalie used to remind us that setting an intention and then committing to that goal is the way to make sure one lives with purpose, grace and humility. Remembering that my intentions are clear, and revisiting them (both in action and on paper) reinforces that what I’m doing is what I’m supposed to be doing. I told Ghost the other day I still have no real idea of what I’m doing with my life, but at least I know what I want and how I want to do it. That’s half the hustle, he replied.

“It is only within the context of having properly developed your mind that you will be able to truly enjoy the achievement of your material values.”  Mike Mentzer

Walking on a Wire

Thursday's Thought

This about sums up what I’m doing right now.

I wrote about my ass-to-grass squat progression last Saturday and how it’s scary and hard to trust that my legs are strong enough to descend and drive back up with mad weight balanced across my back. Even scarier is the idea that believing in what I’m doing, and trusting that I know what’s best is going to facilitate the kind of future I want for this life.

Emerson, in all his wisdom, said that “The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be.” I guess we all have that choice, every single day. Wake up with promise and excitement or wake up with dread – it’s a decision that’s made the moment our eyes open. Might not be conscious all of the time, but when we begin to actively decide to make the choice to approach the day every day like we’re one step away from success and suddenly … the days begin to seem different. Shitty annoyances are still shitty but they’re less impacting.

I wake up super early for Dental World. And for the last eighteen months, every single day my alarm has sounded, I’ve been annoyed. Annoyed that I’m not further along in a sustainable, paying writer gig, annoyed that it’s early and I can’t sit at my screens and tap, annoyed that I have to do … well, everything. But that’s helped me achieve little except for a dislike for mornings. And that’s insane because I love my mornings, like something serious. Actively being grateful, remembering that all of these little things add up to something big, and knowing that each step I take is getting me where I need to go is not only helpful but at this point it’s damn well mandatory. It gets tiring being tired all the time.
So, I’m leaping. Who’s in? 

Ring-Ting-Ting

Mellifluous – sweet or musical; pleasant to hear

I try to always be listening to something when I’m at Regent, putzing around my space or working in my lab. At the gym, my headphones are forever in, and my tunes are tuned up loud! There are just certain combinations of notes that make me want to smile, to dance, sing along and find the good in the world and not the bad. That’s the intent of music, right?

It’s even more fantastic when I find a person in this world who triggers this sort of feeling in me simply by speaking. Voice is so important in judging the sincerity and truth of a person’s intent and desires. I guess this is why any more, I’d rather speak on the phone than send endless messages back and forth. Words are too easy to misconstrue and to misread. Efed’s voice is pretty pleasant most of the time, unless it’s a moment in which she doesn’t have time, and then it’s all Bye Felicia. Those who are near and dear to me have a way of triggering something when I hear their voices – just like when I hear a favorite song. Pleasant, calming, sweet. Their voices are the music to my soul

Claiming Ownership

Tuesday’s Truth

So over the weekend, I worked on a short personal essay about my struggles with eating and how lifting weights have helped me make active progress for Lift Big Eat Big. It was a difficult essay to write in part because it’s a part of me that not everyone knows about – it’s like one of the major secrets I’ve kept from most of my loved ones for years. In tapping away at my machine (and noshing on some of my delicious protein pancakes) I kept having to return to the root of why I needed to write the essay.

It wasn’t as much because I had a deadline (though that was a good motivator, to be sure!) or because it’s a topic that doesn’t garner as much attention and respect that it deserves … writing about my eating disorder and the challenges I’ve faced as a direct result of it is in so many ways one more step in honoring myself and my truth. I knew that once I submitted it to Lift Big Eat Big for publication, my story and my truth would reach a really wide audience. And for the first time, my secret would be out.

After I finished writing, I sat and stared at the screen for a while. Took a break. Did some vinyasa flows. Breathed. Looked back at some old pictures and then compared them to recent ones. There was a huge part of me that DID NOT want to send my article, to beg off the work – essentially, to cower behind the ED and let it win again.

Fuck that.

Stories need to be told. We all have them. Truths are only powerful if they’re given light to shine. These are things I’ve been preaching all year long. So off my essay went. Exposing myself and my truth to the all of the interwebs is super scary. But what would be worse would be if I kept hiding.