Will sun salute for food

Hey campers!  It's that time once again where I tell you something that I'm planning to do so I actually do it. 

In this case it is getting my decidedly non-bikini-shape torso muscles into enough shape so that after 3 months of hard and heavy eating, I'll survive this fool marathon I'm (hopefully still) going to run in 46 x 24 hours.

Each day between now and Saturday, June 2 (in addition to whatever else may be going on, including work, long runs, all-day musical rehearsals, Guinness binges at 2 a.m. or red-eye flights to San Francisco) I will complete either:

Option A:   Core Bomb

Various abdominal strengtheners (5 min) +

Lower back strengthener (1 min) +

Face-down planks (2 x 1 min) +

Rolling side planks w/out stopping (5 each side x 30 sec) +

Push-ups (3 x 12) +

Tricep-dips (3 x 12)

or

Option B:  30 minutes of Yoga

(This morning at 6:30 I did 60 minutes. Thank you,

free David Farmar Baptiste podcasts from iTunes.)



Yes.  This is my kitchen. 
Yes.  That is my cat eating breakfast next to my block.



Incidentally, I may or may not post an "after"  picture. 

No way, this time, am I posting a "before."

No more p***** pics! (Can I get an A-men?)

This was sent my way today. It's from 2010. Considering how many penis photos have been gifted to me by men from OKCupid in my lifetime (including this winner), I'm amazed I didn't stumble across this myself already. It says everything I've ever said to the screen in response.

Choice quotes:

0:45: "Come on. Enough with the tricky camera angles on that baloney pony. Man, it is UGLY!"

0:57: "And, yes. Sometimes we save the pictures. But just to show our friends how weird yours looks. And make fun of how much of a douchebag you are."

Please share with a loved one. Man or woman, depending on their needs.

(PS: Thanks, MSF.)

Time suck solution?

As one of the world's great procrastinators and the Boston Queen of Being 5 Minutes Late To Everywhere, I was interested in this summation of a recent Wall Street Journal article about time management. 

It's overly simplistic yet compelling if true:

We lead busy lives and use our limited time as an excuse to procrastinate and avoid getting things done, but often claiming we don't have time is a lie. It's a lie we tell others and ourselves. It helps us believe we'll never get anything done, and this is a problem.

Fortunately, the solution might be as simple as changing your language. Wall Street Journal writer Laura Vanderkam explains:

Instead of saying "I don't have time" try saying "it's not a priority," and see how that feels. Often, that's a perfectly adequate explanation. I have time to iron my sheets, I just don't want to. But other things are harder. Try it: "I'm not going to edit your résumé, sweetie, because it's not a priority." "I don't go to the doctor because my health is not a priority." If these phrases don't sit well, that's the point. Changing our language reminds us that time is a choice. If we don't like how we're spending an hour, we can choose differently.

It's a simple idea, and a great one. Our language is often used to provide a polite answer when the truth might be hard to hear. Sometimes we even subject ourselves to more polite language and end up in situations like this one. How you use your time is very important. It's a limited resource and shouldn't be wasted. Don't risk putting it to poor use by failing to be honest with yourself and others about your priorities in life. Alter your language and you may just discover what's most important.

Still breathing .... kinda.

Can't quite figure out why, these last 4 or 5 days, my energy level is in the toilet.  Brainstorming if its the malaise-inducing weather, or if it's because I gave up playing Tetris for Lent, or if it's because I also gave up chocolate and drinking Starbucks for Lent, and that's just a massive amount of sugar and caffeine that my body is no longer benefitting from. 

That, and there have been trying situations at work ... not new to have trying situations at work, but new situations that are trying different levels of patience and coping.

(Sigh.  Thanks for your patience as I navigate this weird little week, not really wanting to write anything other than a Facebook status update.)

But I did mean to tell y'all that that friendly Outlook e-mail reminder ("Patience.  Deep Breaths.  Self-Awareness.") I set up last week is still getting a good workout.  As in I still refresh it on the half-hour and I swear I indeed regularly remember to also:

"…..take a big drink of water. :-)

And.  Smile."

The week being what it has been, I've found myself adding lines at key moments to fit situations.  On Wednesday, a particularly tough day, I was filling MSF in on this motivational reminder -- to which he replied, "Could you add, "[MSF] sends a [:nurffle:]" to the 4:30p one?"

So I did, and its still there; now I'm getting a [:nurffle:] every half hour. Today, again a bit overwhelmed, I added more:

"And.  Rise above. In work, in play, in life.  You can. This is the moment you’re going to pull it together."

Very grateful that in a life where sometimes control seems out of reach .... it's so very good to just keep breathing.

Patience. Deep Breaths. Self-Awareness.

I hate cliches.  But sometimes they say it all.  And today I woke up on the wrong side of the bed.  And I can't tell you why.

By the time I got to work, I wanted to kill everyone.  Even nice friendly people.

So.  Drastic measures were required:  an Outlook task reminder that popped up at 9:30 a.m. with nothing more but the subject:

Patience.  Deep Breaths.  Self-Awareness.

And then I changed the reminder for a half-hour later.  And at 10 I refreshed it for a half-hour later.  And I did this until 6 p.m.

I'll tell you that every time I saw that reminder in my browser, I realized that I needed a deep breath to clear my chest, and that my mouth had been turned in a frown....because I could feel the change when I forced myself to smile each time.

You know.  The day went OK in the end.  I'm wondering if I should just leave this reminder on indefinitely.

Update 2/23/12, 12:30 p.m.:  Still refreshing yesterday's Outlook reminder on the half-hour.  Still taking extra deep breaths.  Day progressing smoothly, despite previous late night drinking Maker's Mark and catching up with Justin at Alibi and upon returning home, eating a full pan of pasta and black beans before bed.  Verdict:  Still thumbs-up.

Food for (Monday) thought

The Most E-Mailed Article from the New York Times when I logged in at work today, in true Monday-morning fashion, was the first-person essay,"Alone Again, Naturally."

(Subheading: "Why Men Can't Stand to Be Alone After a Divorce or Break-Up."   Accompanying photo: woman in 1950's-era headscarf, hands on the wheel of a convertible, chin up, mouth grinning.  Author:  Dominque Browning, 60-something divorced former magazine editor and essayist author of a book called "Slow Love," which is to "engage with the world in a considered, compassionate way, appreciating the miraculous beauty of everyday moments, and celebrating the interconnected nature of life.")

An excerpt, which focuses on a "revelation" the author had after slipping on her patio and cracking her tailbone:

"Most single women I know really love their lives.

Sometimes we suffer pangs of loneliness, sometimes we ache for the companionship of that mythic soul mate, but mostly we cherish our independence. We love doing whatever we want to do, when we want to do it.

Women alone eat breakfast at 11 if we feel like it, lunch at 3 and dinner never if that’s the way the day is winding down. Single women do not worry about cooking unless we want to. And we don’t want to unless we like to.

Single women love not having to get permission to spend our own money on a 10th pair of black boots or a painting or a wood stove.

We love not being judged, not being criticized, not being hemmed in. We love the give and take of making our own decisions. We love putting things down on a table knowing they will be there when we return. And eventually, we come to understand that there is no reason to curl up on “our” side of the bed while we sleep. We no longer have to take sides. We can sprawl across the expansive middle.

Single men could not care less about any of the above lifestyle features."

Later, Browning states: "A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle."

Oh boy.

This is an opinion piece and Browning is opinionated ... and she's happy in her later-life singleness.  I related to her points on the benefits of independence .... but the article is prone to broad and relative overgeneralizations on gender differences. As an essayist she is paid to be provocative. Naturally, such bald statements about what single men want or don't want brought out vehement responses -- from both men and women -- to the point where the comments section was shut down. For example, from a Brooklynite named Fred:

"i'm certain i missed a lot of meaning and nuance here, but this is one of many stories i've seen in the last two years by female authors writing about how wonderful it is to be single or alone. but if its so great, why is there a market for articles about how great it is?  shouldnt everyone who is alone just know that? is there a benefit to preaching "alone-ness" to others, as if there's some sort of promised land to which they should aspire? or, maybe its not great, maybe its just one of many possible human conditions, and there is a need for us to explain it and thereby make it more acceptable...to ourselves. "a man needs marriage like a fish needs water", vs "women do not walk around alert for danger" and "a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle". sounds awfully bitter. where does the bitterness come from? and why the need to preach the gospel of alone-ness?"

Browning also writes a Slow Love Life blog .... where, in that meta way of this time in history, she analyzed reader response to the Times article -- which in and of itself engendered another level of discussion and response.  Her freedom to self-edit and known voice here seem to allow for greater nuance in conclusions -- and the admittance that, as we all know, no qualities are exclusively gender specific:

"Men are hard work. Women are hard work. (But that can be someone else's essay.) People are hard work. Relationships are hard work. They are wonderful work, too, when many things click along; the motivation is there when the nurturing is in balance. Someone made a point in the comments below that what I'm really talking about is the difference between people who give and people who take. We all fall along a spectrum, with some of us at either extreme; and temperamentally, the mix has to be right for the giver not to feel taken advantage of--or smothered, or the taker not to feel neglected. It is so simple, in a way, and so difficult in reality. Until that magic moment when it isn't hard, it is wonderful.

And I think that's what we all want. And often, we settle for less, because of fear of loneliness or fear of the unknown condition of aloneness.

Better to come to a relationship from a place of strength and security."

Hmm. Better. An apt assessment of what makes relationships work:  when the balance between giving and taking is agreed upon by both parties. The last line also resonated. In my interactions and discussions with MSF these last months, he often asserts that feeling safe, secure and loved within a relationship is really the crux for making it work. It's one of the reasons I like him and, yes, what truth. The times I have been unhappy in love -- in current situation but, of course, in countless others from my past -- have all in some way circled back to insecurity and indecisiveness; pinpointing that source has been hugely helpful in informing my reactions to the ups and downs.

Happy Monday, y'all!

Chaotic productivity

Oh January, thank you.  For a relative change, I've had a personally productive week:

1)  Christmas letters DONE in record post-holiday time.  (Boo-yah!)

2)  Christmas thank you notes on schedule to be DONE tonight.  (Yes!)

3)  Church council Secretary minutes and materials from the 24 council and 9 voters meetings between May 2009 to May 2011 indexed, scanned, bound, and sent to appropriate parties.  (Only 7 months behind schedule, but....DONE!)

4)  Quest to devote 90 minutes per day to decreasing the height of the 20-foot pile o' backfiling on the counter behind my desk .....so far, on track, and today seems possible.   (And it feels GOOD.)

5) Run 100 miles in January?  Already 10-on-the-treadmill-in.  (At 8-minute-mile pace, no less, which feels FANTASTIC.)

Of course, perfection is still elusive.... In the midst of typing the above list, after another night of near-complete insomnia, a colleague informs me that between he and me, sometime in the past 6 weeks, we misplaced a folder of original client-signed paperwork required to open a new account.  Meaning between now and tomorrow one of us have to find it.   It could be in that 20-foot pile o' backfiling. It could be in one of the 13,000 other folders in my possession in this office. One of us could have slipped it into the recycling bin during the first week in December.

Who knows.  (Shudder.)  I now have to devote my afternoon's productivity (including my 90 minutes of planned filing) to finding this folder.

I'm reminded of an article I came across last night at the gym, in the October issue of Vogue magazine:  "Chaos Theory:  Forgetful and prone to distraction, Andrea Cooper set out to uncover the cause of her mental mayhem and found a large number of women unwittingly suffering from Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder."

In short:  Ms. Cooper consulted doctors and took tests after her daughter had been diagnosed and medicated for ADHD, thinking that since it could be a genetic condition, it might be her genes causing it;  a positive diagnosis might provide answers to explain some of her more scattered habits.  But in the end the doctors didn't find her behavior pervasive enough to fit the definition and, as she admitted, "I must confess I was slightly disappointed that I couldn't attribute my household piles to a medical condition."

Yes. I too, today, wish I had a magic drug that would make that missing folder reappear ... or perhaps transport me back 6 weeks to the point before it might have been lost.

The Listmaker

On the phone with MSF last night, I heard myself proclaiming with conviction, and not for the first time in the last 10 days, how this December, much more than in Decembers past, I was looking forward to the month ending and January beginning with its Automatic Restart Button, and even though it is already the 3rd of the month it was this morning I awoke with a grand sense of to-do lists to make:  a list of what I was going to accomplish today, which includes making a list of what to accomplish both this week and in January (with its super-romantic goals such as getting caught up on filing old paperwork for a minimum of 90 minutes per day) as well as list of how I need to advise Claudia (and myself) in preparation for the marathon (yes!) we are running in Stockholm together in June,  followed by a list of my exercise and eating routines for the week and month, which includes scheduling what yoga classes I can get to and finding a weight-lifting class (after 4-month hiatus) that I can commit to once a week and seeing if I can't keep up my 20-miles-a-week running pace, along with reminders about multivitamins and 8 glasses of water a day (because I've forgotten) and smiley-faced checkmarks to reward for every day I stay on the January Chocolate Moratorium bandwagon.

For a girl who didn't make any resolutions this week, I'm both overwhelmed and strangely comforted to have all these things to do. 

New Year's sentiment

As the service lector I was asked to speak this New Testament epistle in church this morning.

It might have been fatigue, but I found myself smiling while reading the first phrases, and how appropriate an admonition it is for fresh starts -- be you Christian or not.

Happy new year.

Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.  And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.  And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body.  And be thankful.  Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God.  And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. (Colossians 3:12-17 ESV)

A little metta with my coffee...

If I were to write here what I was planning to write --

-- which was that at 12:45 this morning I was running 8-minute miles through Southie, in shorts and baseball cap, through the most unlikely of hurricane-strength downpours (never a sentence I'd expect to write on the first day of winter in Boston) and how even though I was drenched, I was invigorated, and how even running uphill into the rain and headwind and with water squishing in the lining of my shoes from the massive puddles felt good in that "I'm running through a metaphor about perseverance and overcoming adverse conditions and enjoying it" kind of way --

-- you'd probably correctly guess that I did not sleep enough last night, that I felt restless and wired from too many Christmas cookies and joy over having (amazingly, before the day itself!) completing my Christmas letter, that I stayed up way later than I should have and woke up pretty out-of-sorts.

Arriving in the office, though, I found a "Seasons Greetings" e-mail from my only known friend who embraces Buddhism in a real and comprehensive way-- a former co-worker from Minnesota, go figure.  Here were his greetings. 

Metta

"Monks, whatever kinds of worldly merit there are, all are not worth one sixteenth part of the heart-deliverance of loving-friendliness; in shining and beaming and radiance the heart-deliverance of loving-friendliness far excels them.

Just as whatever light there is of stars, all is not worth one sixteenth part of the moon's light; in shining and beaming and radiance the moon's light far excels it;

and just as in the last month of the Rains, in the Autumn when the heavens clear, the sun as he climbs the heavens drives all darkness from the sky with his shining and beaming and radiating;

and just as, when night turning to dawn, the Morning Star is shining and beaming and radiating;

so too, whatever kinds of worldly merit there are, all are not worth one sixteenth part of the heart-deliverance of loving-friendliness; in shining and beaming and radiance the heart-deliverance of loving-friendliness far excels them."

Buddha

Wishing you a metta, metta christmas and a metta new year...

In case you've not heard of the term metta, it has a lengthy definition, in part:  "a multi-significant term meaning loving-kindness, friendliness, goodwill, benevolence, fellowship, amity, concord, inoffensiveness and non-violence ...  the strong wish for the welfare and happiness of others ...  altruistic attitude of love and friendliness as distinguished from mere amiability based on self-interest." 

Richard's sentiments brought down my heart rate and shored up my focus for this last, hectic day before the holiday -- for which I'm grateful -- and reminded me of the many multi-significant and lovely people in my life I should also be grateful for.

Yes. It's that easy.

Yesterday there was a party at Balint's place. It was as good of a time as a Sunday early-cocktail hour should be. Our friend Mark, dressed in sweater vest and tie and a serious countenance, muddled oranges and maraschino cherries with sugar into pretty scrumptious Old Fashioneds. Homemade peppermint bark on the appetizer table. I won a clip-on bow tie in the Yankee Swap gift exchange.

As evening came and the crowd thinned, Balint and another friend and I shot some palinka before settling in: Balint and Mike to the couch to discuss matters of physics, reasoning and philosophy; me, to Balint's Steinway for a playing tour through Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier. I'd run through a prelude and a fugue, then break to flip pages, see what fingerings my slightly-tipsy brain could still handle .... and in the silence the boys would call out for me to keep playing, offering to toss a $20 my way for continued service. Once I got to #22, the Prelude in B-flat Minor (BWV 867), I stopped to work on it for awhile:

After that I had to stop playing because of the hour and the upstairs neighbors. The boys had moved to the breakfast table, still talking heatedly, and my buzz was still on and the air outside was still frigid and unwelcoming, so I busied myself .... bagged leftovers and put in the fridge, stacked placements, wiped the tables, swept the floor, loaded the dishwasher ... they were still talking. Finally then, acknowledging weariness, I settled in on the couch and tucked feet underneath, leaning head back for a quick doze. It was at that moment Balint seemed to first recognize I had just completed his party clean-up without him ... I heard his shuffling my way on stockinged feet, felt him settle onto the couch in front of me, hip against my hip, opened eyes as he leaned in to kiss me high on the cheek up by the ear and exclaim, "Did you do all that? That's sweet! I should marry you!"

Ladies....?

Yes. Bach. And elbow grease. It's that easy.

Peace, Generosity

I know I've never said this before ... but damn, I did not sleep well last night. Yesterday was busy at the office and I was tense. I was thusly still tense while online Christmas shopping before leaving the office, and a vigorous run-and-row at the gym, a hot bath while downing a 3-shot bourbon cocktail, and a bowl of reheated Thanksgiving turkey soup did not take the edge off. Nor did a 90-minute chat with a (very) groggy MSF followed by perusing the The New Yorker (complete Nov. 7 edition), nor did playing Tetris on Facebook for 45 minutes before polishing the last 2 servings from a box of Kashi Go Lean and re-delving (for the third time) into Fred Emery's Watergate.  (Yeah, I agree: conspiracy and breakfast cereal at 3:30 a.m. do not exactly inspire a mind to shut down.) Woke up hard at 6:45 out of a dream where I was biking as fast as I could through the Back Bay, along the brick sidewalks of Marlborough Street, and I still could not catch the insouciant man jogging in front of me, who I know I was meant to catch, needed to catch. And thusly could not get back to sleep and could not get out of bed and didn't know how I was possibly going to manage the latter, ever, body unwilling and brain frustrated. It wasn't until I recalled how some 6 weeks ago I had similar dread of the uncertainty around me and only recovered from that dread when realizing that I have Patience Judgment Family Friends Health and my world does not really suck ass. That still holds true. And I realized I could remind myself in this season (and any time, really), that when I want to mire in a self-centered wallow I can instead tell myself to aspire to a Peace Within and a Generosity to Others ... to let go of little annoyances, to realize the ones I think aren't so little are minuscule in the grand scheme, that peace indeed can be a chosen state of mind, and that anything I can do to brighten someone else's day is an anything worth doing.

So, eventually, I got up. (I'll let you know how the rest of the day goes.)

Thanks-Essay 5: Mondays, mortality

I read on Facebook this morning that a girl (woman now of course, mother of 3 teenagers) who went to high school with me died yesterday of fast-moving colon cancer. She and I were always just acquaintances and not friends and were never really in touch, but she was a good friend to many of my friends, and since I read the news her face as I knew her then, back in Cando, keeps floating up ... blonde, boisterous, saucer-eyed wild child with the biggest laugh ever, bangs teased to a tower, cadre of equally boisterous and loyal girlfriends with whom to cruise Main looking for the parties, her 80's era sports car a fixture at Bob's parking lot for years.  She could not have known then that this would be how her life would end 20 years later ... although of course, none of us can know the hour or the time of our own ends.

Concurrently, today has turned into a very hard day for 2 of my other friends, coping with their own crushing loss of a similar sort. Watching, listening, wanting to help in whatever way but not knowing how, I am humbled (again) by the resiliency of the human spirit when faced with the things in life that can quickly become awful. These friends are able to, as they often do even in benign circumstances, approach the day with grace and selfless consideration of where it will fit into the larger scope of their lives -- and that in this case, it will somehow shape their futures in the way God somehow means them to be.

Again, can I possibly always remember this -- even in the good times? -- this edict that seems so obvious today, this necessity to live as if you can't know what the next day will bring, or how your life will change, or shape others, or end?

"There are only two ways to live your life.  One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” -- Albert Einstein

Take Back Thanksgiving

I'm a fan (as you can see by the blogroll listing to the lower right) of the highly-trafficked  healthy living blog Carrots 'N' Cake.  The author, Tina, lives on the South Shore and writes several times a day about food, exercise, running, etc. etc.

On Sunday, she wrote a post about her frustration with current society's (mostly retail-based) trend of celebrating Christmas too early, and how it bypasses the arguably longer-traditioned and more-observed Thanksgiving holiday.  Then today she put in a plug for a website by allrecipes.com called "Respect The Bird."  The site implores folks to .... do just that ... and pledge to "restore Thanksgiving to its rightful place as a meaningful, respected American holiday, not one that’s merely a one-day delicious afterthought between Halloween and Christmas."

"Tapping into its original roots—thankfulness, a celebration of friendships, family, and gifts from the earth—Respect the Bird supporters want to create a Thanksgiving experience extending beyond meal planning. It is, after all, one of the treasured holidays that’s not about spending."

Organizers even put out a list of "suggested activities" to keep pledgers focussed on the task.

Corny a bit?  Yeah.  Sure.  But I'll be the thousandth person to admit to feeling nauseous and annoyed  at the sound of Christmas carols in department stores and the telltale red, snowy cups in Starbucks.

So I'm on board.  Please feel so moved to do the same -- even if just in your mind.

Thoughts on focus and practice

I've already said this a couple times (here and here), but I'm struggling to write much meaningful in the face of momentous occasions and a steamer trunk's worth of conflicting emotions about them. 

It's not just the blog.  Focus on any task feels taxing:  suitcase still open and full of last week's clothes, and now I've started throwing this week's clothes into it;  paperwork at work I swore I'd do Tuesday and today don't know how and where it'll fit; wanting to blow off steam by playing piano but without the energy to set up my keyboard, resting on its end in the living room where I left it 3 weeks ago after transporting it back from a concert.  Three weeks ago.  I'm becoming frustrated at this scatteredness. Been on this earth awhile, have accomplished some things, and know I know how to focus. I don't know where this knowledge has seeped to.  

(Come back, dear friend....)

When starting this entry, about 2 sentences in, I said to myself, "Girlfriend, people do not read this blog to hear more of this low-level negativity and the same lack of focus issues we all face in moments.  It is 60 degrees on November 10 and the end of the tunnel is showing at work and you had a solid sleep last night and tomorrow is Happy Nigel Tufnel Day.  Chin up!"

But truthfully, I'm not in the mood to censor myself.  Today I just want to write about lack of focus.  The end.  And, I'm deciding I'm going to stop apologizing for it.

Presciently, a friend yesterday alerted me to a piece on the blog of novelist Steven Pressfield, regarding the so-called "10,000 Rule": 

"The rule says that in order for an individual to master any complex skill, be it brain surgery or playing the cello, she must put in 10,000 hours of focused practice. Since a thousand hours seems to be more or less the maximum we humans can handle in one year, ten thousand hours equals ten years."

I've been writing this blog for 3-and-a-half, although I've probably spent at least 20,000 hours in my life writing something; very little of it has been focussed, though.  Using that calculus, I've probably got 25 years of blogging to go before mastery. Sobering. However, the resonance of this piece was less about that and more about what he spoke of next -- which is that the time and practice of a skill allows the self-censoring to fall away and the individuality to emerge. 

To wit:

"How does the actor get past his own excruciating self-consciousness? How does the entrepreneur come up with an idea that’s really new? The answer is they both beat their heads against the wall over and over and over until finally, from pure exhaustion, they can’t “try” any more and they just “do.” The writer says f*** it and writes a sentence in a way he would never imagine himself writing a sentence, and to his amazement that sentence is the first real sentence he’s ever written."

And:

"To speak in one’s own voice means to let go of all the other voices in our heads. Whose voices? The voices of what is expected of us. Yes, that means the voices of our parents, teachers, mentors. But it means something more elusive too. It means our own expectations of what we should be doing or ought to be thinking—what is “normal” or “right” or “the way it ought to be.”

"The price of achieving that breakthrough is time. Time and effort. Ten thousand hours if you’re lucky, more if you’re not. The gods are watching for those ten thousand hours, like instructors at Navy SEALs training. They can tell when we’re faking and they can tell when we’re for real. They can pick out those of us who really want it from those who are only pretending.

"In the end those ten thousand hours must be their own reward—which is the way it ought to be, don’t you think?"

Which is the way this blog has and, hopefully will continue, to resonate with both you and me. Despite the occasional scattered times where I'm trying to find my brains and my gut and my legs and the next steps I can take forward even if all aren't quite intact.

Anyway. Getting today's blog entry off my plate.....it is leaving me the time to focus on work.  Really.

(Go.)

Patience Judgment Family Friends Health

It could have been one of those days.  Hell, it still could be.  I was fine waking up on time, from good dreams. Then when getting dressed I discovered that last night, while cutting through the Prudential Center, I (must have) opened my backpack to pull out an apple and dropped 1 of 2 lace-up pumps (Aldo, $100, bought new in Sept) somewhere in the food court. While calculating the odds of someone saving and turning in a shoe in a mobbed urban shopping mall I caught sight of the expensive steroids (as result of expensive vet visit) for Tusker's cold, sitting on the counter, undistributed still because, well, he seems to have gotten over the cold on his own. Grumbling, got on bike 15 minutes later than planned to discover a cool, breezy rain beginning in time for my commute, which was great, because I enjoy being both late for work and soaking wet while there. Arrival at the office heralded by the unexpected departure of long-time half-million dollar client.  Followed shortly thereafter by e-mail from Mom detailing prolonged intestinal distress, layered with news that Grandma, who had fallen last week, had not been herself since. Trying trying trying not to be down, in an office blanketed on all sides by black skies and fog, missing the physical and peripheral presence of MSF who himself took sick with headache and fever on Monday and yesterday turned phone off, and I cannot make soup or bring water or scratch his head or help in any constructive way. Starting to think everything I own is breaking down and everything is expensive and everyone is far away. 

So I'm kinda down. But there was a moment in that melancholy when I remembered I am a girl with Patience. Judgment. Family. Friends. And Health. Even if they aren't with me every minute. I still hate this cold fall bluster and I still miss MSF and I still worry about Mom and Grandma and still don't want to call up the Pru Lost & Found and even more don't want to spend another $100 on necessary work shoes that I already spent $100 on.. 

But.  Patience Judgment Family Friends Health. My new mantra in time of need.

(Just writing that felt good.)

Annoying (but funny) things

I still get an e-mail once a week with the latest articles from HowAboutWe.com, the website I came upon by recommendation of the Cosmo dating article sent to me by Cousin J's fiancé 6 months ago, from which I fashioned the Great Cosmo Challenge of which I completed about 5 of the 22 tasks, and certainly not in the original month I planned..

(Yes, that is a bit of a wind-around sentence .... my brain is in a bit of wind-around mode today.)

Despite not having attended to my HAW profile or solicited the profiles of men who are attending to theirs -- although I wouldn't rule it out -- I am often amused by these advice articles and how spot-on and only mildly sarcastic they are.  Today's by Chiara Atik, particularly, made me dig into the link:

"The 9 Most Annoying Things to Say To A Single Person" 

"The good thing about being single is that people are usually pretty willing to talk about your romantic life, because, let's face it, it's probably more entertaining than that of your seriously coupled-up friends.  The bad news? 

"Sometimes, people will want to talk about your love life regardless of whether or not you're in the mood to talk about it.  And they will have opinions.  And questions...

Well, I certainly confess to having put my love life on the front burner whether or not other people are in the mood to hear about it or not.  And have left myself equally open to opinions and questions, which will infrequently annoy me and then make me feel like I shouldn't be annoyed, because I did put my life on the front burner.

Nonetheless, today I only print Ms. Atik's questions for your amusement.  Here are my favorite 3 of 9; the rest are behind the bold-faced link above:

"Are you seeing someone?  Why not?"
Amazingly, I get this question at least once a week.  At least once a week!  It's fun to turn the question around to the asker. "Why are you in a relationship?"  "Because I'm in love!" "Right, well, I'm not."  End of discussion!

"You need to put yourself out there more!"
Out where, exactly?  [Whenever some helpful soul suggests this to me, I immediately picture myself in the middle of some crowded piazza, waving my arms around, saying "yooo-hoooo!"]

"Why don't you join a group?"
It's a common misconception for people to think you're single because you just don't have enough hobbies.

Mulling singleness, longevity

Have I told y'all that before moving to Boston in 1999, I worked 4 years as the features reporter for the Pipestone County Star, in the small town of the same name in southwest Minnesota?   (Using the term y'all gives me away as a Midwesterner, right...?!) 

I'm sure I have.

My main beat at the Star was covering the robust performing arts scene, community organizations, dairy and pork and corn-n-soybean farmers, and the non-stop activities and recognitions at 3 elementaries and 1 high school.   Took endless photos of kids standing in rows, the community chorus with open mouths and hands outstretched, the Chamber of Commerce director shaking hands with new business owners.  Made lots of trips into barns for photos of pigs and cows.  One spring when the Star was down a sports reporter, I documented the track, tennis and golf teams' exploits and wickedly improved my skills as a sports-action photographer and writer.   It's where I began a personal column, Thinking Aloud, which started me writing in the stream-of-consciousness style that presaged the tack I'd eventually take in this blog.

I loved what I did in Pipestone, except for the ulcer-inducing school board meetings to raise taxes for a new facility, and I loved my life there.   But it was during the 3rd time through the same annual cycle of activities -- Homecoming, Christmas tree lightings, blizzard photos, Prom, the Watertower Festival, the Hiawatha Pageant features -- that I realized it might be time to explore different horizons.

And look where exploring got me.

This morning over my coffee, I came across a New York Times article titled, "In a Married World, Singles Struggle for Attention":

"Here’s a September celebration you probably didn’t know about: It’s National Single and Unmarried Americans Week."

I knew it sounded familiar, then realized it's because I, naturally, documented this week's occasion in September 2010.  It was a relief to find that I hadn't also documented it in 2008 and 2009.

Funny, when I saw the Times article this morning, the intent was to delve into the content of that blog entry by Tara Parker-Pope.  Specifically, how true these paragraphs rang:

"'There is this push for marriage in the straight community and in the gay community, essentially assuming that if you don’t get married there is something wrong with you,' says Naomi Gerstel, a sociologist at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst who has published a number of papers comparing the married and unmarried.

"'But a huge proportion of the population is unmarried, and the single population is only going to grow. At the same time, all the movement nationally is to offer benefits to those who are married, and that leaves single people dry.'


"Yet as she and other experts note, single people often contribute more to the community — because once people marry, they tend to put their energy and focus into their partners and their own families at the expense of friendships, community ties and extended families."

And these:

"The unmarried also tend to be more connected with siblings, nieces and nephews. And while married people have high rates of volunteerism when it comes to taking part in their children’s activities, unmarried people often are more connected to the community as a whole. About 1 in 5 unmarried people take part in volunteer work like teaching, coaching other people’s children, raising money for charities and distributing or serving food.

"Unmarried people are more likely to visit with neighbors. And never-married women are more likely than married women to sign petitions and go to political gatherings, according to Dr. Gerstel."

And these:

"The pressure to marry is particularly strong for women. A 2009 study by researchers at the University of Missouri and Texas Tech University carried the title “I’m a Loser, I’m Not Married, Let’s Just All Look at Me.” The researchers conducted 32 interviews with middle-class women in their 30s who felt stigmatized by the fact that they had never married.

" 'These were very successful women in their careers and their lives, yet almost all of them felt bad about not being married, like they were letting someone down,' said Lawrence Ganong, a chairman of human development and family studies at the University of Missouri.

"'If a person is happy being single,' he said, 'then we should support that as well."

Anyway. I'm pretty OK with being single in the city ... it has its benefits.  Other than my wistful 93-y-old Grandma, no one is pressuring me to get married.  I'll probably still go to political gatherings this season as long as my quease-factor stays in check.  And it's a good article (thank you, Tara, who is also a marathon runner).   Since I've now just quoted about half of it, feel free to decide, without my input, how you might feel about the conclusions.

I, on the other hand, have been freshly reminded of the time I have put into this blog -- 870 posts and 3.5 spins through the news cycle -- and am seriously wondering if it is time to explore different horizons.

Imaginary (donkey of) love

Chomping on a tuna sandwich and reading Love Letters on my lunch break, I got sucked into a sidebar conversation thread titled "Facebook nonsense".  It began on August 23, with a a post from:

-- A woman who friends an artist whose creative work she admires and feels mirrors her own;  she visits and commented on his FB page. He responds and comments on her comments.

-- The two begin flirtatiously texting/e-mailing relationship; they don't live in the same city so they don't meet, but they soon have a phone call that leads to (the woman's) enormous hopes.

--  He drops off the face.

-- She's convinced she's screwed up something good, big-time, and apologizes. He says she has nothing to apologize for and wants to remain friends.

-- But their friendship has changed and seems, now, not destined for anything greater. She's, in her words, "bereft" over what could have been:

"You know, prolly wishful thinking on my part, but last week I really felt that this man and I could pull something together. I can't think of what I could possibly have said to have turned him off. But I won't bug him, I won't nudge him..."

If you've read this blog at all before today, you of course know this type of What Did I Do WRONG?!!!!! thinking has had its place here on too many occasions.  Which is why I cringed viscerally at the resemblance to situations of past. Cringed reading through the 90 subsequent posts on the thread after her above self-admonition ("I won't nudge him...") stretching until yesterday. Even as other commenters advised her to move on, she continued stating admiration for her artist, the reasons why she thought she still wanted to be with him, and berating herself for holding out hope.

It took until today for her to say, "OK. I blocked his profile. Gotta let it go." But it took 3 weeks.

Not chastising this woman at all. Just understanding it (after all, it took me 9 months...) and marveling, again, how we humans get into draining situations that we can't see don't benefit us and, really, have no desire to get out of.

Somewhere on the thread, the woman posted a link to the British advice blog Baggage Reclaim, specifically to a 2009 column on "Letting Go Of A Relationship That Doesn't Exist":

"There are two big questions hovering in the comments recently that pretty much amount to the same thing:

How do I let go of the guy that didn’t reciprocate my feelings?

How do I let go of the guy that I didn’t actually have a relationship with?

In essence, how do you let go of a one-sided attraction which in your mind has created a relationship out of…your feelings?"

The blog author, Natalie Lue, is a prolific tough-love talker. In fact, she's written 2 books on the topic (one titled Mr. Unavailable and the Fallback Girl) in addition to this blog that has been ongoing since 2005).  Her thoughts on "Letting Go Of A Relationship That Doesn't Exist" are countless, but these lines specifically spoke to me:

"For a start, you can’t ‘break up’ when there is nothing to break up from. The only person you have to break up with is you and your rather overactive imagination and feelings ....

"The thing is, from the moment that you recognise that you 1) are not having your feelings reciprocated and/or 2) that you’re not in a relationship with them, major warning signals should be going to your brain that there is something seriously wrong if you are still trying to get them to reciprocate and obsessing about them over an extended period of time ....

"Whilst I recognise that in some instances, we can be misled by a guy to believe that he feels more than he does, I tend to find that women who are in this situation are invariably in it because they decided that they were crazy about someone and don’t want to let that, and the fantasy go ....

"You’ve decided that you want him, love him, and to hell with it, you’ll find a way to show him that he should notice and love you too. You’re gonna ride this imaginary donkey of love till it collapses."

Wow.  Can't think of a better way to describe making an ass of one's self and self-esteem.  :-) 

(Good to remember the next time, if ever, I get another gander at C-2.)

(Yet Another) Good Poem

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

--Mary Oliver